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The Illness Coach

Jamie was a genius. Outwardly, a picture of health; inwardly, a seething caldron of resentment, self-centredness, compassion, wisdom and pure drivel.

His [the] world was comprised of two groups of people, those temporarily well, and those ‘under the doctor.’ To confuse matters, you could be well, and under the doctor.

At the hub of this world was the hospital, the sickness factory. At one end of the hospital was an endless queue; in the middle were pills, injections and operations; and at the other end were side-effects, drug dependency, crutches, prescriptions and appointments.

As a baby, you needed injections. A sugary diet. Fluoridated water. Pills? The sooner the better.

Tune in for adverts for colds, flu, bad breath, ‘heartburn’, acne, athlete’s foot, indigestion, headaches, migraine, tooth decay, gum disease, wrinkles, thinning hair, thickening waistlines, DVT, sore throat, and very soon, depression, misery & global warming.

How are your energy levels? Low? Your immune system? Shot? Your world view? Hopeless? Call Jamie the Illness Coach!

Like all of us, Jamie had hidden depths. He knew at an unconscious level, we all made ourselves ill. In unguarded moments, he would talk about the obvious:

“Leaving aside the addictive nature of nicotine, anyone who smokes has decided to kill themselves. Hardly anyone will admit to it. The medical evidence is overwhelming. Consume something that contains hundreds of carcinogens, and what’s the likely outcome?

And everyone knows if you don’t do any exercise, eat junk food, drink to excess, and generally abuse your body, you’re going the same way.”

But none of his confidants would accept this:

“Our bodies are designed to last hundreds of years. There are accounts of people living to incredible ages millennia ago. Of course even fewer believe this than believe they are responsible for their own health. All this b******s about rich people dying, being preserved then being brought back to life at great cost. It’s driven by medical technology, and yet again it side steps very neatly the issue of ‘lifestyle.’”

And if anyone heard his views about Hitler, he would lose his clients, and probably end up in jail:

“People ask me about good and evil. There’s probably not a sane person on the planet who wouldn’t describe Hitler and the Nazi’s as evil. However, we’re into the power of labelling. Recently I saw a TV drama about the re-introduction into society of a convicted child killer. In the drama, when the crime was committed, he was called [understandably] a ‘monster.’ And his victim an ‘angel.’

Consider this, how would it have been possible if millions of people had decided Hitler and his ilk were dangerous and should be resisted at all costs, before he built the war machine. They didn’t, and their nationality is irrelevant. This kind of thing has happened, and is happening all around the world. And there are people in the West in power now, who have recent descendants who were Nazi collaborators.

The fact remains that enough people on the planet are still mired in violence, vengeance, and pride translating itself into racism. They are fearful, and fear is the breeding ground for the Ministries of Truth and War.

Hitler was doing what he thought was right for his followers. Even ‘the devil’ Hitler has a soul. The problem since time began is serpents and apples, monsters and angels, our superior God, us and them.”

Jamie remembered when he was a kid. He had to be genuinely ill to stay in bed and get his ‘Lucozade’. His dad could spot lead swinging halfway across the country. His parents were never, ever ill. But like all kids he did succumb to colds, and the odd more serious illness.

His conclusions? Illness is garbage, but it can [especially for others who had different role models] be rewarding…

Jamie had a very privileged childhood. His parents were business people, and he lacked nothing. Then came the war. It traumatised him. His compassion button was pressed, often. He saw the consequences of the racial superiority mind-set first hand. After the war he decided to become a nurse.

During his years as an ‘angel’ he knew the pills, operations and injections were the technology of his calling; but love, care and unspoken permission to get better were the real healers.

However, the decades of pills, operations and injections had taken their toll. Jamie knew the market for the truth was infinitely smaller than the drug company and media fuelled frenzy that had become the accepted wisdom.

The illness industry was bigger than the crime industry. Hospitals, surgeries, drug companies, drug company suppliers, accident and emergency services, the police, drug addicts, social services, alcoholics anonymous, health and safety, insurance companies, IT suppliers, ‘agony aunts’, the broadcasting media, employers, employees, parents, kids, pets, farms, supermarkets, utility companies, the civil service, local and national government; everything and everyone.

In fact the whole world is embroiled in the illness industry, just as it is with the crime industry.

Stressed? It can only get worse!

Twinge? Have it removed!

Unnaturally well? It’s only a matter of time!

Already dead? Qualify for a bonus!

Jamie’s promotions were considered a little excessive by his former employers, yet his uncompromising messages never failed to reel ‘em in, because they all struck a chord. In some ways it was beyond satire, but he carried on:

Relaxed? Enjoy it while you can!

Pain? Order the wooden box!

Had enough of this life? Haven’t we all?

Just plain unwell? You ain’t seen nothing yet!

He had arrangements with and sponsorship from funeral directors, care homes, drug companies [especially for drug trials-Aids anyone?], coffin makers, house clearance companies, charity shops and script writers. It was all done in questionable taste, but hey, ‘You too can afford to be ill!’

Was Jamie’s addictive strap line. Yes he knew there were still millions of people who would crawl into work and infect their colleagues rather than swing the lead at home. And millions who would not get paid if they didn’t work. But take the financial pressure off [or at least make the patient think it was], and you were in spot, migraine, cough, puss, ache and pain paradise.

Jamie’s best product was the Cradle to Grave Illness Plan. The sooner you became ‘gravely’ ill, the better for all concerned, except of course, for you, the plan buyer. Indeed a [very shortened] lifetime of illness had the industry top dogs dancing.

Jamie’s skills enabled him to embed the belief that illness was a good thing, indeed the only thing. In its wake was total susceptibility to advertising messages, and a disposition to consume anything which made you ill. 

Why feel alone at Xmas? Get ill!

The best illness products-wallow, moan and suffer guilt-free

Surgical collars-you never know when you will need one!

Do nothing- but call Jamie!

What the Illness Coach could never fathom, was how he was seemingly never ill, save for a recurring headache. It wasn’t for the lack of trying. He was a walking pill box, and as all pills have side effects, it was miracle he was still above ground. On several occasions, he fell into holes, but always came up smiling. The chance of an allergic reaction? He would stuff his head in the nearest shrub.

For a higher premium, Jamie would watch your skin for any changes to brown areas. Wasn’t cancer just around the corner waiting like a rat in a drain?

His last client saw him as a suitable case for treatment. She had bought into the illness scam, but couldn’t work out how Jamie [who was in his mid-70’s] could still function, given the poison he was peddling.

Like a very uncomfortable majority of clients, she wondered if she could hasten his departure from the earth plane, at least before she keeled over. But her conscience got the better of her. She watched as Jamie threw a salvo of pills down his neck, and waited for the confused state to kick in. She then said to him:

‘Jamie, I know you like falling in holes.’

Aghast that his attempts to attract pity, sympathy and a week off work had been rumbled he shrieked:

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t bulls*** me. We’ve all seen through you, but can’t see through ourselves. So listen for once in your life. You walk down the street, and there is a deep hole in the pavement? You fall in, you are lost, and you are helpless. But it isn’t your fault is it?

‘Of course not’, spluttered Jamie.

‘Sometimes, walking down the same street, you know the hole is there, but pretend you don’t see it and fall in again. You can’t believe you are in the same place? You can, but still think it’s not your fault. And it still takes a long time to get out.’ *

Jamie was speechless.

‘When you walk down that same street, and there is the deep hole in the pavement, and you fall in? Well, look this time. You’ll probably fall in, because it’s a habit. But perhaps you might realise where you are, and get out a bit quicker.’

The Illness Coach was well and truly rumbled.

 

‘So, the next time you walk down the same street, and there is a deep hole in the pavement, how about walking around it?’

Jamie, who by this time was coming out of a deep trance, in which his whole life had flashed before him, gasped:

‘I’ve a much better idea. I’ll walk down another street…’

Jack Stewart, December 2007.

* Thanks to the Autobiography in Five Short Chapters by Portia Nelson