Neither the first nor will it be the last...

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you allergic to any medications?"

Mr. Unsure: "A pill once gave me a rash."

Dr. Grumpy: "Do you remember what it was called?"

Mr. Unsure: "Nope. Can you name some medicines? I'll tell you if it sounds familiar."

Today's helpful hint: Finding a doctor

People often ask me "How do I find a good doctor?"

That's a tough question, and it can be tricky. So here are a few tips to warn you that your doctor may not be real. Any one of these (not to mention ALL of them, FFS) should alert you to look for another doctor.

1. A reputable physician's sole listing will likely NOT be in a Bulgarian language newspaper in Skokie, Illinois.

2. A reputable physician generally will NOT be seeing office patients at 6:30 on a Saturday night.

3. A reputable physician will NOT wait for you, alone, in a dark, locked, building with a "CLOSED" sign in the window.

4. A reputable physcian will NOT let you knock for a while before letting you in himself.

5. A reputable physician will NOT stick toothpicks in your chest.

6. A reputable physician will NOT give you a bottle of pills labeled "Prosperous Farmer" that expired in 2002 (or anything called that, no matter when it expired!)

7. A reputable physician will ALWAYS have some sort of office paperwork.

8. A reputable physician will NOT jump into his car and try to drive away when you return for a follow-up visit.

If your physician does this, and you paid $150 cash for it, then you must have been seeing this guy.

And, for the record, I think it's absolutely pathetic that the patient involved didn't see a problem with items #1-6.

Afternoon interlude

Between patients today I went to talk to Dr. Pissy. He was in his office, calling his father on the speaker phone. Pissy's family lives in a fairly remote area, and I got to hear this:

Dr. Pissy: "Hi, Dad, how are you?"

Pissy Senior: "I'm working".

Dr. Pissy: "What are you working on?"

Pissy Senior: "Cleaning a 'possum."

Going in circles

Dr. Grumpy: "How often do you get migraines?"

Mr. Vague: "Every so often."

Dr. Grumpy: "Well, how much time goes by between headaches?"

Mr. Vague: "A while."

Dr. Grumpy: "I'm trying to get an idea of how often you get migraines. Can you be more specific? Do you get them every day, or every week, or once a month?"

Mr. Vague: "Sometimes."

Mary's desk, May 25, 2011

My 10:00 was a new patient today, a lady in her 60's. At 10:03 her daughter showed up, and had this conversation with Mary:

Mary: "Hi! Where's your mother?"

Mrs. Daughter: "Oh, she'll be here. She had a lot of errands to run, and won't get here until 10:30."

Mary: "Her appointment is now, not 10:30."

Mrs. Daughter: "I know that. It's why I came in on time. I'm holding the slot for her."

Mary: "Excuse me?"

Mrs. Daughter: "I'm here, since she can't be. I'm holding the slot, so you won't cancel it before she gets here. She'll be here at 10:30, I promise, and in the meantime I'll wait here in her place."

Mary: "But you're not the patient!"

Mrs. Daughter: "What does that have to do with it? I'm here on her behalf."

"This has RUINED my manicure! IT'S VERY SERIOUS!"

The emergency room is staffed to handle a lot of things. But, unfortunately, most don't have a 24/7 manicurist available.

Like this lady wanted.

Thank you, Lydia!

Hunka hunka burnin' love!

A nurse at Local Hospital is getting married soon, so they had a shower at work for her yesterday. One of the gifts had been left out by the desk where I was writing in a chart, and I glanced it over.

It was a small bottle of "chocolate flavored body paint, for intimate moments". On one side of the bottle it said "before using, light candles for a romantic mood."

On the other side it said "Warning: Flammable. Do not use near open flame."

Another satisfied customer

Mr. Shakes: "This is my last time here. I've decided to find a new neurologist."

Dr. Grumpy: "May I ask why?"

Mr. Shakes: "Because I didn't have Parkinson's Disease before I came here! Then you told me I have it, and now I do, and I don't like having it! It's your fault!"

Idiocy abounds

Last week I renewed my subscription to my favorite journal "Neurology and the Art of Sarcasm". It was 3 years for $400 (that, believe it or not, is considered to be a good deal).

So I sent them a payment for $400.

On Saturday I received a box containing the last 3 years of issues (which I already have), and a letter asking me if I'd like to subscribe to the next 3 years for another $400.

Needless to say, I'll be calling them this morning.

It's that time of year again

I've been reminded that USMLE part 1 is fast approaching. So I'm reposting my own memories of the test.

And this clip, from the movie "Real Genius". In 30 seconds it summarizes perfectly what studying for USMLE is like.






Anyway...

At the end of the second year of medical school is the USMLE-1 (United States Medical Licensing Boards, Part 1- the name is misleading, several countries use it). This covers every subject from the first 2 years of medical school: Anatomy, Biochemistry, Pathology, Pharmacology, Microbiology, Neuroanatomy, Physiology, Histology, and a few others. 2 years of learning, all in 1 awful test. When I took it the test consisted of 4 sessions spread out over 2 days. Each session had 200 questions, and 3 hours to answer them.

At my school, if you failed the test, you had to take it again. If you failed it twice, your medical career was over (though you still owed your student loans back).

It was the Summer of 1991.

I don't remember the specific dates. But basically, between the time med school ended for the Summer, and the dreaded test, was roughly 1 month. You had 30 days to re-study everything that had taken you 2 years to learn to that point. And pretty much your chances of a career in medicine depended on how you did.

So it was stressful. And, to this day, I still feel for all of you who are out there studying for it now. Any classmate, resident, or attending who tells you they weren't scared is lying.

Within hours of the semester ending, my class had gone into hiding.

I stopped shaving, to save time. My roommate, Enzyme, disconnected our TV, moved it across the room, and piled furniture in front of it.

My days consisted of me getting up at 7:30. I'd either stay at my apartment desk or walk over to campus to find an empty classroom to study in. I'd put in my trusty earplugs and the world around me ceased to exist.

Around noon I'd go back to my apartment for a PBJ, then go study again. At 5 I'd go back to my place for a sandwich, or ramen soup, or Rice-a-Roni. I'd sit out on my balcony and eat, for 15 minutes of relaxation. Or I'd read a book with dinner (Enzyme and I were both reading a single copy of "The Price of Admiralty" by John Keegan. It sat on our kitchen table for the month, and we'd have different eating times so we could share it). I never spent more than 30 minutes on a break. After dinner I'd go back to my desk, or campus. I'd study until around 3 a.m., then go home to sleep for a few hours.

I called my parents a few times. My daily outfit consisted of gym shorts (the short kind, from the 80's), T-shirt, sneakers, and the growing beard. Days blended together. There were no differences between weekends and weekdays. People I encountered were superfluous to my existence. I saw my classmates a few times, and we exchanged glassy-eyed nods as we passed.

I shaved a night or two before the test. I studied until around 11:30 p.m. on the eve of the test, re-reviewing a few last points.

It was weird, like I was living alone on another planet for 30 days. I have no idea what happened in the news that month. I was out-of-touch with everything but my books.

If there's one thing I came out of medical school with, it was this: The realization that there was absolutely, positively, no way you were EVER going to get everything read, studied, and reviewed that you needed to before the test.

And, somehow, when the test was over and the dust had settled, you'd done it. And you'd have no idea how. I still don't.

Good luck, everybody.

Memories

Occasionally someone will write in wondering why I became a neurologist. It was mostly by process of elimination, as I learned other things just weren't for me.


My pediatric career died fast in med school.

That rotation, during my 3rd year, was 8 weeks long. It took me 15 minutes to realize I didn't want to do this for a living. So I was left with 7 weeks, 6 days, 23 hours, and 45 minutes of waiting it out (and pretending to have a deep interest in hearing about the color of a child's diarrhea/mucus/whatever).


1. I can't see a tympanic membrane in a baby's ear canal (and am convinced most pediatricians just confabulate the "it's a little red" line).

2. I remember trying to examine a hysterically screaming infant in pediatric clinic. It was screaming before I went, in, and me trying to listen with a stethoscope only made things worse (and damaged my hearing).

Finally the mother said "FOR GOD'S SAKE! MAKE HIM STOP CRYING!!!"

So I left the room. That seemed to do the trick.

And that was how I realized I had absolutely no interest in doing peds.

And I feel fine...

If the world does end, I guess I'll be going to hell. So like I told Mary and Annie, I'll see them at the office on Monday no matter what happens.

Whatever

Mr. Ancient: "My pediatrician said I have nerve damage in the foot."

Dr. Grumpy: "You mean podiatrist?"

Mr. Ancient: "Whatever."

Dear patient I didn't see,

Sorry I refused to work you in yesterday afternoon. I had an open slot, and would much rather see you here, and get paid for it, then have an empty hour.

But when you called Mary and said you'd had a horrible headache all morning, and couldn't move your right arm very well, she quickly became alarmed that this wasn't something that should be handled in my office. In fact, she told you to call 911, and you refused, saying you'd rather just drive over to see me.

That personally alarmed me, because obviously you shouldn't be driving in your condition. When Mary told me that I decided to get on the phone myself.

Your speech was a bit slurred, and I again reiterated that you should call 911. I even offered to call them for you, and asked for your address or phone number, so I could get them to your house. You refused, on the grounds that your co-pay for an ER visit was higher than it was to come to my office.

Then you told me that you didn't want to see me anyway, because obviously I didn't care about someone who needed help. And you hung up.

Believe me, if I didn't care, I wouldn't have tried to get you to ER.