I work with cancer patients. I treat them with Western medicine, and hopefully kindness and respect. I am upbeat, humorous, and an expert in my field. Lately, I have seen an unusual number of patients who have turned their backs on science for less mainstream approaches. Though I completely support your right to do as you wish, this is often disastrous. In fact, I am impressed with your courage. But what I can't stand is when your tired ass comes marching in to my clinic with cancer ravaging your herb-soaked bloodstream. Months, sometimes years after your initial diagnosis, you expect me to jump up and respect your special demands. I will not mutter incantations or shake rattles with you or burn smelly shit. It is time for you to admit that your hippieshit doesn't work, or at the very least it doesn't work by itself. Still, I will give you the finest care science can muster, and I will look at your family members and smile. I will not let you or them know that I think you are a dumbshit. Worst of all, when you die, I will consider it a small failure on my part, and I will cry when I see your name in the obituary.