The medical-pharmaceutical complex snared another golden goose. Me. More precisely, my body. I could leave my soul at home and they wouldn’t care. It’s my body they covet.

They leave the soul to priests and preachers, who back in the day made a fortune, the way the medical industry makes a fortune these days. Scare people enough, and they’ll pay most anything.

Back in the day, people would pay most anything (Donate to the new cathedral? You bet!) and do most anything (Penance, groveling, lashes, fasting? You bet!) to save their immortal souls. Visions of hell scared the bejesus out of people.

Back then people trusted the clergy the way we, more or less, trust doctors. Back then everybody believed souls were damned from birth (original sin). But fortunately the church had the cure (baptism), which could be administered only by its own agents.

(See how that works?)

Thank god those superstitious days are over. We’ve seen through the scam. We’ve flipped our values. Life here and now means more to us than life after death. We’ll pay most anything and do most anything to keep our mortal bodies humming as long as possible.

Few of us fear death itself. But most of us fear dying. The medical-pharmaceutical complex knows this.

In January I got a physical from my new doctor. My PSA (prostate-specific antigen) was a little high. That instilled a little fear. I got a biopsy. And like countless other men, I waited on pins and needles for the results. Negative. No cancer. But fear of it had entered my body. And fear can metastasize too. Worry spreads. 

This past Wednesday I got a stress test, which wasn’t as strenuous as the 25-mile bike rides I go on regularly. But then, who knows? I now fear I may not be as healthy as I look or feel. A-fib, after all, is a “silent killer.” What else is? Can it be found and stopped in time?

My copay for these visits and tests is minor. Negligible. But then I notice my health insurance has been charged tens of thousands of dollars. And to think I’m fairly healthy. I’m in and out of appointments in less than 30 minutes.

Ka-ching.

Here’s your next appointment, sir.

Now that I’m in the system, I shouldn’t worry anymore. After all, no one lets a golden goose die.