It was Halloween. Frank was 1 year old. The twins hadn't been born.
The trick-or treaters had come and gone. I was putting things away, when the doorbell rang again.
I probably shouldn't have answered it, but figured we still had lots of candy, and were better off getting rid of it. So I did.
It was 2 guys. Both wearing pillow cases over their heads. Both with their hands out of sight. They said nothing. One started reaching into his jacket pocket.
Before I could slam the door, Blackdog suddenly lunged out of nowhere, growling and barking. She'd placidly laid in the hall and watched one group of trick-or-treaters after another, without moving. But now she was suddenly out for blood.
The two guys bolted and ran as she came for them. I grabbed her collar and slammed & locked the door.
Thank you, Blackdog, for everything. Your amazing 16 year run of devotion came to a peaceful end last week, and we will miss you.
Thank you for always watching over (and putting up with) us.
You've earned your rest, my furry friend. See you on the other side.
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.
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. 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?"
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."
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."
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!"
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.
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.
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.
This blog is entirely for entertainment purposes. All posts about patients, or my everyday life, or anything else may be fictional, or be my experience, or were submitted by a reader, or any combination of the above. Factual statements may or may not be accurate. I could be making all this up. I may not even be a doctor. The only true statement on here is that I probably drink more Diet Coke than you do. A lot more.
Singing Foo!
Twitter fans- you can follow me @docgrumpy
Cast of Characters:
Annie: My Phenomenal MA Mary: My Awesome Secretary Ed: The office fish Dr. Pissy: The guy I share an office with Mrs. Grumpy:My Boss (also the world's greatest school nurse) Frank, Craig, and Marie:The Grumpy Tribe Garlic and Riley: The Grumpy Dogs
Questions? Comments? Biting sarcasm? Write to: pagingdrgrumpy [at] gmail [dot] com
Note: I do not answer medical questions. If you are having a medical issue, see your own doctor. For all you know I'm really a Mongolian yak herder and have no medical training at all except in issues regarding the care and feeding of Mongolian yaks.
