Historically, when I see a doctor, it's usually been at the end of an ambulance ride. It was a given that they would do their damndest to reattach anything that had fallen off, and I would do mine to be a good patient and heal. If things didn't work out and the duct tape didn't hold, well, these things happen. That's why they call it "practicing" medicine. I figure if Eleanor of Aquitaine made it into her eighties in an age when doctors, rather than lawyers, were small blood-sucking invertebrates, I should get along just fine with the little contact with the profession I require; they leave me alone, and I leave them alone.
There's another subset of people who seem to enjoy being poked and prodded by physicians, and seek the opportunity out at every turn. I have a feeling that it is this set that generates 90% of the malpractice suits that make everything from ingrown toenail repairs to open heart surgery so expensive for the lot of us. When everything doesn't work out as planned in their encounter with modern medicine, they turn, not to a deep religious faith or a que sera sera outlook on life, but to the "L" section of the Yellow Pages.
It's gotten so bad that states are actually having to pass laws to allow doctors to say "I'm sorry" without it being thrown back at them in court.
Allow me to say it, too: Doc, I'm sorry some folks are such complete tools that you need legal protection in order to offer human sympathy. That's gotta suck.