I Love You People

Mr. Jackass, I'm sorry we couldn't accommodate your busy schedule to work you in today.

I understand you're frustrated. I mean, I would be too if I'd been walking around since yesterday with slurred speech and mild arm weakness. It's a real pisser that you're having trouble texting your real estate clients with your thumb being clumsy like that.

Yeah, I can guess you had a stroke. I'm a neurologist, and I didn't need you to tell me that. I agree that under most circumstances this would be urgent, but my day is full, and having you walk in and start yelling obscenities at Mary because she told you we were booked solid today doesn't increase your sympathy rating around here.

I'm also sorry you were unable to take the appointment she did offer you, tomorrow morning at 8, because you have a meeting with a homeowner's association. I know those things are important. And you have that finance meeting on Thursday at 1, so you couldn't come in then, either. So I guess I'm seeing you on Friday at 3. I know you told Mary that was unreasonably long to have to wait for a stroke, and I'm sorry. Because of my casual dress habits you obviously didn't guess that the doctor was the guy standing in the lobby next to you, because I'd gone up to refill my water bottle.

Mary suggested, several times, that you go to ER, and I was standing there when you refused because you didn't have time for "that sort of nonsense". I told you to go to ER, too, but when you said "who asked you, Buttinski?" I decided to let you keep thinking I was another patient or a drug rep or something. Mary should get a raise for keeping a straight face.

I bet it would surprise you to know that while you were arguing with Mary I walked back to my office to log into the hospital system to see if you'd been there, and, SURPRISE there you were! It looks like you actually went in yesterday, after you'd finished cleaning your pool, and left AMA. The ER doc clearly documented that he wanted to admit you for an inpatient work-up, and you told him he was being unreasonable because then you'd miss the Labor Day barbecue you'd spent all week preparing for. I hope you didn't burn too many burgers with the bad hand.

I'll see you on Friday. Bet you'll be surprised to see what I'm wearing.

Pancake Time

Mr. Syrup, I have absolutely NO IDEA WHATSOEVER if the IHOP* down the street is a "participating restaurant" in the coupon deal that you have folded up in your wallet.

Do these people ask their other doctors questions like this?

*For my non-North American readers: IHOP (International House of Pancakes) is a restaurant chain in the US and Canada.

Back to Work

Greeted by this headline list on the morning online news:





Hmmm, looks like the headline writer wasn't paying attention in class.

(Please note- this post is to get a giggle off an untimely spelling error. Political comments from either side will not be posted. There are plenty of political blogs for that).

The Tale of the Gold Clip

In honor of Labor Day (celebrated as May Day in other countries) I present this nonpartisan story to remind all of us where our hard-earned tax dollars go. Although I'm American, insanity of this type is universal to all governments, and likely always will be.

I have a gold-colored binder clip on the wall. This is what it looks like:




"Dr. Grumpy, why on Earth would you keep something as odd as a binder clip on your wall?" you ask. So gather round, open up a Diet Coke, and I'll tell you my story.


There have been 3 presidential elections since I went into practice.

During one of these elections a presidential debate was held at a university in my state.

One of my patients is a supervisor at that university's media department. He came in for an appointment, with a bunch of his old test reports. They were held together by a binder-clip. It caught my eye because it was gold-colored (likely made of brass), and I hadn't seen one like that before. I'm used to the standard black clips with silver prongs.

So I mentioned that I'd never seen one like that before, and he told me this story:

When the university was preparing for the presidential debate, the campaigns gave them a list of things the Presidential gentlemen needed on the podium in front of them (the list had been pre-agreed on, so each would have the same stuff).

On top of each podium each Presidential person had paper and pens and a glass of water, which we all saw. But on the shelf underneath the podium, each had the following items, which had been jointly agreed upon. He showed me the memo.

More paper
2 black pens
2 blue pens
3 sharpened No. 2 pencils
A pencil sharpener
Big paper clips
Small paper clips
A stapler
Extra staples
A scotch tape dispenser
An extra role of scotch tape
Yellow post-it notes
Binder clips

So the university dutifully put all this junk on the shelves under each podium, in case either Presidential person wanted to do collating, decorating, or origami on national television.

During the final check of the stage, both campaigns went berserk when they discovered the university had thoughtlessly supplied them with standard black binder clips, as apparently men of Presidential stature should only be using gold-colored binder clips (at least on national television). So the university had to go out and find some (the one I have says 'OfficeMax' on the side) at the last minute.

During the debate, I didn't see either gentleman take any of the above-mentioned items out from the podium. In retrospect, in the 22 Presidential debates I remember seeing in 9 elections, I don't recall seeing anyone using anything from the list other than a pen and paper.

So the university was left with all these office supplies, including gold binder clips.

So now I have the gold binder clip hanging on my wall to remind me of where my hard-earned tax dollars are going.

Sunday, 2:10 pm

"Hello, I need to leave a message for Dr. Grumpy. I'm a patient of his, and the rainstorms we've had this week have been making my migraines terrible! I want to know what he's going to do about it!"

Strange Things To Find In Your Son's Room

Saturday, 4:59 pm

"Hello, this is Mrs. Bimbo, leaving a message for Dr. Grumpy. I'm catching up on my to-do list today, and you guys had called me on August 17, 2009 at 2:17 pm. I don't remember what the message was that you left, so I'd like a call back today to tell me what it concerned and if there was an emergency you needed to discuss with me. Thank you."

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."