People Would Rather Die Than Be Wrong
You are walking through the world with a raft on your back. You have mistaken it for a spine. You think you are carrying something that saves lives. You are not. You are carrying something that ended them, and you will keep carrying it because putting it down would require you to say the one sentence the nineteenth-century medical establishment could never say, the one sentence that would have saved those women in Vienna, England, Sweden, and Germany, the one sentence that might still save someone, somewhere, if enough people found the courage to say it out loud:
I was wrong. And people died because of it.