Cooper, the WonderDog!

He's bitten my mother-in-law 3 times in the last 2 weeks.

Is this dog awesome or what?

Today's Winner!

Last patient of the day, and the week for that matter. 51 year old lady.


Dr. Grumpy: "Any changes in your medications since your last visit?"

Mrs. Friday: "Yes, I'm not taking birth control pills any more."

Dr. Grumpy: "Oh, are you menopausal?"

Mrs. Friday (puzzled look): "No, Doctor, I'm Hispanic."

Phrazzled Pharmacist

This afternoon Mary flagged me down to tell me Greg, from Local Pharmacy, was on the phone.

I picked up the line. Greg sounded frazzled, was speaking quickly, and trying to clarify stuff on a patient who'd brought in several scripts. One of his questions required me to do some research on the chart, so I asked him for his phone number, jotted it down, and told him I'd call him back in a minute.

So I looked through the chart, found what I needed, grabbed his phone number, and dialed it.

It rang 5 times, then:

"Hi! You've reached Laurie, Greg, and Sassy. Please leave us a message and we'll call you back!"

Mary, You Are SO Fired!

Yes, it's time to renew the Grumpy Neurology, Inc. employee health insurance plan. So we all get to fill out forms listing how many packs a day we smoke, how much fatter we are since 2008, and how many surgeries we've each had in the last year.

So I gave one to everybody (except Ed), and they scribbled them out and gave them back.

I was double-checking them before faxing to our insurance company. As I glanced over Mary's, I noted some of her answers:

Height: 5'1". Weight: 540 lbs.

Pregnant: Yes, due in March, 2010.

Medications: Lithium, Haldol, Valium, Oxycontin, birth control, Methadone, Heroin

Medical conditions: Bipolar, ADHD, closed head injury, brain damage, breast problems, illegal drugs, alcoholism


I turned around just in time to see her completely lose it and start laughing hysterically.

Between the patients and my staff... I don't have a chance.

Wednesday, 9:05 p.m.

I had a cancellation for the 8:00 spot this morning, so when a new patient called last night to make an appointment, I called them back to see if they wanted to come in.

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, this is Dr. Grumpy. You called for an appointment?"

Mrs. Frantic: "YES! I need to come in for headaches and neck pain from a car accident!"

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, what insurance..."

Mrs. Frantic: "Hey! Back off! I'm talking to my lawyer here!"

Dr. Grumpy: "Hello?"

Mrs. Frantic: "Sorry, the dick who hit me was coming over here. I don't want him to know I called a doctor."

(siren in background)

Dr. Grumpy: "Ma'am, where are you?"

Mrs. Frantic: "I'm in my car! I told you! I was in an accident and need to see a neurologist!"

Dr. Grumpy: "When was the accident?"

Mrs. Frantic: "Uh, like maybe 5 minutes ago. Oh good, the cops are finally here. What takes them so long?"

Dr. Grumpy: "You called me instead of 911?"

Mrs. Frantic: "No, the dick said he called 911, so I figure I don't need to. You saw my dad last year, and I still have your card in my purse. I have a headache now and my neck hurts, so I thought I should make an appointment. When can I come in?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Ma'am, you should go to an ER tonight to get this checked out. That should be your first step."

Mrs. Frantic: "Damnit, I gotta go talk to the cop now. Where's my insurance stuff? I'll call you back."


I didn't hear from her the rest of the night, but suspect she'll call today.

Let's Stick With Your Visit

Look, people. I am a neurologist. Specifically, when you come to see me, I am your neurologist.

I am here to try and help you.

I am NOT here:

1. For you to sell me a timeshare.

2. To discuss the rising price of bus passes.

3. To render a 2nd opinion on your friend's 3rd cousin with MS in Wyoming.

4. To look at > 2 pictures of your children, grandchildren, dogs, doll collection, spouse, car, trailer home, or the fish you caught last weekend.

5. To look at the catalogue of huge, 3-wick, foul-smelling candles that you sell.

6. To help you decide what to do with your investment portfolio.

7. To tell you if your new dress makes your ass look fat. Let's face it- the dress has nothing to do with it.

8. To hear about your great blackjack strategies at the local Indian casino. If you were that good at it, you wouldn't keep asking me to waive your $15 co-pay.

9. For you to sell girl scout cookies, campfire candles, chocolate bars, or any other of your kid's school fundraising stuff to.

10. To answer your questions about getting a passport.

11. To listen to the great deal you got on bedroom furniture in 1959.


Thank you.

Sharing the Love

Okay, gang, generally I try not to borrow/steal from other blogs, but sometimes one of them has something so remarkable I just HAVE to share it.

So, to give credit where credit is due: The following awesome post was written yesterday by my esteemed colleague Big 'N Tasty RPh, over at Fast Food Pharmacy.


"Ding Ding Ding! We have a Winner!

Plan B is available at the pharmacy for purchase with a photo ID proving the purchaser is 18 years old. The message on the box states 'Prescription required for women under age 17.'

A man called because he came in earlier in the evening and purchased a box of Plan B. He called very concerned that we had sold him the one for under 17 year olds and needed to know if it would still work for someone over 17 years old. I was speechless.

This guy must have swam out of the shallow end of the gene puddle. You know, the "gene puddle." Definition: a minute puddle cut off from the gene pool by global warming that allowed for the most severe degradation of the human genetic sequence resulting in acts or words of stupidity that defy even an every day Joe's imagination.

So I firmly and simply replied that the pill labeled Plan B is the same, only the law needs a prescription for a young girl. He expressed great relief and after he hung up the phone I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. This guy is ready for plan C (i.e. castration). If there is a God he will never allow that guy's genetic material to be passed along but we all know from experience that the people who want kids have the hardest time getting pregnant while those who have no business with children breed like rabbits. Another winner indeed."

Another Fine Medication List

My Tuesday ended with me asking an elderly gentleman what pills he was taking.

He stood up, dug through his pockets, and finally handed me a wad of paper.

It said:

"lettuce.
American cheese
laundry soap
paper towels
ketchup"

Allergies

A popular topic on all medical blogs, it seems, but always fun. This (almost) alphabetical list was given to me by today's 9:00:

"I'm allergic to Ambien, Aspirin, Axert, Bextra, Butalbital, Caffeine, Celebrex, Codeine, Pistachio Ice Cream, Darvocet, Depakote, Fentanyl, Amitriptyline, Hair Spray, Erythromycin, Fosamax, Imitrex, Keppra, Marinol, Klonopin, Lamictal, Lyrica, Mountain Dew, Mirapex, Mobic, Breathing Strips, Morphine, Treated Leather Products, Cardizem, Neurontin, Model Glue, Oxycodone, Penicillin, Jell-O, Relafen, Vanilla flavoring, Relpax, Requip, Artificial Cookie Dough, Sinemet, Sonata, Sulfa, Peanuts (but peanut butter is okay), Steroids, Talacin, Tetenus, Artificial Creamer Stuff, Topamax, Toradol, Some M&M colors, Tramadol, Hydrocodone, Vioxx, Xylocaine, Zoloft, Zomig, and Zonegran"

I can only assume this person has kids at the school Mrs. Grumpy works at.

Marketing Moments

I'm doing a marketing study tonight over the internet, and got this question:

"What percentage of your untreated epilepsy patients are untreated?"

Skool Nerse Time

Mrs. Grumpy is a veteran school nurse. This year, she's starting at a new (to her) elementary school.

So she spent this morning sorting through all the medical cards parents have turned in.

Under allergies, some listed for kids at her school include:

"unwashed lettuse"
"sugar, fake sugar, and artificial sugar sweets"
"byprodukts"
"rubber bands or glue and/or whatever stuff like that"
"no Aspirin, but Aspirin is okay"
"that drug that killed Michael Jackson" (hell, this district doesn't even supply Tylenol)
"band-aids"
"metal cans"
"ear thermometers"
"that bad kind of paper I read about"


On the line marked "Other medical concerns you'd like us made aware of":

"Don't let him eat Legos again this year, PLEASE!"

"Can I get a copy of the district's swine floo plan?"

"I don't like her getting junk food. Can you make sure she doesn't bring any for lunch" (who's packing her lunches? Not the nurse, you bozo)

"He doesn't like beer or coffee" (on a 2nd grader)

"Please don't make him swallow goldfish. I saw that on TV once."

If he faints in PE, no blood transfusions"

Sunday Morning, 5:51 a.m.

I suddenly sit bolt upright in bed. My 3rd year of medical school starts the Tuesday after Labor day, and I'm not even ready. A horrible feeling of dread comes over me.

It's a 2 day drive from my parents' house to my medical school. My roommate Enzyme is likely already back there, and wants to kill me (I've got the stereo with me). After I get there I have to buy one of those short white coats that the medical students are required to wear on rounds, and a boatload of clinical textbooks. The school bookstore isn't open on Sundays and holidays. So I'll have to leave here by Thursday at the latest.

I'm not even packed with all the clothes and crap I need for my 3rd year. I don't even own a tie. My car needs an oil change before the 1500 mile drive. I have no idea where the stethoscope I bought last month is.

I jump out of bed in a panic and cold sweat, and call to my Mom if she knows where my suitcase is. Mrs. Grumpy yells "What the hell are you doing?!?"

Suddenly I'm wide awake. The only drive I have to face is the 2 miles to my office on Monday. This isn't my parents' house. I've been an attending physician for 11 years. I've just woken up the dogs. Snowball starts barking his stupid head off, waking up the kids.

No more deep fried ice cream before bedtime for me.

Early Saturday Morning, 12:47 a.m.

I'm deep asleep. My cell phone chimes. A voice message has been left.

Loud music and people talking in background.

"Hello? This is Suzy Kyoo. I see Dr. Grumpy for migraines and I'm out with my girlfriends and some asshole stepped on my foot and the nail polish came off my big toe and the nail is really brown and gross when I looked at it and I showed it to the bartender and he said he thinks it's like some sort of fungus or something nasty like that and I'm not sure if it's safe to paint over it again and I once saw this TV ad for pills or a spray or lotion or something like that to treat toenail fungus and I've got a date on Saturday night and I don't want to scare the guy off with this disgusting toenail and I was wondering if Dr. Grumpy could call in some of the toenail stuff I saw advertised on TV for me and hey Cindy can you get me another daiquiri I'll pay you back Monday at work oh I love this song I'm gonna go dance to it hang on let me get off the phone."

More Forms

I love crap like this, and I get a lot of it.

Here's a form that I need to sign, then fax back to a drug company to get medication samples.

Notice how, in the same paragraph that says I'm supposed to sign and fax, it also says that a signature stamp isn't allowed.

It's a freakin' fax! How would they know?

(click to enlarge)