Poker metaphor? How original!

I'm gonna win first prize in this hold 'em tournament - a prescription drug.
Between me and easy living lies a huge field of competitors made up of other patients, overworked/undercaring medical assistants, flighty doctors, and a fucked up health care system that will gouge you financially and emotionally.
Oops, back to the metaphor. fratr


First, I need to find the doctor.
After waiting most of yesterday for her to call me back, her assistant does, only to tell me the doctor left and won't be back for a week. My rage over her negligence simmers to a boil. Early this morning, I begin a chain of phone calls that end in me finally locating, and even talking to, the doctor in her farther office, two trains away. "Come over and pick up the prescription," she says. "Just tell her you're from my other office and she'll let you in."
       It's early in the morning. I take my seat at the table, fully rested and ready for action. The early rounds proceed as normal, ebb and flow, gradually building a competitive stack of chips. By midday I've reached the midpoint of the tournament and am doing reasonably well.

Big Laydown

I arrive and am sent up, past absolute throngs of people who look like they've waited out their youths in those chairs.
Only to find another dense pack of idle, mopey-stared humanity. I stare at a flickering fluorescent and wonder whether I should try to fix it. After several exchanges of patients through the office/waiting room door, I realize she probably doesn't even know I'm there, so I wait for the next patient to leave.
       Every chip counts, so when I see this opportunity to take the pot, I go for it.

The door opens, and I quickly my my way over. Inside, the doctor is sitting at her desk, but blocking the doorway is a spry and vigilant medical assistant I didn't even know was there.
       I open with a raise, hoping everyone folds, but I'm immediately called by two people.

"I'm Joe, just here to pick up-"
       I make a continuation bet after the flop, if they missed it, they'll fold.

"Yes, just go downstairs and sign up on the clipboard," the sprynurse cuts me off.
       She raises. Probably has something...

I look past her to the doctor, who nods.
       The third player calls, also showing strength.

"Ok." I head downstairs.
       I just don't have the cards to beat them, so I fold.




Final Table

Downstairs, I'm told to go upstairs, again, but I relate the futility of that method. She gives me the clipboard to shut me up more than anything else.
       There's only 8 of us left, and I find myself alone in a hand with one of the bigger stacks of chips at the table. She's been a tough opponent, lying several times to my face. That's poker.

The snobby assistant takes the clipboard back and makes it clear that she'll be ignoring both it and me for as long as I care to wait uselessly.
       She checks, smugly.

I go outside to cool off, but I march right back and station myself right in front of her.
       I check too, we'll see the flop and I'll let her make the next move.

Without looking up, she says "You can sit in a chair while you wait."
She means "Go away."
       She bets half the pot.

"Chairs are all taken." (They were)
       I raise.

"Then you can go get some coffee."
       She re-raises.

"I don't drink coffee."
       I count up her stack and put her to a decision with a re-raise.
       She'll have to go all-in to call me.

"Okay, well..."
       She folds. I take down a huge pot and am that much closer to the finish line.



Last Hand
With no hope of getting in to see this doctor through any traditional means, and my frustration and need for medicine mounting by the second, it's time to act.
       This is it, heads-up poker between me and the only person remaining.

I bound back up the stairs and perch where I can see the door, watching for it to reopen and give me a two-second window to react.
       The cards are dealt.

It opens, I squeeze toward it, and reach it just slightly ajar.
       I'm first to act.

Inside, the doctor calls the next patient, a name I'll never remember, because I'm too busy pushing the door open, stepping inside, and closing it behind me.
       I'm all in.