Death to the Wii Fit Trainer!

After returning from my exciting hour at the hospital, I decided to indulge in that perennial hobby of modern America- namely, trying to lose a few pounds.

So I got out the Wii Fit, chased the kids away from the TV (if I don't, they watch me exercise, like some sort of studio audience from hell, and make sarcastic comments).

I did some strength training exercises, as demonstrated by the Wii Fit trainer. For those of you don't have a Will Fit, this is a buff-looking computer animated trainer, male or female, that demonstrates exercises and tries to give you encouragement.

At one point, while balancing on one leg, I fell off and twisted my ankle. I'm lying there on the floor, in pain, holding it and trying to figure out if I broke something.

And while I'm lying there clenching my teeth, the Wii Fit trainer suddenly notices my weight is no longer on the balance board, and starts talking smack! "Hello? Are you still there? Where did you go? Your muscles aren't going to train themselves, you know!"

Without even thinking, and clouded with pain, I yelled "Shut the F--K up you digital a**hole!!!"

I looked up to see all 3 kids staring at me in shock. And Mrs. Grumpy looking REALLY pissed. All 3 dogs immediately ran away down the hall, realizing that this was NOT a good time for them to take my side.

I am in DEEP trouble.

Stupid Wii Trainer. This is all his fault.

Fun With Alcoholics

I got woken up this lovely Sunday to do a hospital consult. So I slugged down a Diet Coke and dragged myself in.

It was a guy in alcohol withdrawal (or "DT's" as we say in the medical biz).

Normally I'm used to these guys seeing bugs or animals crawling all over, but today I got something, uh, different.

I went into the patient's room. He was tied down to the bed (they usually are until they start to clear).

He thought he was at a pizza joint!

He offered me pizzas of various types, thick and thin crust, various toppings. As we talked he flirted with an imaginary waitress and spoke to imaginary friends that were going in and out of the restaurant.

He also kept asking if someone would bring him some Parmesan cheese and (of course) another pitcher of beer.

Why Didn't I Ever Get This Stuff?

The good old days of drug reps giving us pens, paper clips, and other pointless promotional items officially ended on January, 1, 2009. I miss them.

This was something the Viagra reps apparently gave to urologists. Regrettably, being a neurologist, I never received one.

New Antibiotics Research, Maybe...

I just had to put this up. It is so gross. Basically, an office refrigerator in San Jose was so full of moldy food that a Hazmat team had to be called to clean it.

Does Anyone Else Get These Calls?

Alright, so I saw a guy 9 years ago, when I worked for (or was enslaved by) a different practice. I haven't seen him since I left there in 2000.

He called my office today to make an appointment, so my secretary was getting his info. As it turned out I'm not contracted with his current insurance.

So does he cancel the appointment to go elsewhere? Does he ask what my cash pay rates are?

NO! He begins SCREAMING at my secretary over the phone! And I mean SCREAMING! I was up front faxing stuff, and I could hear him yelling from 15 feet away, over the clatter of the fax machine!

He was, I swear, claiming that the doctor-patient relationship is a lifelong binding contract, and that I am legally obligated to see and treat him free of charge for the rest of his life (or mine, I guess).

I got on the phone to calm him down. Didn't work. Instead, he told me he is going to sue me for not taking his insurance.

I thanked him for calling and hung up. You can't reason with the unreasonable.

Uh, What Are We Refilling Here?

This is weird. And it's real. I promise I didn't photoshop this. The only thing I did was take out as much identifying stuff as I could find.

This is a fax I got from Walgreens, to refill meds. I get lots of these every day. I sign and fax them back. But this one caught my eye.

In the middle of the script, right after the patient's address, is the phrase "Give a dog treat always!"

I have no idea why it's there. The patient isn't a dog. She doesn't even have a dog.

Astounded, I called Walgreens. The pharmacist didn't know why it was there, either. He also doesn't have a dog.

(click to enlarge)

Those Whacky Brain Surgeons!

Okay, gang, a pair of news articles about my fun-loving colleagues in neurosurgery.

First, we have a guy who just sort of wandered off while he had a patient on the table!

And second, we have a neurosurgeon who was suspended for something REALLY serious- taking extra croutons from the hospital cafeteria.

Medical Research

Our Science Marches On Department, in North Carolina, has brought the existence of this medical journal to my attention.

It was sent to the department, unsolicited.

We have no idea how we got on their mailing list, or how to get off of it (for questions about getting off in general, please read the journal).

(click to enlarge, no pun intended)

For This You Went to Law School?

Occasionally I do a legal deposition. So yesterday I was being questioned by a lawyer. We had this exchange:

Mr. Legal: "Doctor, your note says that the patient's symptoms started one month after his car accident in November, is that correct?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Yes"

Mr. Legal: "So, it would go to assume that his symptoms started in December, correct?".

Dr. Grumpy: "Yes".

Mr. Legal: "Doctor, in your opinion, does December always come after November?"

Uh, That's the Point

Yesterday afternoon I was lecturing a non-compliant patient on the importance of taking his medications as prescribed. His wife got defensive, and said:

"Doctor! My husband ALWAYS takes his medicine as directed, except when he doesn't take it."

No Wonder It's Being Closed

Mrs. Grumpy is out of town, so I had the pleasure of taking the tribe to school today.

The kids' school is being closed next month due to budget cuts. So there's a sign on the notice board outside the school office. It said this. I am not joking.

"Help us say goodby to our belovid school. We are having a farwell party at Dave's Piza on May 21, 2009 at 6:00 p.m."

No Hablo Español

I had a thirty-something lady in today. She only spoke Spanish, but her husband translated for her.

My Spanish is so-so. I'm fairly good at understanding it, but can't speak it back in a timely fashion. So to avoid mistakes I just ask patients to bring translators if possible.

Anyway, at one point Mr. & Mrs. Español began arguing (in Spanish) in front of me. They tried to keep me from realizing it, pretending to just be discussing her condition in monotones.

At the end of the visit I asked her if she had any questions, and her husband translated this for her. She said to me (in Spanish) "Yes, when is my husband going to stop being an asshole?"

Her husband, without missing a beat, looked at me and said "She wants to know if this medication has any side effects".

Idiots With Phones

If you can figure out how to work a phone, I'd think you could figure out how to leave a coherent message. But no, that isn't always the case.

I got woken up this lovely Monday at 4:21 am by this useful message on my office voicemail:

"Hi, I'm a patient of yours, and I'm back in the country. Please call me."

That's it. No name, no phone number, no nothing. No shit.

On Call, and HATING IT!!!

I'm on hospital call this weekend, and I hate it.

I only do this one weekend per month, and it's the most miserable 63 hours of existence. After 10 years you'd think I'd be used to it, but I hate it even more now.

Yes, I am whining. I suppose I should be grateful for a job, etc., etc., etc.

My practice has reached a point where I don't really need to take hospital call for other neurologists, but I do it for 3 reasons:

1. Habit.
2. Money.
3. To get material for my blog.

Anyway, while driving in this morning, I thought of the old Weird Al Yankovic song "One More Minute", and how well it sums up my feelings about hospital call. So, with apologies to Weird Al, here are the slightly modified pertinent verses.


'Cause I'd rather spend eternity eating shards of broken glass
Than spend one more minute on call

'Cause I'd rather get a hundred thousand paper cuts on my face
Than spend one more minute on call

I'd rather rip out my intestines with a fork
Than listen to my damn cell phone ring again
I'd rather slam my fingers in a door
Again and again and again and again and again

Oh, can't you see what I'm tryin' to say, Darlin...

I'd rather have my blood sucked out by leeches
Shove an icepick under a toenail or two
I'd rather clean all the bathrooms in Grand Central Station with my tongue
Than spend one more minute on call

Yes, I'd rather jump naked on to a huge pile of thumbtacks
Or stick my nostrils together with crazy glue
I'd rather dive into a swimming pool filled with double-edged razor blades
Than spend one more minute on call

I'd rather rip my heart right out of my ribcage with my bare hands
and then throw it on the floor and stomp on it 'till I die...
Than spend one more minute on call.


I wanted to embed the youtube video of the song, but due to copyright issues the embedding code has been turned off. But here's a link.