Science fiction is in many ways a literature of stereotypes. Often it does not so much praise science as show us when and how to fear it. Science is fearsome when it puts power in the hands of someone who feels too little obligation to subordinate him- or herself for the community, someone who feels unrestrained by the dictates of god or needs of humanity. It is not too false a stereotype to see women much more than men as sacrificing for others. How many Noras have fled their doll's house compared to the number of men who just couldn't be bothered raising their children? Women tend to stick, to nurture, to suffer, not inevitably, of course, but often in reality and very often in stereotype. Louis Pasteur is an icon of intellect, Florence Nightingale of selfless compassion. This is a matter that science fiction typically does not want to address, but when it does, it is disproportionately women who show us the way, who make clear that the only good doctor is the doctor who puts his (or, in McIntyre's exemplary case, her) welfare after that of the patient. The SF exploration of medicine, in Keyes and Wiener and Wilhelm and Sheldon, makes us feel that we are misspending our funds by supporting such people.

If one were to read science fiction about medicine out of one's common humanity, it would put one on guard. If one were to read it as a physician, one would draw one clear lesson: learn humility and service or society will abandon you; the pursuit of medicine, even for the ostensible good of others, will be crippled. The future of medicine, science fiction tells us, will be molded not only by the minds of doctors but by their characters.