Best of the Cheerful Oncologist - The Sales Pitch, Part II

[Editor's Note: We haven't heard from him, but we're sure the C. O. is having a jolly time on his spring break.]

The Sales Pitch, Part II - Please Release Me, Let Me Go

As we pick up the story, our main character had just found himself trapped in his office by a feisty pharmaceutical representative eager to pierce his eardrums with a long-bow full of crisp, well-rehearsed questions designed to match the creases of her black suit.

What was this amazing product that must be seen to be believed, if not purchased by all? Let's set the scene, just like they do on those intellectually challenging television programs:

The time: just minutes into the post-meridian, when empty stomachs of all sizes are filing into the hospital cafeteria, eyeing the victuals like a bear who has just wandered into a fishmonger's shop.

The moods of the Dramatis Personae: Oncologist - a rather pathetic look of interest, attempting to mask the kettle-drum of borborygmi coming from his inner self. Office staff: lip-smacking, mixed in with silent chortling. Big Pharma rep.: unbearable sprightliness.

I usually don't eat the lunch provided by drug reps - not that I hold a grudge against pungent steaming aluminum pans of mostaccioli or garlic chicken, or bags of potato chips large enough to use as sleeping bags, or home-made chili. It's just not what I race down the hall for when I'm ready to reload the metabolism for the afternoon's labors. Speaking of the daily schedule, I certainly don't find any joy in getting stuck in a long-winded presentation while my patients are thumbing through the July 1986 edition of Family Circle, wondering what happened to their doctor. Depending upon the layout of the office, I can sometimes slither out the back way during a sales call without encountering the reps. Today, however, unless I was ready to squeeze through the laboratory window, which might have created a stir from the pedestrians below, I was trapped. Therefore stiffening the sinews, if not summoning up a little blood from its cowardly hideout, I marched forth and greeted the salesperson with about as much enthusiasm as when one picks up the car from valet parking.

It is interesting to see the different tactics used by pharmaceutical salespeople. From my own experience I have encountered all types of reps - those pushing hard-sell tactics and those using the soft sell, reps who are overloaded with facts, reps who know every doctor, celebrity, and celebrity-doctor in town, and those who ooze with unctuous gratitude everytime I mention their product. My tete-a-tete today was with what looked to be a retired cheerleader who had recently taken up the cause of better health. The medication in question was one I did use, so I listened respectfully to her presentation, or at least I tried to show as much interest as if I was selecting a pair of socks. As the minutes ticked off I tried to think of a genteel way to terminate our visit, such as faking an attack of beriberi, but ended up abandoning any idea of an impassioned exit and meekly asked:

"Do you have any literature you could send me?"

It is always a pleasure to learn of the latest advances in my chosen field, and I am grateful to the long years of research and development that goes into every new chemotherapy or biological treatment. I also humbly acknowledge the role played by pharmaceutical representatives whose mission is to disseminate information like Johnny Appleseed strewing whatever it was he strewed. When it comes to saving trees, however, drug companies seem to have a distinct lack of interest in conserving this vital natural resource. I know this because ever since I queried that drug rep I have had to climb a six-foot ladder to get over the pyramid of medical propaganda that is piled on my desk. Fortunately for me I have an efficient filing system for such contingencies.