or he will spit in your soup.
That is how I look at medical care, too.
If you are a morbidly obese (I'm talking 500 pounds at least) person being transferred to the hospital from a nursing rehabilitation facility, and you need help to do every little thing, it would behoove you to at least not be hostile toward everyone who comes near you.
The minute you were wheeled in, we immediately called facilities management to order a large bed. It doesn't help for you to scream and yell about it, threaten to sue everyone who comes near you, and tell everyone that in two minutes you are going to "get out of this stretcher and start killing people."
When your bed does show up less than a half-hour later, and six people (doctors and nurses and techs and anyone we can muster up) struggle to transfer you into it, perhaps you could thank them, or perhaps help a little to move yourself instead of calling them all motherfuckers and yelling "WATCH IT YOU ARE KILLING MY BALLS YOU FUCKS!"
When your nurse (me!) comes over to offer you something to eat (now THAT's carrying coals to Newcastle...but I digress) and to start your antibiotics and help you pee by maneuvering a bedpan under your gigantic swollen scrote and tries to be nice to you, making sure you are comfortable in your humungous bed, please DO NOT EVER drop your cell phone on the floor, and when I bend over to get it, say, "Nice caboose!" and then mention that sometimes there are naked people on the discovery channel and I should stay to watch with you. (seriously, CABOOSE?!? It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.)
Also, it would be really great if you didn't yak on your cell phone for an hour, cursing up a storm, thoroughly embarrassing the little old lady with the broken shoulder on the other side of the curtain. "Why does he have to say those things?" She whispers to me. "He doesn't seem very nice."