Sunday, April 25, 2010

On call- Sunday morning.

Phone guy: "Drs. Brain & Nerve's answering service, can I help you?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Yeah, this is Dr. Grumpy, covering for Drs. Brain and Nerve. Are there any consults holding overnight?"

Phone guy: "Umm. Let me look. Yeah, 3. So you have another consult for them? Can I have the name?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No, I need the names of the ones you've been holding overnight."

Phone guy: "Is the new consult for Drs. Brain and Nerve? Because Dr. Grumpy is covering for them, and will see the patient."

Dr. Grumpy: "No! This is Dr. Grumpy!"

Phone guy: "Oh, so the new consult is for Dr. Grumpy directly? He doesn't use our service, but I can give you his office number."

Dr. Grumpy: "I AM DR. GRUMPY!"

Phone guy: "Dr. Grumpy? Are you calling in for the overnight consults?"

Dr. Grumpy: "YES!"

Phone guy: "I'm sorry sir. You should have said that in the first place."

Saturday, April 24, 2010

On call- tips from the trenches

The following is a public service announcement.

I'm not personally into hookers and cheap motels. If you are, I don't care. It's just not my thing.

It is important, however, to keep in mind that those rooms are generally NOT used by people who have any need to look in the rooms' closets. After all, they're only renting them for 20-30 minutes.

So as a result, sometimes a homeless alcoholic can (hypothetically speaking of course) live in the closet of one of those rooms, undetected, for weeks.

Like all people, they might get sick. There's always a lot of crud going around.

So, if their timing is off, they might wander out of the closet, and vomit all over a hypothetical couple using the bed to conduct a business transaction.

Since nothing kills the mood of cheap sex faster than being covered in barf, Mr. John and his girlfriend-for-hire might hypothetically grab their clothes and run out of the room, followed by Mr. Drunk, who passes out in the parking lot.

He eventually might be found and brought to Local Hospital, where he (hypothetically of course) could have an alcoholic seizure, and so a neurologist was consulted (I mean, uh, might be consulted, since this is, a um, hypothetical case).

So, guys: if this is your sort of thing, please check the closet first. Your date won't mind, I swear.

If you find someone living in it, just ask for another room. It may save me a trip to the hospital.

Friday, April 23, 2010

With a cluck-cluck here and a cluck-cluck there




Generally, I find my practice works best when I get paid in dollars. They're convenient. They can be transmitted electronically between bank accounts. Mary and Annie like them. I can spend them by swiping a credit card.

But, in a remarkable effort to win the "Let's See How Stupid I Can Sound" award, a Nevada candidate for U.S. Senate has proposed ditching the idea of paying doctors in money, and going to a barter system with them. Specifically, she suggested paying us in chickens or house painting.

Really.

Sue Lowden is the gem who hatched this idea. In fact, she was given a chance to explain it, on the assumption that she misspoke. But nope. When given the opportunity to clarify her point, she again clearly stated that medical services should be reimbursed by bartering goods, such as chickens, and not by paying money. She specifically indicated it was to pay doctors, and didn't say if it should be applied to other businesses (such as buying your meds at the pharmacy, or groceries at the store). She even said she wasn't going to back down from the idea.

Barter is not a bad thing. In some situations it works. Most civilizations used it before the advent of money. But the majority of human cultures eventually developed cash of some form. Because let's face it: It's hard to carry around enough chickens to buy a car. And they're messy. And, unlike coins, they require feeding.

This idea may work for some docs, but not me. I personally don't want to collect co-pays in chickens. Or goats. Or frying pans. Or anything other than money. This is also a matter of cleanliness: my migraine patients are sensitive to smells. I don't think they want to sit in a lobby filled with the livestock someone else brought to settle their bill.

And I don't have enough space in my yard to handle all those co-pays. Mary and Annie are also not going to be thrilled to be told that instead of money I'm now going to pay them in sheep and legumes. It's a baaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhd idea.

The logistics of making an ER co-pay become especially daunting, paticularly if you're now in a wheelchair but need to use the space in your car for bushels of corn and some turpentine.

And just try giving your kids a handful of chickens to spend at Chuck-E-Cheese's. Have you ever had to clean feathers out of a skee-ball machine? It's trickier than it looks.

We will also need to re-do medical school curriculum, to include care and feeding of livestock, as well as how to run your own slaughterhouse (for us non-surgeons) when turning your co-pays into dinner.

Ms. Lowden, to verify the usefulness of your idea, why don't you try a simple experiment- go into any large casino in Las Vegas. With a chicken. And try to bet it on any game. Or stuff it in a slot machine. And then see what casino security thinks about being paid in something other than money. I suspect they'll be as fond of the idea as I am.

Fun with teenagers

Dr. Grumpy: "How are you doing?"

Mr. Pain: "Better. I've been swimming more, doing the breaststroke, and..."

Teenage son (looking up from Nintendo): "DUDE! Dad! You said breaststroke!"

Toothbrush? Finger with booger? OMG!

The following note is from a doc who specializes in weight loss, trying to figure out why the patient is still heavy. I personally would have worded this differently, as there are some details about my patients' lives that I just don't want to know.

(click to enlarge)


Thursday, April 22, 2010

BOOBQUAKE, 2010: Shake 'em! You won't break 'em!

The following column is not mine. It was written by The Mother, (who's a mother AND a doctor) and due to my own fascination with, uh, advancing scientific research, I'm reprinting it here. I should point out that on any given day there are an average of 1,370 earthquakes on planet Earth, (and probably a few on Io, too). So you can blame them on whatever you want, and they'll still happen.


A critical thinking experiment in real time

I’ve been talking a lot lately about teaching kids critical thinking. I’ve been pretty hard on the schools, for stressing memorization and regurgitation, and ignoring the process

But on Monday, April 26, we all have a chance to strike a blow for critical thinking on a global scale.

Let me explain.

Over the past six months or so, a variety of garden-variety idiots have variously attributed tectonic plate phenomena to cosmic wrath.

Pat Robertson explained on national TV that the Haitian earthquake was caused by retribution for the Haitians’ “pact with the devil” over the bloody slave revolt in 1790 (wow, did that take the deity a seriously long time or what?).

Rush Limbaugh blamed the Icelandic volcanic eruption on cosmic wrath over the American health care bill (because the best way to seek vengeance against the American liberals is to seriously inconvenience John Cleese).

And Iran’s Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi announced that “Many women who do not dress modestly … lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which (consequently) increases earthquakes." (We are women, hear us roar–our boobs have unimaginable power.)

This last inane statement, unlike the first two, is what we science types call a “testable hypothesis.”

And it is going to be tested. Oh, yes. A critical thinking experiment is being planned in real time. The brainchild of Jen McCreight, who blogs at Blag Hag. BOOBQUAKE is designed to test the concept that immodest dress causes tectonic plate disruption.

Women are asked to wear their lowest cut, most immodest blouse on April 26th. If you happen to wear a short skirt, too, I can’t imagine that that would skew the results.

I have a see-through t-shirt that should do nicely.

To drive the lesson home to our kids, though, it’s important to make sure they understand the working hypothesis of the experiment. Then park them in front of CNN for the day, and let them watch, like we did when Katrina was leveling New Orleans.

I’m going to pop popcorn.

Great office moments

Dr. Grumpy: "Have you had any problems having an erection?"

Mr. Backtrauma: "Uh... I'm not sure, I..."

Girlfriend Backtrauma: "You ass!" (kicks him) "No, you haven't! I just went down on you last night! Doesn't it fucking mean anything to you when I do that? You sure forgot pretty fucking quickly!!!"

And she stomped out.

"Sir, can't you wait until next week? Sir? Sir?"

I'd like to thank my reader Marc for submitting this.

(click to enlarge)

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Wednesday afternoon

The following is verbatim. The patient involved is NOT considered to be mentally impaired (because if he was, this wouldn't be that weird). If anything, he reminds me of David Puddy.


Dr. Grumpy: "Where are you working now?"

Mr. Fedex : "A shipping company."

Dr. Grumpy: "Oh. Do you like it?"

Mr. Fedex: "We do shipping there. You know, to ship stuff. I work in sales."

Dr. Grumpy: "Do you need a Depakote refill?"

Mr. Fedex: "Yeah. Hey, doc. Who does shipping for your office, anyway? I imagine you have to ship boxes of stuff all over the world? Are you looking for a new shipping company?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Uh, no. I mean, as a neurologist I really don't ship anything. Maybe mail a few pages of records or forms out."

Mr. Fedex: "Really? What does a neurologist do, anyway?"

(long pause)

Dr. Grumpy: "I treat patients."

Wednesday morning, 5:45 a.m.

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Mr. Clock: "Hi, I need to cancel my appointment for tomorrow at 9:15."

Dr. Grumpy: "Your appointment is today at 9:15."

Mr. Clock: "Cool. I'll see you then. And just cancel the one for tomorrow, I guess I don't need it now."

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Sentence Structure- It means something

I get all kinds of flyers dropped off at the office. An open house at Dr. Somebody's new office, announcement of a new physical therapy place or MRI facility, etc.

Today a flyer was left about a rescue pets event, featuring a fundraiser and cookout contest. I can't put it up here, because it had too much info in it. So I'll do my best to tell you about it.

We don't go to these. We already have 3 rescue dogs, and if we went we'd want to bring them all home. Mrs. Grumpy and I are softies for dogs.

But it sure caught my eye.

It could have said: "Adopt-a-pet: fundraiser and barbecue" or "Fundraiser for Homeless Pets", or "Local Homeless Pet Shelter Event"

But no.

It said, in big letters, "HOMELESS PET BARBECUE NIGHT".

In other notes, it listed the participants at the bottom, including: Local Greyhound Rescue, St. Bernard Friends, Humane Society, etc. At the bottom of the list was "Local Rat Rescue League".

Fail!

Dr. Grumpy: "What time was your seizure last night?"

Mrs. Etoh: "Around 10:00, as we were leaving the bar."

Dr. Grumpy: "I thought you'd stopped drinking?"

Mrs. Etoh: "I did, but last night we had a round after our AA meeting."

Dear Insurance Company,

I received your letter yesterday that you're raising my annual office policy rates.

I don't know if I'll be able to afford the increase, but will do my best. I know you're doing your utmost to try and keep my rates down, as evidenced by the fact that you spent 44 cents per letter to mail this to several thousand offices across the country.

(click to enlarge)





In times like these an increase of this magnitude might be devastating, but Mary and Annie have heroically chipped in to pay for the increase, with some money they found in the cushions of the waiting room chairs.

Monday, April 19, 2010

What the HELL does this mean?

The Science Marches on Department sent me this remarkably confusing (and, in my opinion, bizarre) abstract from the Journal of the American Psychoanalytical Association. Don't believe me? Here's the original.


The absence of the paternal penis.

“Girls’ experiences of object loss, in conjunction with female anatomical structure, may lend themselves to a particular genital anxiety regarding openness and emptiness. The relational void in giving up the mother as love object may lead to an internal self-representation of a “hole” to be filled, much as the mouth sucks the pacifier in the absence of the nipple. This image may then be extended to the genital representation. In turning to the father, a girl may find that she lacks a relationship with him in the relational space opened up by the loss of the mother; the penis is symbolically withheld from her in the father’s relational distance. This lack of sexual and relational gratification, it is proposed, may be schematized by a female as her body being empty of something. The father’s absence–the absence of the paternal penis–may lead to an absence of the mental representation of the vagina and to an inhibition of the role the vagina then plays for a woman in sexual desire. Vaginal repression may serve to disguise object hunger that might otherwise be experienced as vaginal longing. An abbreviated clinical vignette, revolving around a masturbatory fantasy, is offered in partial illustration of the thesis.”

 
Locations of visitors to this page