Elfin Recite

YOU’RE SITTING IN THE DOCTOR’S OFFICE, A COLD BREEZE whistling through your examination gown, trying to grasp what you’ve just heard: You need major surgery. Or maybe, you have cancer. Or, it’s all in your head.
You might stammer a little. You might reach randomly for words. What you ought to say is this.

Can I get a second opinion?

If we were talking about, say, the head gasket on a ‘04 Honda, you’d spit those words out without hesitation. But when the diagnosis concerns your body, you may feel that the question breaches some sacred rule of doctor-patient decorum. It’s easy to founder in the rising tide of awkwardness through which the rip cur-rents of deeper dread swirl:

Have I just alienated the one person in the world I need on my side?

I wish I could say doctors are never irked by a request for a second opinion. Sometimes they are. But most of the time they don’t mind. In fact, sometimes we want a second opinion even when our patients don’t. Agreeing on the need for another set of eyes is only the first obstacle, however. The quest for medical certainty is fraught with potential pitfalls, blind alleys, and. sometimes, mirages.

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