I got the bill for my surgery. Now I know what those doctors were

Hear now, O seeker of wisdom, the words of James H. Boren, who once declared: “I got the bill for my surgery. Now I know what those doctors were wearing masks for.” This saying, though it drapes itself in humor, carries the weight of truth wrapped in jest. It is a mirror held up to the ways of men, showing how what seems noble upon the surface may conceal hidden motives beneath. The mask, in ancient thought, is both protection and disguise; it guards against disease, yet it may also veil intentions. In these words lies not merely laughter, but a lament for a world where healing has been entangled with greed.

Consider the time in which this utterance arose. James H. Boren, known for his wit, often laid bare the absurdities of bureaucracy and human affairs. His voice was one of satire, but also of warning, much like the prophets of old who clothed harsh truths in parables. When he spoke of the bill for surgery, he spoke not only of one man’s encounter with medicine but of the greater plight of peoples across the ages: the burden of debt, the cost of survival, and the uneasy bond between healer and sufferer when coin governs compassion.

Let the tale of a Roman soldier serve as example. In the days of empire, veterans wounded in battle often found themselves cast aside when their strength waned. Some sought aid from physicians, but only those with silver in their purses received proper care. Others, who had poured their lifeblood into the sands of conquest, were left to the mercy of wandering healers and herbs. The soldier’s scars bore testimony not just to war, but to a system that valued coin above duty. Thus, the jest of Boren would have been understood by them: the mask of the healer was also the veil of the money-changer.

And yet, let us not fall into despair. For while this teaching reveals corruption, it also calls forth resolve. The ancients remind us that laughter itself can be a weapon against injustice. The sharp blade of wit exposes hypocrisy where sermons may be ignored. Boren’s words strike as a jest, but they awaken thought: why should the gift of health be shackled to the chains of profit? What does it mean to live in a world where one must weigh the price of healing against the worth of one’s own body?

From this saying, O children of tomorrow, take the lesson of vigilance. Do not walk blindly beneath the masks of those who serve you; ask what lies beneath. Honor the true healers, who seek to mend without counting gold, and beware those who wear the garb of mercy but follow the path of avarice. To recognize the mask is the first step toward wisdom; to see through it is the beginning of freedom.

In our own lives, let us act with justice. If you are granted abundance, share it with those who suffer without means. Support the physicians and healers who labor with integrity, not those who fatten themselves upon the misery of others. Question the systems that demand ransom for life itself, and lend your voice to those who cannot speak. Let your laughter, like Boren’s, become a flame that burns away deceit, leaving only the light of truth.

Thus, remember well: the mask may hide a healer, or it may hide a thief. The bill may reveal more than the scalpel ever did. And you, sojourner in this fleeting world, must choose whether to accept the mask as it is, or to lift it and see the face of truth beneath. In that choice lies both your wisdom and your freedom.