Homo sapiens seem destined to suffer one of the more common fates of common folk after the end of totalitarian rule — war, chaos and brutal, if less total, exploitation at the hands of tyrants, oligarchs, warlords and military juntas.

Into this dire situation steps Jonnie, who proves that his genius isn’t just for armed insurrection but for diplomacy and great power politics as well. He outwits his enemies at the conference table, finds a way to settle the 60 trillion galactic credit debt that Earth discovers it owes to the Galactic Bank and threatens the assembled dignitaries and thugs into signing a treaty forbidding war forever. Then to top it all off, he draws on his recently acquired knowledge of ancient Earth economic theory to persuade them that their interests would be best served not by reaping wealth through war, as they’ve been accustomed to doing, but by introducing free market capitalism, and commercial banking, to the universes.

“There are other ways of handling economies,” Jonnie explains. “You could phase every war industry you have over to what is called ‘consumer production.’ You make things for the people. The people are employed. They make things for one another. Your people are your best market for your industries. … Your people, now starving and rioting, can become gainfully employed in peace industries. They can have things for themselves. Such things as better houses and furniture, better clothes, better food.”

It does not require an esoteric reading of Hubbard’s text, in other words, to identify conservative notions of the kind Romney seems to hold. It’s full of explicit commentary about the stupidity of taxes and the dangers of an overly intrusive state. The Earth government that Jonnie helps set up after the dust settles is a kind of paternalistic libertarian utopia, in which no one pays any taxes except what they volunteer as donations; the rest of the expenses are quietly covered from Jonnie’s personal account. There’s even an offhand insult of “some nut named Keynes,” whose bad theories Jonnie encounters while cramming for his meeting with the Galactic Bank.

Earth’s foreign policy, once the Psychlos are gone, is like a neoconservative fantasy of what the Forces of Freedom and Light could do if we had a Death Star and were willing to use it. Jonnie coerces the signatures on his pan-universal peace treaty by showing his rivals a holographic recording of the nuking and subsequent implosion of the Psychlo planet. He then calmly explains to them that he’ll do the same to their planets if they don’t comply. They sign, and freedom rolls forth.

Even for 1982, when the novel was published, it reads a bit retrograde in its earnest celebration of white guys kicking ass. There are almost no women, and the few who show up are virginally pure. There’s a sentimental ethnotyping of the various surviving human populations (Chinese people are good at cooking and understanding the rules of courtly etiquette; Scottish men all sound like Montgomery Scott and dress like highlanders). And the white guys are total Übermenschen. Jonnie himself was “a muscular six feet shining with the bronzed health of his 20 years,” with “corn yellow hair and beard,” and “ice-blue eyes.” It was as if Hubbard hadn’t gotten the memo that it wasn’t the 1940s anymore, when he and his buddy Robert Heinlein had helped work out the formula for this kind of high adolescent science fictional adventure tale.

But for all that, my guess — and I can only guess at this — is that it misses the point to assume that Romney likes the book for these reasons. I suspect he’s drawn to it more for the reasons I was.

I first read the novel when I was 12 or 13. I didn’t quote the above passages from memory, but you’ll have to trust me when I say that I knew exactly where to find them in the text when I booted it up on my iPad. “Battlefield Earth” is a ridiculous book, every bit the gargantuan exercise in nerd-boy wish fulfillment you’d expect from someone like Hubbard, who was such a nerd-boy bent on wish fulfillment that he invented a religion to fulfill his dreams of mastery and immortality.

But “Battlefield Earth” is also an incredibly exciting book, pulp of the pulpiest order. It’s the kind of adventure story that exerts a particularly strong pull, I’d wager, on boys of a certain age with a certain need to escape into, or project themselves into, heroic tales of conquest, mastery and moral clarity.

For me it was, I half-realized as a teenager and fully realize now, consolation. It was comfort food, compensation for my feelings of insecurity, inadequacy, anxiety.

I don’t think I read the whole, 1,000-plus-page thing through more than twice, but I read my favorite set pieces dozens of times. I read it late at night, when I should have been getting sleep for school. I read it, at times almost hungrily, when I was home on vacation from college. I read it to feel better, to feel nothing, to escape.

That’s not to say that there was nothing political about my attraction to the book, and to the hundreds of other such books I read. But the politics of it went deeper, into the muck of those psychological processes by which we process, deny or sublimate the data of the world, our fears, our fantasies. I wanted to save the world. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to vanquish enemies. I wanted good and evil to be clear. I wanted to run away. I wanted to escape the anxieties of my family, of school, of sexual desires that I had no real means of satisfying. A lot of the time I just wanted to disappear into the time-displacing comfort of a well-plotted adventure.

At a minimum Mitt Romney was 36 or 37 when he first read the book. I’m now 36, and though I haven’t read “Battlefield Earth” in a while, I’m not clean. I still read science fiction and fantasy, and though I’m wiser and more sophisticated than I was as an adolescent, when they exerted their strongest pull, that hasn’t meant discarding those parts of me that were formed by the books.

It hasn’t meant rejecting the books. It’s meant reckoning with the influence they’ve had on me, and with those parts of me that sought them out. It’s not wrong to want to save the world, be a hero, fight for the cause of justice, live a purposeful life. But it’s unserious to believe that these things are easy, that they can be achieved without sacrifice or compromise, that being heroic in one’s own life is going to look anything like what it looks like for Jonnie Goodboy Tyler. And it can be horribly toxic to continue as an adult to view the world through an unreconstructed Hubbardian lens. Women, I’ve learned, actually do exist. Death Star foreign policy is problematic in a number of ways. It’s not bogus left-wing literary theory to notice that aliens, in books like “Battlefield Earth,” are often proxies for the kinds of dark-skinned humans that we palefaces have historically had a hard time seeing as human. Problems like war, poverty, oppression and exploitation don’t just melt away when you set loose patriotic, super-resourceful, can-do capitalist-engineer-ninjas to do their thing.

The key question about Romney and “Battlefield Earth” — or Anne McCaffrey’s “Dragon Flight,” or Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game,” two other old favorites of mine that Romney’s mentioned liking — isn’t: What does it mean that he likes the book so much? I like the book. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that Barack Obama likes the book, or Karl Rove, or David Petraeus (all of whom have at least a glint of the nerd-boy about them). The question is what has Romney done with it? How has he reckoned with it?

What was going through his mind, back in the 1980s, when he came home at night after a long day of leveraged buyouts, when the kids were all in bed and he and his wife, Ann, lay side by side in their bed, she with her “Anna Karenina” and he with his “Battlefield Earth”? Did he see himself as heroic like Jonnie Goodboy Tyler? Was he saving companies from the Forces of Bad Management and Government Intrusion? Was he reading, instead, as an escape from the moral compromises of the work he was doing at Bain Consulting, which, however you slice it macroeconomically, didn’t meet the standards of moral purity that would have satisfied Jonnie Goodboy Tyler?

What does he think about the politics (explicit and implicit) of “Battlefield Earth” now that he’s running for president, and may soon end up in a position where he has to decide how to handle the Psychlos at home and abroad?

It seems unlikely that Romney’s going to engage these questions, and in the absence of such answers it’s inappropriate to go too far in analyzing him by way of the book. But it’s worth saying this: “Battlefield Earth” is in most respects a silly story, but for a lot of us it’s just such silly stories that have made us who we are. If Romney is elected president, he will wield enormous power over the people of Earth, and I have a feeling that somewhere in that psyche of his there’s the voice of Jonnie Goodboy Tyler, and L. Ron Hubbard, saying something about how to be righteous in the world. I hope for our sake, and for the sake of galactic peace and prosperity, that Romney has enough wisdom to take from those voices what’s good in them, and to keep the rest in proper perspective.

Russert isn’t the only famous child in media. He isn’t even the only famous child at NBC, which also employs Jenna Bush Hager and Chelsea Clinton (who renewed her three-month temporary contract earlier this year, despite barely producing any work for the network). Fox has Peter Doocy, Chris Wallace and, here in New York, Greg Kelly. ABC has Chris Cuomo, and CNN Anderson Cooper. A.G. Sulzberger is a reporter for the New York Times. Some of those people are fine journalists, by the way. Nepotism has always been a major force in journalism and media — it is a fact of life and one that would be exhausting to be continually het up about — and plenty of nepotism beneficiaries are wonderful writers and talented people. If you’re raised by interesting people and get a good education at home and at the finest schools, you really ought to turn out pretty smart. But Russert is emblematic of the sort of nepotism that gives nepotism a bad name. He’s not a wonderful writer or a particularly talented person. And unlike Chelsea Clinton and her very silly “reporting good news about people who do charity or something” beat, he’s actually got a real journalism job that someone else without the name Russert could be doing much more effectively. He’s not even particularly good on TV.

Russert in some respects more closely resembles a second-generation politician than a typical dynasty hire in journalism. Like Al Gore and Harold Ford Jr., he is a graduate of St. Albans — the elite Washington all-boys private school that molds little moderate politicians and self-consciously imitates the old New England boarding schools that used to serve the WASPs who ran the country — and like a junior Kennedy he’s decidedly less impressive than his tragic father. Russert spent his college years at Boston College acting basically like a well-off young meathead. (His sole notable achievement during those years was being the subject of one of the Internet’s very first “embarrassing Facebook photo of the child of a notable person” stories.) He was hired at NBC, in what most took to be a slightly unconventional corporate expression of grief, within months of his graduation with a communications degree.

He seems dimly aware that nepotism won him his job, but in denial as to the fact that it’s allowed him to keep it. As he told Howard Kurtz in 2010:

He knows what some colleagues and detractors say — that he wouldn’t be in this job if not for his last name. “I just try to really block that out,” Russert says. “The news media is a results-oriented business. I don’t think a company like NBC would pay me if I wasn’t qualified and wasn’t able to produce on this level…

“There will always be people who will say, ‘Oh, he’s only gotten where he is because of his father,’ and that certainly helped. But I’ve been able to stay here because of me.”

Denial of his extraordinary genetic luck for the sake of his self-respect is a common trope with poor Luke. He was using the same line in 2008, barely after he was hired: “Did my name get my foot in the door? Absolutely, I’ll be the first to admit that. But has my performance and ability got my butt through the door? Yes.” (In the same interview, Russert revealingly compared himself to Joe Buck, a second-generation sportscaster with an astoundingly enviable career, whom no one on Earth actually likes.) He also claimed to have absolutely no clue how he managed to score two much-sought-after (unpaid, natch) internships as a college student, at NBC and at Michael Bloomberg’s City Hall. “I went through the application process like anyone else,” he told the Times. (Russert had at least one other killer internship, too, at ESPN.)

But our target here is Russert, and he is not personally responsible for NBC’s decision to bequeath him a broadcasting job. If we focus on the work and not the means by which Russert got the job, things don’t look much better. Initially, at least, the grown-ups on the air always seemed to be holding Russert’s hand as he tried to remember his lines, as if he were a child and not a fully grown college graduate and professional. It’s obvious that everyone who knew his father loves Luke. But everyone’s affection for the kid is not transmissible through a television set, alas, and Russert’s appearances seemed like some rich guy’s kid’s piano recital suddenly taking place in the middle of a professional orchestra’s concert.

His initial role was as MSNBC’s semi-official “young person” correspondent, because reporting on what he himself was seemed the least ridiculous thing to have Luke Russert suddenly doing in a national cable news network’s presidential election coverage. And in his role as a young person reporting on what young people think of presidential politics, Russert sounded like an old person — like an old Washington lifer — talking about what he thinks the young people today are all about. (No self-respecting young person, to use one brief example, uses the term “millennial.“)

Here’s an early report:

This is like a master class in pointless political pseudo-analysis. All the resources and staff of MSNBC at his disposal, and the package still looks and sounds like it was put together for a high school civics class presentation. (I mean, except that Larry Sabato shows up halfway through. I guess it is professional Washington journalism!) Kids are turning off their reality TV and tuning into the real-life Amazing Race! Facebook and stuff, some experts say! Only time will tell. For MSNBC, I’m a person with no business having this job.

(This is the piece that Russert concluded by making a minor gaffe that set the right against him, for a moment: The “smartest kids in the state” go to UVA, he told Matt Lauer, so they naturally favor Obama. This was actually just poorly stated conventional wisdom, not really “liberal bias” — by “the smartest kids in the state” he meant, he later explained, kids “from affluent, highly educated households.”)

Months after hiring Russert, Steve Capus, president of NBC News, called him one of the network’s “rookies of the year,” which doesn’t reflect well on NBC’s 2008 rookie class. (Russert returned the favor with effusive praise for his boss.)

On the basis of his impressive reporting and ease in front of the camera still being named Russert, Luke was promoted, after the election, to congressional correspondent. That’s the contempt with which NBC News views the occupation of journalism. To make Luke Russert a congressional reporter is to say, “We believe that this job requires no particular knowledge, training or skills. If a German shepard could be trained to speak, it could perform this work.” (That’s true of most cable news work, granted, but it really doesn’t have to be.) Proper reporting on the House of Representatives is actually difficult and largely thankless work, generally done by very hardworking and underpaid reporters. The assignment was transparently NBC’s attempt to help Russert develop chops, and what it has yielded thus far is the time Charlie Rangel called Luke dumb, which MSNBC turned into a two-day story.

NBC seems to be keeping Russert employed in the hopes that he’ll eventually develop an ability to simulate gravitas. Hopefully “Meet the Press” will still be on the air by the time Luke has mastered his serious face.

His Twitter feed presents a perfectly dull person with perfectly banal thoughts. When he drifts into attempted solemnity it’s usually more amusing than his actual attempts at humor. (More quality insight, right here.) It’s precisely what you would imagine the result would be if the elite Beltway press somehow collectively raised a child from birth — which is, in effect, what actually happened. He subscribes to every shibboleth of Washington conventional wisdom and shows fealty to all the proper institutions.

When Jeff Himmelman wrote that the legendary Bob Woodward had misrepresented a few facts in “All the President’s Men,” Russert was outraged on behalf of the institution of Bob Woodward:

Pathetic the chattering class is trying to sell books and papers on issues of no substance attacking the most storied career in journalism.

— Luke Russert (@LukeRussert) May 1, 2012

Luke. “The chattering class” is you. (And Bob Woodward, whose singular goal for the last 35 years or so has been “trying to sell books.”)

A popular reoccurring trope in Russert tweets and interviews is his deep respect for the politicians he is lucky enough to cover. “No matter how much I disagree w pols,” he writes, “I always respect their desire to stand up for their views & put their family through hell 2 win.”

To Kurtz, again:

Unlike most journalists, he describes covering Congress as “a real honor.”

“I have a real respect for them. While a lot of folks view them as the epitome of everything that’s wrong with America now, it takes a lot to put yourself out there in the public sphere, and your family.”

What if some pols’ views, if they even have any to speak of, are not worth standing up for? Was putting the family through hell worth it then? The 435 people who make up the House of Representatives are, on average, no nobler or wiser than any randomly selected group of 435 Americans. In many cases the members of Congress are much dumber and more craven than the people they represent (they’re also, on average, richer, whiter and much more likely to be male). To Luke Russert, though, they are noble public servants, and to love America is to respect its political elite. This is a classic symptom of Beltway myopia: mistaking the politicians for democracy. The greatest moment in politics, for Luke Russert, was the time the president argued in circles with Eric Cantor for a while, on TV, and no one came away having changed their mind.

Because he is being groomed to be a simulacra of his father, and because he is merely a jukebox for the cliches and conclusions of the elders grooming him, Russert can get tripped up when attempting to be Broderian on the fly. Dylan Ratigan threw him for a loop when he challenged him on the eternal wiseness of bipartisan-approved “free trade” deals — Russert just laughed, nervously and idiotically, when faced, for what was probably the very first time in his life, with actual arguments against making it easier for American corporations to gain access to cheap and easily exploitable foreign labor.

Ratigan: My Colombian, the Colombian deal’s my favorite. That’s a big job creator. Whaddya say we do a deal with the only country in the world that openly murders all labor organizers, to ensure that they will never ask for a raise ever.

L’il Luke: Well, Colombia, though, in all fairness, Colombia has had massive strides in improvement in terms of their security. I mean, you’re bringing up something that George Miller–

Ratigan: But I’m saying the murder rate of union organizers on a per capita–

L’il Luke: Well, that’s why there’s Democratic opposition in the House for it right now and they have to figure out that, you know, technicality there.

Just a little technicality! A minor bump on the road to a reassuring, job-creating compromise!

Dylan was just having a bit of fun with Luke, there. A few months later they bonded over their shared love of Seriousness About The Deficit. From Luke’s pious, pitch-perfect, impossible-to-parody script on a sad display of partisanship:

If you look at the backdrop, Dylan, just look at the stats. Federal revenue now is at its lowest level since 1950. If you extend the Bush tax cuts the way the Republicans want, you get $3.8 trillion added to the deficits. If you add them the way Democrats want, you get $3 trillion added over the next three years. If you don’t do anything to Medicare or Medicaid or social security, those programs will not be solvent.

Both parties don’t want to tell the American people it’s time to drink their tough medicine.

Both parties are going to try to take 2012 as the avenue to have this debate further. But as this debate goes on and on and on, the real difficult decisions, the real ideas of how are we going to cut this deficit, they go unanswered.

All so folks can can get re-elected, continue to get their $174,000 salaries, and the beat goes on and on. The special interests get rich, the parties can argue and argue and argue.

Really, nothing sums up contemporary American media and politics better than a twerp like Luke Russert sternly announcing that we’ll all soon have to get used to taking our “tough medicine.”

In fact, the first lines of the report return to the supposedly resolved issue of sex ads on Craigslist: “Prostitution ads are back on Craigslist. If they ever left in the first place.” As the report explains, shortly after the adult section was shuttered, AIM reviewed the classified site and found that “there were few if any blatant ads for prostitution.” But now, AIM has found that “ads that appear to be for paid sex work are posted regularly” on Craigslist. Granted, the numbers are much lower than they were before the site closed its “adult services” section — and specific stats weren’t available ahead of this writing — but “some [ads] were as blatant as they were” before the closure, and a subset included terms like “barely legal” (which is often used to signal the opposite: underage girls).

In addition, AIM found sex ads on mainstream sites like Facebook, Tumblr and Twitter. Mostly, these ads come in the form of Facebook pages, blog posts or tweets advertising an escort service or individual sex workers. Researchers also found such ads on YP.com and About.com (interestingly, the latter is owned by the New York Times Co., which employs Kristof, arguably the most vocal critic of Backpage).

The release lays out the financial benefit to hosting such ads: “Whether free or paid, listings and ads for escort services and similar adult content frequently serve a business purpose for sites like About.com and YP.com,” the report explains. “They drive traffic and page-views; they deliver legitimate results for seemingly (or pseudo-) legitimate businesses; and they provide search results with adjacent paid or pay-per-click ads, which can generate revenue as they are served.”

The volume of these ads is nowhere near that on Backpage, but AIM’s finding shows how easily sex ads proliferate online, even in “legitimate” online venues. Keeping these ads from popping up online is like trying to keep frogs in a bucket.

Asked to comment on whether this latest research poses a challenge to the effort to shut down Backpage’s adult section, Peter M. Zollman, founding principal of AIM, said, “Ads for prostitution are in hundreds or thousands of places online, and anyone looking for them can find them. Backpage and Craigslist are just two sites, and both have taken pretty aggressive steps to eliminate ads involving trafficking in children.” The AIM report doesn’t look specifically at the existence of trafficking ads, as opposed to general sex ads, but as anti-trafficking activists have told me, they see the two as inseparable.

Update: A publicist from About.com tells me the site is “in the process of removing any pages from About.com that include links to escort services” and says “they represent a very small percentage of overall pages on About.com.”

Eli is 5 now, and we’ve watched the first one, but I want it to be a rite of passage – and I want to make sure that I watch it with him. So every year, it’s the next one. He’ll look forward for a whole year to his 6th birthday and “The Empire Strikes Back.” When he turns 7, we’ll watch “Return of the Jedi.” And then we’ll probably start them over. Those first three films were just so pure. (I won’t show him the other ones until later. This is about the three that I grew up with.)

My dog was named Luke Skywalker. Even now when I come out to pitch, they play the “Imperial March.” So I have had some good times with it. The thing that resonates with me, that I want my son or my daughters to cling to, is just that quintessential human emotion of hope that runs through every episode. In fact, I think the title of the very first one is “A New Hope.” I want to be able to communicate that to my son – the essence of what hope is and how you see it played out in the movies. But there’s so much more there. It sets the stage for great conversation. It’s very relatable. Hey, remember when Luke was tempted by the dark side in “Star Wars”? Well, you know — it happens. Here are some ways to deal with it. So it’s perfect.

My favorite is “The Empire Strikes Back,” when Luke finds out who his father really is, and is destroyed by it, just utterly dejected. But his whole being is not destroyed – there’s still hope. That scene: I know there’s still good in you. There’s good in you. I sense it. And, of course, as a kid I remember liking all the fights and the spaceships — all that just makes your imagination go.

When you’re young and in the moment, you’re captivated by the pure entertainment value. I wanted to be Luke Skywalker. I wanted a Princess Leia on my side. But as I grew, I saw it through a different lens. You see so many movies, and you might take something from one, but most you just forget about. What’s neat about “Star Wars,” the trilogy, is that I’ve reflected on that hundreds and hundreds of times, especially since growing into an adult and thinking about life lessons that are relatable and why people develop the way they do. It certainly motivated me to think beyond the box.

My girls are 10 and 8, and they’ve both seen the trilogy. Sometimes I feel like a professor teaching the same class. What’s great now is that we own them, of course. We have them all in HD — we’re not watching them on a scratchy, grainy VHS like I had to all those years ago.

A natively cheerful demeanor isn’t a requirement for being a competent healer. But what is far too often lost in our grueling, impersonal and cost-driven healthcare system is the basic fact that a human being in the chaotic and scary world of injury or illness deserves sensitivity and compassion. That a shivering person in a paper dress deserves dignity. So if you’re a doctor, nurse or technician, here’s your reminder. And if you’ve ever been a patient, we’d love to read your own additions to the list.

Take your hand off the goddamn doorknob already.

We know you are incredibly busy and important and that your office has wildly overbooked your schedule today. You know what, though? It’s not our job to streamline your day. Conveying information while you’re walking out the door may work if you’re a character on “Revenge,” but it’s a crummy way to have a conversation with a person about his or her health. We just sat out in the waiting room for 45 minutes reading last week’s hype-trolling issue of Time magazine; we’ve sat here in a robe for a half-hour looking at the pain assessment chart. Now you can at least pretend to give us your full attention for the five minutes you’re prodding our vulnerable, unclad bodies. You’ll immediately rise in our esteem.

Dr. Carma Bylund, director of the CommSkil program at Memorial Sloan-Kettering, notes that studies have shown that “when a doctor comes into the room and sits down with the patient, the patient perceives the visit as longer. The doctors are at eye level; they’re attentive — and they can’t put a hand on the doorknob.”

Remember that this random collection of faulty parts is a person.

At a Times talk last winter, Will Reiser, the writer of “50/50,” admitted he’d loosely based the poker-faced oncologist of the film on his own doctor, referring to him as “a mechanic” who saw him as the car he had to fix. It was a generous assessment of clinical sangfroid, one that acknowledged that nobody wants a doctor who’s lacking in the professional boundaries department. But that doesn’t mean you should let yourself turn into a robot.

Early in my treatment, I had a doctor on my clinical trial bring in a team of research fellows to look at “the tumor.” That the tumor had a sentient human host seemed utterly irrelevant to him. And when my friend Ariel had a miscarriage, the sonogram technician confirmed it by briskly announcing, “Yup, no heartbeat,” and walking out of the room. This is what is known, in medical terms, as a nightmare.

You may deal in tumors and miscarriages in a revolving door of horrible things all day long, but your patients live in a very different world. Their tumors and miscarriages and dying parents are pretty important to them. The moment they become trivial to you, seriously rethink why you ever wanted to do this for a living.

Consider that the patient is telling you something the charts don’t.

“I had one endocrinologist clearly point out during my exam all of the physical characteristics that lead him to believe I was hypothyroid and had adrenal function issues,” says my friend Alice. “He pointed out stretch marks (without childbirth). He pointed out dry skin. He pointed out my premature gray hair (specifically a prevalent streak near my forehead). My weight gain and inability to lose weight. Quite a few other characteristics. But the lab tests came back ‘normal’ and that is literally what he offered me. ‘Your tests say normal so there is nothing wrong.’” Can you understand why Alice was exasperated?

Most of us truly get it that doctors don’t know everything. We don’t expect all-seeing miracle workers. And we understand that some patients are either incapable of giving accurate information or are just plain wrong about what they believe they have. But a person who is suffering, who is symptomatic, is entitled to a fair and thorough investigation – and if you can’t provide it, please, suggest somebody who can. Don’t shrug off pain with a blasé suggestion of Tylenol or cutting out dairy and not even look at the person. Instead, be like the doctor who once told me, “There’s always something more we can do for a patient.” Do something more.

Accept that we didn’t go to medical school

You know how you’re rattling off protocols and surgery plans and fancy words for body parts we didn’t even know we had? Whoa whoa whoa – slow down there, partner. You’re talking to someone who may not know a colostomy from a semicolon. Your rapid-fire delivery is intimidating and scary. It makes us feel stupid and bothersome, like we should know all this stuff and not ask questions.

“Doctors forget that the minute a patient hears bad news or that there’s a problem, patients stop listening,” says my doctor friend Joe. “Or if they hear anything, they’re hearing incomplete info. The onus then is on us to find ways to help patients understand what just happened, whether it’s writing down instructions, calling a patient later in the day after the dust settles, or simply asking a patient to repeat something back.”

“Healthcare providers often have a kind of script,” adds Dr. Bylund. “They may have certain things they may always say to everybody. We teach doctors to check patients’ understanding and use that to tailor consultation to the person’s needs. Say things like, ‘Tell me what you know about your disease,’ or ‘Tell me what your last doctor said.’ And we show them how people’s past experiences may impact their choices now.” Maybe we don’t know anything about Parkinson’s. Maybe we know a harrowing amount because of what Mom went through, and we’re frightened to death of it. Start with what we know before you dump everything you know on us.

Leah Berkenwald, a health communication student and writer, says, “What good is the diagnosis or treatment if a patient cannot understand it or follow instructions? What is often deemed noncompliance is often a result of a failure to communicate.” And, she says, “It doesn’t matter how good a physician is at diagnosis or treatment if the patient doesn’t understand what they’re supposed to do, how to do it, or why it matters. Medical knowledge and clinical skill become moot when a physician makes assumptions about their patients’ cultural values, beliefs and practices.”

Talk frankly about how we’ll pay for this – and don’t assume anything

As Salon reader Lila says, “The calculation about what choices are available to me seems to be made before I hear the medical advice … Don’t get me wrong, it can be tricky for individuals to figure out how to afford healthcare, and I’m glad for healthcare professionals’ sensitivity to that. But when my husband was being sent home from the hospital — too early, we felt — a problem came to light: The doctor finally said she too felt it was too early but said the insurance wouldn’t pay another day. In fact she was wrong (and the insurance ultimately did pay another day), but more problematic is that she made a decision to discharge based upon something other than medical reasons — and we didn’t know that was happening.”

Nobody – on either the medical or patient end – wants to get walloped with a contentious bill. So talk to us so we can work together to get the most care for the buck. Don’t treat us like dirtbags if we’re out of network or uninsured, either; work with us to find other options. And you can pass that tidbit on to your office staff. Imagine what it feels like to be both sick and poor — now imagine what it’s like to add “demeaned” to your list of problems.

All of us, even the strongest among us, find ourselves on the business end of the stethoscope sometimes. And though it seems pretty basic, I’ll let a real doctor say it so you take it seriously: “Ultimately, health and wellness have a lot to do with the comfort a patient has with a doctor. You’ll give better information when you have a doctor who makes you feel secure,” says Dr. Bylund. When you’re compassionate to us, we’ll show up for our checkups. We’ll be honest about conditions and circumstances, because we aren’t afraid of being shamed or judged. We’ll still put our faith in science, and accept that pain and sickness are sometimes unavoidable. But we’ll be less scared when we walk through those very scary doors. And though we’ll do our best to ward off disease, we’ll gladly submit to something infectious – the power of being decent, and your faith in us.