She and I were gradually making our way around the hospital, but it was slow going. We had a lot of patients to see, and she kept getting calls from a crazy patient with millions of insane questions and complaints.
By late-afternoon Dr. Footdrop and I were on the 10th floor, rounding on the last few patients. There was a huge cellophane-wrapped tray of cookies in the middle of the nurses station, and we sat down to have some (it was the only food either of us had seen all day) and review the patients that were left.
While we were snacking, Mr. Crazy called for, literally, the 22nd time in 8 hours. Dr. Footdrop answered her phone, and spoke to him for about minute.
She suddenly leaned forward, and I thought she was getting another cookie. Instead, she grabbed a piece of cellophane. She held it next to the phone, began crinkling it up, and yelled, "I'm sorry, I've caught on fire, and can't talk!" Then she hung up.
Mr. Crazy never called back.