I don’t know if the exercise is really worth it, but, under certain conditions, with sufficient detachment, moral suasion, carnivore cunning and mild-mannered treachery, an unconditional apology can be extracted, even from a doctor or a lawyer.
The nephrologist had her receptionist call me after I sent her a summary of my recent attempts to get the update she’d promised on my recent biopsy. This neutral summary was what lawyers call “making a record”. Making a record is done to prepare the grounds for argument in the legal case– anything you write, like a memo, could be used as evidence.
It’s like Trump’s lawyer Marc Kasowitz making a record that there is no evidence whatsoever that the president ever used anything beyond precatory, non-legally binding, aspirational language, when he had FBI-director Comey alone in a room and expressed his hope that Comey would dummy up about Flynn  and lay off the investigation into the good guy’s possible problematic entanglements. Therefore, as a matter of law, based on the explicitly precatory language all parties agree was used, no direct order was given and therefore there can be no obstruction of justice. Plus, of course, Kasowitz added, although nothing he said implicated his client in anything, Comey was lying his ass off under oath while the president is always truthful.
My note to the nephrologist, which became part of my permanent medical record at the hospital once I hit ‘send’, presented the facts without editorial comment, but in a pretty dim light for the nephrologist. Her actions did look pretty bad laid out end to end, the lack of communication was clearly one-sided. It would look pretty bad to any department chair reading it by the time I ended asking “am I missing something?” and signed it Eliot. I also called the Patient Advocate at the hospital to express my concerns and find out why nobody was forwarding the medical records I’d requested.
The nephrologist’s receptionist called me few moments later, to tell me the doctor herself would be calling me and that they would be forwarding the medical records I’d requested. A short time later the receptionist called back to ask me to hold while she connected me to the doctor. This transfer took just under two full minutes, which, while annoying, was not comparable in its effect to her previous behavior and attitude. She began to remedy that as soon as she picked up the phone. After a moment of silence she asked what I wanted.
“I want the update on what the biopsy showed about the progression of my kidney disease,” I said, and things went quickly downhill from there. I was soon told that I have unreasonable expectations, am a very nervous patient, smart but also nervous and with unreasonable expectations. I told her I expect people to do what they promise to do — until I learn what it is unreasonable to expect from a particular individual. I stop expecting what experience teaches me to stop expecting. I disputed that I have unreasonable expectations, took exception every time she mentioned it, but since it came up several times, it got me to wondering about the phrase.
There were several attempted if-pologies (tip of the tam o’shanter to Harry Shearer) for how I apparently felt as a result of our mutual miscommunication. I rejected each of these pseudo-apologies forcefully, explained what was objectionable about such false, conditional, self-serving apologies. She was not taking responsibility for her actions and inactions, she wasn’t apologizing for how those actions and inactions effected me, she was apologizing about my unreasonable expectations, fears, excessive nervousness that made me see monsters where there were only puppy dogs and kittens. (detailed anatomy of an if-pology here)
In the end, seeing the folly of having a conversation with such a desperately defensive person, and sick of having to raise my voice to cut in whenever she cut me off and talked over me, I told her she was a good person and wished her a good day. Then I took a few deep breaths, muttered politically poisonous words that should not be printed, took a few more breaths and called the kind woman at Patient Relations at the hospital.
I thanked her for her earlier kindness and gave her a report of what had happened since she made her call to the nephrology department. When I reported to her that the doctor told me that I had “unreasonable expectations” and was a “very nervous patient” Joann seemed genuinely offended that a doctor would say those things to a patient she’d been ignoring. I asked Joann for the only actions I could think of — to inquire about a waiver of my $237 out-of-pocket payment for my next office visit and a recommendation for a less combative in-network nephrologist. (Thank God I have Obamacare, Romneycare, Patient Protection and Affordable Private Corporate Health Insurance Out of Pocket Deductible Care, Lobbyistcare, VultureCapitalistcare, HealthInsuranceandPharmaceuticalindustrycare, Corporatepsychopathcare, is all I can say. Can you imagine how prohibitively expensive and stressful the visit might be without health insurance?)
I then spent the next few minutes trying to figure out how not to seethe. I went to the post office. Not generally the best cure for a need to seethe, but today at 4:00 the place was virtually empty. I joked with the guy behind the window and we both had a few laughs. The guy at the next window got in on it, and another patron did too. We were all laughing together on a Friday afternoon. All the sweeter that we were like the United Nations, representatives of four continents.
The guy helping me, the representative of Asia, was gone for a long time, came back with my stamps then stood there, looking down, seemingly texting for a long time, while I stood there waiting to pay him for the stamps that were right next to him. I watched him bemusedly, as he regarded his phone with a pleasant smile, tapped away, seemingly got a funny text in response, paused to savor it, tapped his reply. It went on for a few minutes. I just looked at him, somewhat in awe. Then he asked for my credit card, which I gave him. When he handed me back the card I asked if I needed to swipe it. He smiled, shook his head and held up the small device that he’d been tapping into. I started to laugh.
“Oh, man,” I said to him “that whole time I thought you were texting.” He laughed.
“No, really, I was fascinated, I was admiring how brazen you were, how you seemed to be taking your time, really enjoying each text that was coming back from your friend. I figured you were typing ‘place is empty, one hour to weekend, one asshole customer waiting, just standing there, not doing anything, blank face, stupid expression, LOL!'”
We had a last yuk and I headed back up the hill to my apartment, 40 U.S. stamps and 2 stamps good for Europe in my shirt pocket. Plan to drop a note to Macron, just to tell him his name is hilarious and ridiculous.
I sat down and watched the mirthful, merciless late night comedians on youTube, all of them with millions of hits, slowly turning POTUS over a slow fire, slathering on the barbecue sauce (for all the good any of it does). I was finally beginning to feel a little relaxed, after more than a week’s escalating, endless battle with a stubborn jackass of a nephrologist. My phone rang.
It was the nephrologist, she felt terrible, she’s not that kind of person, not malicious.
“I never said you were malicious. I don’t think you’re malicious.”
“I’m calling to tell you I feel terrible about our conversation. I don’t sleep at night after a conversation like that, I’m not that kind of person, I do feel very bad about our miscommunication.”
“Don’t feel bad about that,” I said, ” it wasn’t really ‘our miscommunication’ anyway. If you want to feel bad about something, feel bad about not doing the empathetic thing, the thing you’d want me to do if our places were reversed. Feel bad about telling me I have ‘unreasonable expectations’ and that I’m a ‘very nervous patient.'”
“I never said you had unreasonable expectations and I don’t say nervous in a bad way, I’m very nervous myself…” she said quickly and with utter conviction.
“You repeated several times that I have unreasonable expectations for expecting to hear back on test results, but I don’t even care about that right now. If you want to apologize, at least know what you did that you should feel bad about, what you’re actually apologizing for.”
“I apologize if you feel that I was neglectful of…” she began.
“No,” I said, “I don’t accept your conditional apology, forget it. You cannot apologize for how I may have felt. You can only apologize for what you did. It’s no apology if you condition being sorry on what I may or may not have subjectively felt.”
“You apologize for what you did, that you understand now was wrong. ‘My actions hurt you. I was wrong. I am sorry that I hurt you.’ “
“It’s no apology to say I’m sorry if you were hurt. You have to acknowledge that what you did was hurtful, would have hurt you too, or anyone else. That there was nothing unreasonable about being hurt by the hurtful thing I am so sorry I did to you. Then you have to promise to try hard not to do it again. That’s an apology.”
“I apologize without conditions,” she said.
I thanked her for that, and happily accepted her apology, although with conditions.
God must have been smiling down on me in that moment, for the call from her cell phone dropped, she texted that I had suddenly stopped talking, that we seemed to have lost connection. I texted back that she must have gone out of range, I was still sitting at my desk. I ended thanking her for the call, and the apology, and wishing her a good weekend.
But do I really?
 The greatest accomplishment of Flynn’s military career was revolutionizing the way that the clandestine arm of the military, the Joint Special Operations Command (jsoc), undertook the killing and capture of suspected terrorists and insurgents in war zones. Stanley McChrystal, Flynn’s mentor, had tapped him for the job. source