Phone Phun

Today ended with me doing an evening telephone and internet conference with 15 other neurologists across the country to review data on a drug that's in development.

The meeting took place after we were all home. So you'd hear the occasional sounds of home life. A kid yelling, a dog barking, somebody laughing in the background, etc.

Usually these things go fairly smoothly. Tonight's, however, had 2 noteworthy interruptions:

Interruption #1:

The "click" of a receiver being picked up, and suddenly a young female voice cuts off the moderator:

Young female: "Daddy! My boyfriend is supposed to call tonight! Why are you on the phone?"

Neurologist X: "Britney! Get off the phone NOW! I'm in a meeting!"

Young female: "Daddy! This isn't just any boy! This is TREVOR!!!!!!!!!!!!" (click)



Interruption #2

The Moderator was asking a few questions. He was interrupted when a neurologist with a thick Brooklyn accent apparently had an interruption at home, and loudly said:

"What? Tell him to fuck off! I'm on the phone!"


Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Dr. Grumpy's Guide to Life, Chapter 2

(As a public service I've written the following, for you to print off and use before shopping for school supplies).

Okay, so this is the 2nd edition of my helpful newsletter (If you missed the last edition on surviving your child's birthday party, click here).

Today's issue will focus on what I discovered to be a horribly traumatic life-altering experience: Back-to-School week at OfficeStaplesMaxDepot. There's one right across the street from my office, so I go there regularly for supplies. It's quiet, the employees are generally helpful, and I know my way around it pretty well.

I naively thought this would be easy.

So on to the lesson:

1. Do NOT volunteer for this job (flip a coin, or arm wrestle, or have a duel to decide instead).

Silly me. When Mrs. Grumpy was wondering when she'd have time to get the school supplies, I volunteered. I figured "How hard can it be? Hell, it's just some pencils and a bottle of glue". DUMBASS!!! The list is HUGE, and features items from the mundane (No. 2 pencils), to the specific (Expo dry erase markers, wide tip, in blue, green, yellow, and black) to the odd (1 Pringles can with lid, original flavor, empty). It took me 2 freakin' hours!

2. Be prepared. Normally there are 5-10 other quiet business-type people there. NOT THIS WEEK! Holy Crap! An African street bazaar is an orderly affair compared to this! Deranged parents running on caffeine! Kids running amuck! Store clerks running for their lives! And all the crazed parents are trying to read off a list, push a cart, yell at kids, and scream into a cell phone at the same time. Bring a water bottle, food, a map, a cattle prod, and a flashlight. A card with your blood type, hospital preference, and next of kin is also a good idea.

3. Do not leave your cart unattended. People will steal your shit out of it. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP! I had my cart 2/3 full with the crap on my list, when I left it at the end of an aisle to go find notebooks (spiral, wide-ruled, 100 pages each, single subject, 1 red, 1 blue, 1 green). When I returned 3 minutes later about half the stuff I'd already put in it was GONE! I watched a few minutes later as it happened to others. Apparently, when you walk away from your cart, people think it means they can raid it for supplies they haven't had a chance to pick up yet. "Hey, this guy has those index cards (2 sizes, lined and unlined, 100 each) that my kid needs. Cool. I'll scratch that off my list".

If another parent asks you what school your kid goes to, or who their teacher is, DO NOT ANSWER. Ignore them. Pretend you're deaf, or that you don't speak English. They are not making conversation. They are casing your cart, and if they find out your kid is in the same class as their kid, they'll wait until you aren't looking to take your stuff (or just switch carts).

Best part was when I went to ask an employee for help finding something (Flair Correction Pens, in 4 colors). When I got back to my cart the box of 12 ultra-fine tip Sharpies I left in it had been opened, and someone had taken one of them. They'd even doodled on the shopping list I left in my cart to make sure they were taking a pen that worked.

Oddly, you can leave valuables in your cart. Your wallet, purse, and gold jewelry will be perfectly safe if left unattended, but the $2.69 box of high-lighters (12 markers, large tip, in 3 colors) will vanish.

My recommendation: bring a child to guard your cart, preferably one with an iron bladder and who's old enough to use a Taser or firearm if needed. If your kids don't meet this requirement, stop by Home Depot and hire one of the day laborers who hangs out in front looking for work.

4. Do not look for certain numbers of things. The people who make these lists have no idea how things are sold, so it lists things as "1 Expo dry erase marker, chisel-tip, red). Great. They don't sell red ones individually, just in boxes of 4. Or the Flair Correction Pens don't come in only 4 colors, but they do come in 8. Just buy it. If you aren't certain what item the teacher wants, just buy everything in sight and return the rejects later.

Alternatively, if the teacher only wants 1 of an item, such as, say, an ultra-fine tip Sharpie (which only come in boxes of 12), you can always look for an unattended cart with a box of them in it, and take one. If paper is handy, try doodling on it to make sure you are stealing one that works.

5. Hold your place in the check-out line AT ALL COSTS. Reserve it as soon as you walk in the store BEFORE shopping. Use a child (preferably your own) if possible. Other options include day laborers from Home Depot, mannequins, dogs, and aggressive Venus Fly Traps.

6. When in doubt, ask the bleary-eyed, terrified employees for help. If nothing else, it is fun to watch them try to convince you that they don't speak English as they run outside for a cigarette.

Good luck!

Heard In My Office

My secretary Mary was chatting with a patient while she scheduled a follow-up appointment. I was around the corner, reading through some MRI reports.

Mary: "So, are you going anywhere this Summer?"

Mrs. Sympathy: "No. I'm stuck here, waiting for my mother to die. Today would be good."

And then she picked up her purse and left.

Priorities

Just before closing yesterday, my 9:00 for this morning canceled his appointment. It happens.

So early this morning Miss Headache calls: "I'm having a HORRIBLE migraine! My treatment isn't working anymore! I need to see Dr. Grumpy urgently!!!!!!!"

Trying to be helpful, I called her back myself (Mary wasn't in yet).

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, Miss Headache. We have an opening for 9:00 this morning, can you come in then?"

Miss Headache: "9:00? No, I've got a hair and nail appointment. Do you have anything next week?"

Ed! Don't Jump!

Ed* is my office mascot, and has been since 2001. While he changes incarnations every few years, his name remains Ed. He is a Betta, and carries out his office responsibilities with great enthusiasm.

So it came as a shock to start my day this morning to find that Ed had attempted suicide sometime during the night, and was flopping around on the floor next to his bowl. He's since been returned to his home, and suicide precautions have been taken by lowering the water level.

I dissolved some Prozac in his bowl, and called for an emergent visit from the aquatic psychiatrist.


*Not his real name. Ed comes from a family with a long tradition of service in the health care industry, and has requested anonymity due to concerns his parents will learn he's working for a lowly neurologist, instead of a surgical subspecialty.

More School Follies

The kids didn't have homework after the first day, but Mrs. Grumpy and I sure did. 7 zillion pages of forms about medications, notifications, field trips, what should they do if one of them pees his pants (really!) allergies to medications, allergies to foods, allergies to medical foods, and this gem:

"Please complete this form only if you are unable to understand English, and require forms written in another language."


The only language on the form was English.

That's Uplifting

Dear Mr. Goldman,

We are sorry about your wife's death last year. She was a kind woman.

However, asking my staff if they'd like to see a picture of you together, and then showing the girls one of you standing by her gravestone, is somewhat misleading about the picture's contents.

And Another One!

I just got a note faxed from an ophthalmologist:

"He has normal vision other than his vision is not quite right."

Okay...............

I was reading a note from another doctor this morning. It featured this line:

"She's had a great deal of stress, as her husband was recently widowed."

This is Not Encouraging

Dropped the twins off for the first day of school.

Marquee in front said "WELCOME BACK! WE ARE EXITED TOO BE STARTING!"


I can only hope this was a joke.

Thus Endeth the Summer

Summer, at least for me, has never been determined by the date of seasons beginning and ending. It's based solely on the first and last day of school. It was this way when I was a kid, and is this way now that I have them.

So today was the last day of Summer. And what better way to wrap it up, on a HOT day, then to go ice skating?

I have never ice skated in my life. Or roller skated. Or skied. As a kid, I wasn't coordinated enough. As an adult, my freakishly large feet give me a convenient excuse not to. No place carries my size in a rental. I bowl in my sneakers, because no bowling alley seems to carry sizes above 14.

So we went ice skating. My kids are good at it from going to various birthday parties at the ice rink. Mrs. Grumpy grew up in cold country, and so knows how to do it. I just sit on the sidelines. I have no interest in going, but use my humungous feet as an excuse.

So today, when Mrs. Grumpy asked me if I'd go, I said no. I can't, after all, because they don't carry my size. But to make her feel better I went over to the counter and asked the guy what his biggest size was. And he said my size.

I was trapped.

I consoled myself by watching my kids go around, and thought "how hard can this be?" So I laced on the skates. Took one step on the ice. And went down on my ass.

While my kids were laughing, I hobbled back onto land and got a training walker from the counter. And took that out on the ice. Now I know what my patients feel like. Even pushing this thing around I still went down several times. Fortunately, I was saved by them clearing the ice for the Zamboni. So I took the opportunity to return the skates.

What is it that fascinates people about the Zamboni? Is this an American thing, or do other countries have it, too? It's been satirized in "Peanuts". At skating parties here the birthday kid gets to ride on it. The whole crowd today cleared the ice, watched it raptly, and cheered when it was done. At basketball, football, and baseball they do all kinds of stuff to keep people in their seats during a break in play. Half-dressed cheerleaders. Marching bands. Half-court shot contests. Cartoon hot dog races. Mascots. And people still get up and go to the snack bar. BUT NOT AT HOCKEY! The crowd stays in their seats to watch the Zamboni drive around in circles and cheer!

By this time the twins had wandered over to another rink, where they had a giant pile of snow. I went over to see what they were up to. As I learned, being the only adult in this area made me the mutual snowball target of about 40 kids. I fought valiantly, but went down in flames. While I was lying in the ice the little bastards came over and put snow down the back of my shirt.

The ice capades ended with them playing YMCA. I'm old enough to remember that song first coming out. I never would have believed that more than 30 years later it would be even more popular than ever. Kids who aren't old enough to walk know how to dance to it.

The only injury I suffered all day was when I twisted my ankle getting out of the minivan at home. It's killing me.

And so the Summer ends.

This Sums It Up

School starts Monday.

Staples used to run this commercial. I don't know if they still do.

They ran it before I even had kids. And now that I have 3 of them in various elementary school grades, the commercial just means SO MUCH MORE.

It's a WORD, Okay People?

(Please note, the following post is NOT meant to convey any viewpoint about abortion. Any comments trying to fight-out or inflame pro-life vs. pro-choice opinions will not be published).

I use the word "abort" in my dictations: "Her migraines are aborted by Imitrex" or "He was seen in ER, where the seizure was aborted by Ativan" or "The MRI was aborted due to his claustrophobia".

At least twice a year, most recently yesterday, I get an angry letter or phone call from some patient who is reading my notes on them and becomes incensed over this. They see the word and automatically assume it means they HAD an abortion (No, sir, that is biologically impossible") or that my use of the word is expressing a political viewpoint ("I'm devoutly pro-life! How dare you use that word in a note about me!").

Usually I just explain to them what it means, and send them to a dictionary. It's amazing how many people are stunned to find out it has some other meaning then THAT ONE, and are fine once they realize this.

In spite of this, in the last 10 years I've had 3 patients change neurologists over this issue. Whatever.

Part of being a doctor is respecting your cultural, religious, and political beliefs. That's why I never discuss mine. Words in my notes are just that. Words.

My 11:00

Hot pink shirt, electric green shorts, bright red shoes, orange purse, purple umbrella, who the fuck dressed this woman?