Skool Nerse Time

This is Mrs. Grumpy.

I had a surprisingly quiet day in my office, with only a handful of visitors. So I decided to clean out one of the filing cabinets.

This is not, mind you, a cabinet I've ever put anything in. It's been in the corner of my office since I started this job. According to the school secretary it's been there as long as she can remember. And she's been here a LONG time. And the school dates back around 40 years.

So, the last time anyone actually looked in the cabinet remains a mystery. Basically, I was opening a time capsule.

A lot of it was dusty old records of kids who likely have grandkids by now. But in one drawer I found a pile of coloring books to give to kids, about child safety.

They were from 1972. And have likely been in the drawer since then.

So let's look at a few pages, shall we?

This page is the introduction. Isn't it amazing what you could get away with in 1972? These anglicized, stereotyped Native Americans likely wouldn't make it past a political correctness committee today.





Now this page is great. Yes, kids, that is a PHONE. When Dr. Grumpy and I were young you had to DIAL phone numbers (I know, I'm dating us here). NOT press buttons. NOT hit speed-dial. NOT say "call Buffy" to the phone. There was that BIG round thing on the front, and you had to dial in the digits ALL BY YOURSELF. So next time you hear someone say "dial a number" or "dial tone", you know where the expression came from. And yes, clowns really were that creepy back then. And, for the most part, still are.





This next page, however, is my favorite. In 1972 it was apparently considered normal, and safe, to leave GUNS AND AMMO lying unattended around the house, provided your kids had been told not to touch them. After all, if you tell kids not to do something, they ALWAYS listen and know better then to actually do it. Right?






I hope you've enjoyed this trip down memory lane. If you have young kids, and you're not at home right now, please dial them up to remind them not to play with the guns or let clowns in the house (if clowns are already in the house, then it's better that your kids have access to guns).

Yo ho and a bottle o' pee!

Dr. Pissy or I occasionally order a urine test. So we have a patient bathroom with a bunch of urine sample cups & lids, and a Sharpie ink marker. Patients are told to write their name on a cup, pee in it, and put it in our lab.

So yesterday afternoon a lady walked out of the bathroom. Annie and I were talking in the hall, and she flagged us down.

"Um, excuse me, I have to give a urine specimen, and want to know how much you need. There are, like, 20 cups on the counter in there, and I don't think I can fill them all up."

What the hell?

Dr. Grumpy: "Any illnesses run in your family?"

Mr. Fallz: "Yes. My brother is 3 years older than me, and my sister is 7 years older than me. So I guess both my siblings are older than me. My parents are also older than me."

Not a good sign

It's never a good sign (at least in a neurology practice) when this shows up on a new patient form:

(click to enlarge)

Attention Drug Reps!

When you tell me that your product causes less constipation than your competitor, I'm happy to look at your colorful brochure and nod.

I do not need any kind of personal endorsement.

Specifically, I really don't care to hear about how YOU got horrible constipation from the other drug, and all the methods you had to use to finally be able to relieve yourself.

Especially when you brought us a lunch of tuna sandwiches on brown bread.

Although I do think it's funny that your company's health insurance won't cover its own drugs.

Have a nice day.

Society pages

Harder to get invited to than a Presidential Inaugural Ball...

Fancier than an upper-crust party on the Queen Mary 2...

Wilder than a post-Oscar Hollywood bash...

Yes, this past Saturday was the annual Wingnut Elementary School Daddy-Daughter Dance.

As usual, the attendees were an A-list from Wingnut School grades 1-3, accompanied by their (considerably older) dates. This annual event, which is often mistaken for an FLDS mass-wedding ceremony, is the social event of the season for the young ladies.

The evening begins for most at an elaborate banquet, with swanky restaurants chosen by the gals. Bistros are selected for atmosphere, food, and (most importantly) the current month's Happy Meal offerings.

Marie Grumpy this year chose the elegance of a Denny's, and, when handed a Kid's Menu, glared at the server with obvious disdain and asked for "the grown up menu, the one with salmon on it." Rumor has it that her escort had grilled cheese.

Dresses in all colors of the rainbow were popular among the debutantes. Marie Grumpy was resplendent in a black dress, brown socks, and knee-high leather boots that she found in the costume closet (and was quite insistent on wearing). She completed her outfit with a shark-tooth necklace she'd purchased at SeaWorld last Summer.

Upon arrival at the event guests were greeted by a sumptuous hors d'oeuvre buffet of cookies and juice boxes. They were then ushered into the dance hall, which had been cleverly decorated to look like a grade school gym, with basketball hoops hanging from the ceiling and bleachers along the walls.

And so the festivities began. The floor was covered with balloons, whose popping (as they were stomped upon) added to the loud music and disco light display. One participant described the delightful spectacle as "migraine-inducing". It also led several of the young ladies to break decorum in a light-hearted balloon fight, which escalated to injuries serious enough to require a small band-aid to cover a boo-boo in one victim.

One unidentified father (but we all know who you are, Mike) graced the scene by wearing a HOT PINK TUXEDO to the event. This outfit certainly made him stand out from the rest of the crowd, especially when he danced on top of a table during "YMCA". His young escort was last seen by the ladies room, with a paper bag over her head.

Another injury occurred when a father was assaulted near the cookie table. He'd apparently never seen the Animal Planet show about "never get between a mother bear and her cubs", and didn't realize that it was even more dangerous to get between Marie Grumpy and the chocolate chip cookies.

One father spotted a neurologist, and cornered him to ask about groin pain. He had to yell to be heard over the music, and learned (the hard way) that if the music stops, and you keep yelling, then EVERYONE can hear about your medical concerns.

Another lovely princess had to leave early, after she vomited all over the dance floor. Her escort brazenly told the crowd, "she's been barfing all day, but I figured she'd stop after we got here." A local neurologist who witnessed the event commented that "although it's really not my field, generally a handful of cookies and a box of juice isn't a great treatment for projectile vomiting." We can only hope other parents will heed that advice next year.

The after-party was held at Local Ice Cream Parlor, where several interesting combinations were tried. Marie Grumpy had cotton-candy ice cream with Kit-Kats, while a young friend of hers had chocolate fudge with Gummi bears.

All are looking forward to next years ball, except for the guy in a pink tuxedo, whose man-card has been revoked.

The men on the flying trapeze

I felt like doing a history post today, so indulge me.


One of the most fascinating side stories in the history of aviation started in the 1920's, with rigid airships (similar to today's blimps, but with metal frames). The U.S. Navy built several giant helium ships for military purposes. They had many advantages over the airplanes of the time, primarily in their range and endurance.

The nature of airships made them excellent for reconnaissance, but they needed to cover large areas in several directions at once. At the same time, they were difficult to defend. The slow, lumbering, giants could be shot down easily by enemy aircraft.

So to solve both these problems, a remarkable idea came about, and 2 were actually built: flying aircraft carriers, the U.S.S. Akron and U.S.S. Macon.





These were huge ships. 3 times as long as a 747 is today. With a crew of 80-90 men, and all their accommodations: Sleeping quarters. Galleys. Mess halls. Offices. Laundry rooms. Machine shops. Supply storage areas. Bathrooms. All in a gigantic flying home that could travel 12,000 miles without refueling.

The technological challenges of such an idea were hard to meet, but were gradually worked out. A small fighter plane, called the Sparrowhawk, was specially designed. Each ship was given an internal hanger and maintenance facilities, and carried 4-5 Sparrowhawks.

Special training was obviously needed for the unusual launch and landing procedures, both of which were gut-wrenching events.

To launch, a Sparrowhawk's engine was started, and the plane was lowered out of the hanger- then dropped. Gravity and the engine did the rest.





To "land" was even trickier. Each plane had a large hook on top, and would fly underneath the huge airship to a metal bar, then try to catch onto it. Once that was done, the whole assembly was pulled back into the hanger, the plane was disconnected, and the bar was lowered back out again for the next plane.







The handful of pilots who mastered this difficult feat were an elite group, and even received a special squadron insignia: "The Men on the Flying Trapeze".







To prove the usefulness of the ships, the captain of the Macon (Herbert Wiley) was determined to do what was considered impossible in 1934 - to find a single ship somewhere in the Pacific ocean. He carried out an unauthorized mission to find a specific target: The President of the United States.

President Franklin Roosevelt was on board the U.S.S. Houston, en route to Hawaii. A needle in a haystack, somewhere in the 3000 miles between North America and Hawaii.

And Wiley did it. The Macon found the Houston 1500 miles at sea. Look-outs on the Houston were shocked to find themselves pursued by airplanes, since that distance was far beyond what any land-based plane at the time could do. Knowing that the President enjoyed reading the daily paper, Wiley had his pilots drop the most recent San Francisco newspapers onto the Houston for him.

Wiley faced a court martial because his mission had been unauthorized. President Roosevelt was so impressed by the feat that he interceded on his behalf.

The Macon and Akron carried out a number of successful reconnaissance drills in the early 1930's, but the fragile nature of lighter-than-air vehicles worked against them. Both were lost in violent storms over water, and future development of the idea was abandoned.

The Akron sank off the Atlantic coast, the Macon off the Pacific. Both wrecks have been found and explored, including their lost Sparrowhawks.

Although now obsolete, the amazing idea hasn't been forgotten. The airship in the 2009 movie "Up" had several small fighter planes, which were based on the design of the Sparrowhawk.

Friday night, 10:57 p.m.

"Hello, I'm calling for the MRI-scheduling lady for Dr. Grumpy. You left me a message that my MRI is on May 21, and that is, like, my birthday, and I'm real claustrophobic and need sedation for my MRI so I don't, like, freak-out or shit like that, so I can't have it on my birthday because I always spend my birthday driving around to my friends' places and smoking pot with them, so I can't be sedated on that day because then the drugs to help me have the MRI would make me too sleepy to drive, and that's not safe."

Must need a helluva big pill bottle

Dr. Grumpy: "How much Inderal are you on now?"

Mr. Hedayk: "80 megatons a day."

Dr. Grumpy: "You mean milligrams."

Mr. Hedayk: "Whatever."

Dear Dr. Worthless,

Thank you for your note on my migraine patient.

I've tried several medications for Mrs. Hedhurtz, including Fukitol, Painbegone, Nomigraine, Acefalgia, Gonehert, and Nopayn, all without success.

I've done MRI's, MRA's, and a spinal tap on her. I sent her to an ophthalmologist.

I was frustrated. She was more frustrated. I wasn't having a lot of success helping her. And she seems like a nice lady.

So, since you advertise yourself as a neurologist who specializes in treating difficult headaches, and cite your 2 years of headache subspecialty fellowship training, I decided to refer her to you. You opened up shop near me last month, so I thought I'd give you a chance to earn my referral business. Your marketing person dropped off some cards here 2 weeks ago.

And yesterday I got your faxed note about her.

At the beginning of your note it says that "I've reviewed Dr. Grumpee's notes and tests in detail." That was your second lie (your first lie is in calling yourself a headache specialist, or even a doctor). I also loved the fact that you spelled my name wrong.

Your note ends with the following, which I've paraphrased.

"Impression: Mrs. Hedhurtz suffers from chronic headaches. She's previously failed trials of Fukitol, Painbegone, Nomigraine, Acefalgia, Gonehert, and Nopayn. I suggest she be referred to an ophthalmologist. A spinal tap should also be considered.

For future treatment, I suggest she be started on a medication that she hasn't previously tried before. I've referred her back to Dr. Grumpee's care to follow my recommendations.

Yours truly,

I. M. Worthless, M.D."


Thank you SO fucking much for your helpful advice. I'd normally say "thanks for nothing", but what you've done doesn't even amount to that much.

As my late grandfather would have said, "this is the second time I've sent you a patient. First and last."

Sincerely,

Ibee Grumpy, M.D.

Compromising and Improvising

Mrs. Grumpy is out of town at a nurse's meeting for 2 days. So I'm trapped with the wild bunch.


Dr. Grumpy: "Hey, what do you guys want for dinner?"

Craig: "Tacos!"

Frank: "Hot dogs!"

Marie: "Don't care."

Frank: "We had tacos last week! He always gets what he wants!"

Craig: "You had a hot dog for lunch yesterday."

Frank: "You idiot!"

Craig: "You're stupider than Snowball!"

(scuffle)

Dr. Grumpy: "STOP THAT!!!"

(silence)

Dr. Grumpy: "Let me look in the fridge."

Hmm. We have some hot dogs, leftover taco meat from last week, shredded cheese. No buns, or bread. How can she leave us without bread?!!! Now what do I do...

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay! Instead of hot dogs or tacos... We're having Taco Dogs!"

(Put together on the spur of the moment from leftovers. A taco shell, with a hot dog, taco meat, and cheese. They were surprisingly popular, albeit unhealthy).

Some days I can't win

Dr. Grumpy: "So, at your last visit I gave you Imitrex for your migraines. How did it work?"

Ms. Aura: "Oh, it was wonderful. I had a migraine last week, and I took it, and within an hour the headache was completely gone!" (suddenly breaks into tears)

Dr. Grumpy: "What's wrong?"

Ms. Aura (sobbing uncontrollably) "I just feel so guilty for taking it!"

Attention staff!

I made myself some tea this morning.

If I catch the person who filled the little lemon juice thing with Tabasco sauce, your ass is FIRED!

Wednesday Afternoon

(Lady with bad hair comes in, stands at front counter)

Mary: "Can I help you?''

Mrs. Badhair: "What suite is this?"

Mary: "405."

Mrs. Badhair: "Where is 507?"

Mary: "Upstairs, on the 5th floor."

Mrs. Badhair: "Does this building have 9 floors?"

Mary: "Um, no. Just 6 floors."

Mrs. Badhair: "That's weird. Because the parking garage across the street only has 4 floors."

Mary: "Um... Yes it does. But this office building has 6 floors."

Mrs. Badhair: "There are cars in the parking garage, too."

Mary: "It's a parking garage."

Mrs. Badhair: "Well, yeah!"

And she walked out.