An excerpt from A Tale Told by an Idiot — Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. A tragicomical memoir in progress.
Chapter 11 - The Quest for the Holy Grail
By this stage in my life, I'd been heckled by angry bystanders on the side of the road as I attempted to check if Louise was alive. Carried a woman's completely severed leg with a not so happy ending. Performed CPR on a fat guy out at sea, to attempt to save him, but also to please the drunk crowd of cruise ship passengers. Told pilots to fly faster to avoid the mess of delivering a baby in the back of an aircraft. Been accused of killing not one, but two people. Lived amongst Indigenous communities at opposite ends of the world, and amongst the wealthiest and poorest. Out at sea, and in deserts, cities and beachside towns. Been paid good money to stay at home because the CEO didn't like what I had to say. Run through the night, with my daughter in my arms to avoid a crazy man with an axe. Navigated false allegations from someone that belonged in a psych ward, not once but seventy-two times. Flown patients out of remote areas in storms, even though there was no rush. I'd also attended health retreats, lectures on health, presented at conferences, worked with health experts, watched health gurus on social media and in documentaries and read my fair share of books and research articles.
Turns out, despite all the sound and fury, it did signify nothing. When I say nothing, I mean no Holy Grail.
Turns out, I was the idiot. Looking for something that wasn't something tangible. Something that can't be proven, measured, or considered an absolute.
After thirty years, I can say this with confidence: healthcare stopped being about health a long time ago.
It became a performance.
A marketplace.
A show.
Back in the eighties, in the era when music had a soul, we walked and rode bikes just because it was fun, we talked directly to each other, no phones, and had to get up to change the channel on the TV. We spent time together on Sundays; it was a day off for most. Life was simpler. Less choice, yes, but that was a good thing.
Sure, healthcare had its issues, but it was still recognisably human. Over the decades, it morphed from a service into a spectacle. And of course, along came social media. As a comedian once said, back in my day, the crazy people spent most of their time in the basement. Now they have social media, and an audience.
One thing became clear: health started to look less like care and more like the cereal aisle at the supermarket. A cluttered barrage of brightly coloured promises, each one screaming, "Pick me!" And just like the cereal aisle at the supermarket, the bigger the box, the more sugar-coated the sales pitch, the less substance inside.
Health shifted from something quiet to a big billboard. It became something you buy and promote, not something you did without talking about. Everything now comes with a pitch, a logo, and a slogan. "The latest research suggests…" "This may improve that." "Early studies show promising results."
Suggest being the operative word.
Health now?
More like a medieval scene involving the knights at the round table, on the quest for the Holy Grail, which goes a little like this: King Arthur held a great feast at Camelot, with all his knights gathered around the round table. One year, the Holy Grail appeared, with the promise of the truth. Veiled in a white cloth. Each knight found before him the food they most loved. Then, as quickly as it came, the Grail vanished. Rather than finish the dinner, the knights leapt up and swore an oath to find it. Each knight entered the forest alone, at the point he chose, where it was darkest and there was no path, to reclaim the Holy Grail.
The quest went on for years. Some never returned at all. Only three came close: Galahad, who found the Grail, died soon after. Percival, who gave up a worldly life, became a hermit. No phone, no followers, no five steps. Only Bors came home to tell the story. I can relate to the last two. The round table was never the same again.
Instead of Lancelot, Galahad, Bors, Percival, Gawain, Kay, Tristan and Mordred sitting at the table in Camelot, we have a different line-up at the table, having returned to tell the story, filled with promises relating to health and prosperity.
At the round table now, we have medical doctors pushing medication, surgeons wielding their scalpels, hippies with bongo drums and vegan dishes, wellness gurus with their retreats, social media influencers with their 5 steps, and self-help book authors with their advice on how to help yourself, which is technically an oxymoron. Then there's the friend promoting multivitamins while sucking on a vape, a paramedic wanting more ambulances, a nurse wanting more hospital beds, mental health experts with their feelings, a psychiatrist handing out scripts, a health researcher with his pile of peer-reviewed articles, and a public health expert convinced vaccines don't cause autism. And of course, a feminist blaming men for women's health issues, and a men's health advocate pushing for a men-only hospital. Also, at the table, the cosmetic industry insisting bigger lips and bigger tits are the way to inner happiness, allied health insisting on another appointment, GPs saying no more exercise or diets, because we have Ozempic, and finally the lawyer and barrister looking for opportunities.
All claiming they have the Holy Grail. Follow me. Like me. Pay me. Unless you have a Medicare card, in which case it's free.
I've been sitting at this metaphorical round table for years. Listening, watching, contributing. As I travelled, and observed, my ideas evolved. In the beginning, the less I knew, the more I thought I knew. As time passed, the more I learnt, the less I actually knew. Turns out each Holy Grail was an illusion. Like the cereal aisle.
As I looked back over those years, I realised something. Thirty years earlier I'd walked into healthcare believing there must be someone who knew. Someone with the answer. Now, after travelling the world, I found myself sitting at a table where everyone had an answer.
That was the problem.
In the eighties, the conversation at the 'round table' was simple. Go outside. Come home before dark. Eat meat and three veg. If you get sick, see a doctor.
The conversation at the round table now?
Something that resembles a merry-go-round, a wrestling match, a bowl of cooked spaghetti, members of parliament trying to agree, and a drunk guy that's lost his glasses while making a cocktail.
It couldn't be at my place; my table is long and rectangular. I sit at the head. Unless of course my daughters beat me to it.
I'd assume it would play out something like this…
Firstly, most would arrive late. It's up to patients to be on time, not the experts.
As people introduced themselves to each other, the pre-round table conversation would start out as casual.
You know the kind. Which university they attended, how many letters they have before and after their name, which facility and faculty they work in, how many followers they have on social media, showing pictures of themselves lifting weights, the title of their TED talk, which suburb they live in, a famous person they once treated, the time they carried someone's leg that had fallen off, the time they disarmed a bomb in Afghanistan.
Soon after, the conversation shifts. Onto their version of health. If you take this, do this, or have this, it will help this or that. But if you don't, something else might happen, according to the latest research, the latest viral social media post.
With dinner soon to be served, and as with all good dinner parties at a round table in Camelot, people take their seats. Ideally next to someone interesting, awkward for the Vegan I know. Then the wine begins to flow, followed by an elevated energy in the room, thanks to the wine-induced social lubricant, and the onset of banter and laughter in the room.
That is until the mood shifts, thanks to the neurologist, who points out that this red wine will kill your brain cells. The French cardiologist thinks differently, however. "C'est bon," he calls out as he raises his glass in a toast, saying "it's good for your heart," backed up of course by the latest research funded by the wine industry. Then the psychologist steps in, claiming it's good for your social life, which in turn is good for your brain, much to the disgust of the public health expert on the opposite side, and the wellness guru that's sitting on the floor in a yoga pose.
The neurologist asks for a coffee. The oncologist insists coffee may definitely sort of cause cancer, while at the same time, the barista in the corner rolls his eyes. Either way, there will be a barrister willing to argue the case regardless, as long as you pay him accordingly. At that point, the personal trainer suggests going outside. Sunlight is dangerous, according to the dermatologist, oncologist, skin care specialist and the other people ending in 'ist'. Except the feminist, who's waiting quietly for the proposal of a men's hospital. The GP suggests otherwise. If your vitamin D is low, go outside. The therapist agrees, otherwise everyone will come down with seasonal affective disorder, according to Google.
As the wine continued to flow, for some, around the table, with the exception of the wellness guru, who remained on the floor in what I think was either called a reverse doggy or downward dog position, the conversation about health and the Holy Grail continued.
Eggs are bad according to the vegan, unless they come from a chicken that's done yoga, says the hippy in a tie-dye shirt with multiple piercings. The dentist says floss daily and reduce sugar; however, the nutritionist says drink sugar free. The endocrinologist says artificial sweeteners cause cancer, as he sits sipping on wine and smoking a cigar, much to the delight of the pharmaceutical rep selling chemotherapy.
One thing they all agreed on was that to be well, one must rise at 5am for an ice bath that simulates a near-death feeling, according to the guy wearing clogs from the Netherlands, while chanting affirmations about pain setting you free. Followed by 10,000 steps captured by your Apple Watch, as opposed to eating an apple, in between brunch spots serving Buddha bowls named after emotions you've never heard of.
Just to be clear, when I say everyone, I mean everyone sitting on the floor on a yoga mat.
He went on to say, attend a retreat that I suspect has more mirrors than a narcissist's bedroom, along with regular sessions with a psychotherapist named Sage, and replace your GP with a barefoot woman selling kombucha from a van called "The Gut Whisperer," and make sure you get your chakras aligned. Rather than invest in ethical shares, invest in you as part of your self-care regime, including $300 on a sound therapy session where a man in white linen pants hits a gong while you lie wrapped like a sushi roll in a body wrap made of seaweed. And of course, this should be followed by red light therapy, which is likely to result in a class action lawsuit in ten years' time, to the delight of the no win no fee lawyer and barrister sitting at the table. How could I tell? I could see their eyes light up, as they licked their lips, while sipping on a glass of expensive whisky on the rocks.
Speaking of licking lips and whisky, yep, you guessed it, the conversation shifted to diets.
Of course it did, because you can't enjoy eating food now without talking about weight loss and calories. A social media influencer's pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The dietitian says carbs are essential; the diabetes educator says they're the enemy; the psychologist raised childhood trauma, again, and the social media influencer says the keto diet is the key to health and weight loss. The vegan was not happy!
The cardiologist insisted on eating fish because it's good for your heart; the environmental scientist, who nobody actually invited, says no fish because it's filled with mercury and unsustainably sourced. The vegan, which we knew because he made a point of telling everyone, twice, went on to accuse the cardiologist of being a murderer.
I thought I'd best not mention my deep fryer at home.
In the end, listening to all the experts has a similar effect to wine. Lightheaded and a spinning sensation. The technical term: discombobulated. I've decided that you're more likely to solve the mystery of whether the moon landing was real. Unless you ask the bariatric surgeon, the pharmaceutical industry, or the personal trainer. Because apparently, they know about moon landings also.
But thankfully, we now have a pill, according to the drug rep sitting there drinking the wine that the pharmaceutical company provided as their way of saying thank you! And of course, sitting quietly, guess whose eyes lit up, as they licked their lips, with a glass of expensive whisky on the rocks in hand, when they heard about this magical weight loss pill that's likely to go pear-shaped.
The vegan, however, sat frustrated. He already knew how to lose weight, muscle, and a sense of humour without needing to take a pill.
With the conversation now sitting in the camp of our biggest health crisis, the disease of having too much choice, the next topic was addictions. And of course, the wellness guru had something to say. The solution is simple, he said. Self-love, self-care, self-respect, sell-fish and a yoga mat. Selling fish didn't make sense to me, but I didn't ask as I didn't want to upset the environmentalist, again. Apparently, Alcoholics Anonymous thought otherwise, but couldn't be there to share their views, otherwise they would no longer be anonymous. The self-help author, however, felt it was a good opportunity to promote their book. Four steps instead of twelve, and no need to say sorry.
And then of course, the detox option: a health retreat in Bali where you can fast for 30 days, drink imported air and align your inner child with a moonstone, and colonic irrigation using, of course, bottled water. Nothing says "healing" like a high-pressure hose up the backside. According to the psychiatrist, however, it's most likely depression. Easy fix, a prescription that resolves your serotonin levels, even though there is no test for serotonin levels.
Eventually the personal trainer spoke up. He'd finally finished his push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups, and running on a treadmill that goes nowhere. And he had the answer. It was simple.
As he sipped on his Body Protection Compound 157 peptide-infused protein shake, he said everyone should get themselves a personal trainer, to help you train for… training. Yep, that's right, people training for nothing except to look better in their activewear, and to be guided through a sequence of push-ups, squats and carrying an old tyre over your head. When? Before sunrise, in the dark, when your circadian cycle is most aligned with the ideal metabolic rate.
Before the personal trainer returned to doing more push-ups, he made it clear it's important to track your steps, count calories, and take selfies in activewear designed for peak performance on the café circuit, along with attending wellness check-ins and running fun runs that are neither fun nor run, unless you consider shuffling in Lululemon designer Lycra while sipping kale shots and comparing protein powders fun.
He then handed his flyer around the table, and ran off into the sunset, while doing star jumps. To be fair, he did look good in his activewear.
At that point, the bariatric surgeon spoke up. Less is more. By less, he was referring to a stomach. Not food.
At that point, I was feeling like I'd just come out of a spinning industrial dryer, accompanied by a bowling ball and a free-range chicken.
Just when we thought we'd covered enough, the plastic surgeon, with his perfectly glowing smile, stood up, accompanied by his cosmetic nurse of course, and said it's simple. The key to health is to look like a Hollywood star. I found it hard to focus at that point. Big lips, eyelashes and well-defined cheekbones. I'm not referring to the nurse. Before I knew it, they too handed out flyers and skipped out the door while holding hands and chanting something about bigger is better, Botox is the best.
At that point, the hippy said Botox gives you cancer. The oncologist said no problem, we have chemotherapy; the hospital administrator said is that necessary, because that's expensive. The palliative care nurse said let's talk quality of life, and the Buddhist monk in his orange robe, sitting cross-legged on his chair, said let's meditate and embrace acceptance. The wellness guru, still sitting on the floor, said in his monotone voice, don't suppress your emotions. The allied health worker said in a high-pitched voice, we want a pay rise. The feminist pointed out it was a human rights issue, a problem because of the male patriarchy. The men's health advocate stood up to speak, but sat down again, as he feared the feminist.
At this point, my head was spinning, my back aching.
Big mistake. I shared my feelings. In hindsight, I should have kept my mouth shut.
The physiotherapist said I needed to stretch more, the occupational therapist said I needed an appointment, the surgeon suggested surgery, the psychologist asked about my childhood, the masseuse said it was a knot, the rheumatologist suggested I needed fish oil, the guy on social media had five steps, and the osteopath got up, cracked my back, then proceeded to schedule me in for another three sessions.
The pharmacist then leaned across the table and, with an open hand, offered a range of pain relief tablets. In his palm, he had Ibuprofen, ibuprofen sodium, Nurofen, Nurofen Back Pain, Nurofen Period Pain, Nurofen Migraine, Zenifen, Zenifen for Children, Chemists' Own Ibuprofen, Neo Health Ibuprofen Liquid Capsules, Brufen, and Advil. Double strength, single strength.
In a moment of silence, the drunk guy making cocktails without his glasses, with a drink in hand, asked a question: Aren't they all the same drug, just different packaging?
In that awkward moment, I suspect everyone thought the pharmacist also worked for the cereal industry.
Fortunately, the French cardiologist raised his glass and said, "Je trinque à ça !" I'll drink to that.
In the end, the guy in a white lab coat, bald head, thick glasses, had this to say. People that have thick thighs, walk quickly, and take naps are less likely to die. Because apparently, you can prevent death.
At that point the wellness guru, pharmaceutical rep and Vegan walked out, on account of either having skinny legs, or being offended at the thought of people dying. The wellness guru walked fast. The pharmaceutical rep indicated he needed a nap after too much wine. The vegan indicated he was always tired.
Reflecting back on the evening, they could not even agree on the definition of health!
Doctor – The absence of disease
Wellness guru – Maintaining a high vibrational frequency, aligned chakras, and regular appointments for a bowel cleansing
Personal trainer – The ability to do lots of squats
Yoga instructor – Looking good in spandex pants
Lawyer and barrister – The more medical errors the better
Feminist – A male-free life
Men's health advocate – Eventually seeing a doctor despite having chest pain for the last month
Cosmetic industry – Bigger is better
Self-help author – The ability to help yourself by needing a self-help book
Paramedic – Someone that uses Uber to get to hospital
Nurse – A pay rise
GP – Someone that does not require more than a five-minute consult
Chiropractor – A slightly misaligned spine that requires three visits a week for the rest of your life
Dentist – Someone with enough money to get their teeth straightened
Psychiatrist – Someone that stays on their medication
Psychologist – Someone that can spend 50 minutes talking about their feelings
Vegan – Staying awake for more than three hours
Health researcher – According to the World Health Organization in 1948, "a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity." He then looked around the table and realised no one qualified, including himself.
And there you have it. The likely outcome if you brought together the 'experts' as we affectionately know them today, to discuss health-ish, at a round table, in Camelot, while drinking wine despite the risk of damaging brain cells.
Apparently, knowledge is power.
Little did Sir Francis Bacon, from the sixteenth century, realise what would eventually come when he proclaimed "ipsa scientia potestas est," meaning "knowledge itself is power." He never knew Wi-Fi and social media influencers would come along.
I suspect if the Vegan knew this saying came from someone with the last name Bacon, they would not be happy.
Either way, as I said, knowledge now resembles something more akin to a merry-go-round, a wrestling match, a bowl of cooked spaghetti, members of parliament trying to agree, and a drunk guy that's lost his glasses pouring wine for the knights of the round table, on their quest for the Holy Grail.
And as you can imagine, a hard group to cater for, with their dietary requirements and different seating preferences.
The answer, it turns out, was far simpler. It had been hanging in my shed the whole time.
Sorry — you'll need to buy the book when it arrives to find out how this story plays out.
Written by; Jeremy Limpens