Grumpy Summer vacation, 2012

Since I'm spending the morning frantically looking for plane tickets, my sunglasses, and kids, a special guest blogger has kindly offered to make the traditional announcement for me:





Thank you, Ambassador!

Vote Grumpy, 2012!

As the 2012 Presidential campaign goes on, I think it's time that I introduce more of my platform.

Certain phrases will be retired, or have strict limitations on them:

The words "artisan" and "artisanal" can only be used to refer to products manufactured by a company with fewer than 20 employees, and cannot be used for anything naturally grown (like lettuce, FFS). If it's not handmade, it's not artisan.

The use of the phrase "reaching out" and its derivatives will be punishable by death. I am sick of hearing "I'm reaching out to you today" or "We're trying to reach out." Bullshit. Do you say "I reached out to Mom to wish her a happy birthday?" No! You freakin' called her. Or sent her a card. Or email. Or whatever. "Reaching out" is what you do when trying to get pancake mix off the top shelf.

"Reaching out's" evil twin "touch base" will also be banned. Not only is it stupid, it sounds like a code phrase Jerry Sandusky would use. It will be strictly limited only to baseball announcers where appropriate.

Saying "think outside the box" will be punishable by being interred in a large box. Without airholes.

"Empower" really needs to go. It's stupid. I mean, hell, I empower my kids to take out the garbage, and they still don't. It's condescending. Worst of all, it brings back memories of a horrific blind date I went on in the early 90's where this girl kept saying it. She empowered me to pick a restaurant. She empowered me to order for her. She empowered me to decide what show to go to, and where to have a drink after the show. And after all that she didn't even empower me to sleep with her.

Want to use the phrase "push the envelope"? Under President Grumpy you'll be sealed in a big paper envelope and pushed into the Grand Canyon.

Do you always "give 110%"? Good. Because pretty much all it says is that you're a moron who failed 3rd grade math. If you're caught saying it when I'm in office you'll be sent back to grade school. And have to sit in one of those tiny desks.

The Disney company will be forbidden to use the word "classic" in advertisements for pretty much anything. And they can't use artisanal, either.

There will be a minimum wait time of 25 years before Hollywood can even think about remaking a movie. Violators will be forced to watch the new "Total Recall" until they gouge their eyes out.

The phrase "goes" to refer to people speaking will be replaced by the rightful "says." Believe it or not, this one drives me crazier than any of the above. It started when I was in High School, and just keeps spreading. Like Ebola.

Politicians who espouse screaming and yelling at the opposition will be dropped into a desert with an equal number of equally stubborn people from the other side, under circumstances where their mutual survival depends on finding ways to work together and be polite. This will be aired as a TV show called "Modern Sandbox," with advertising revenue and T-shirt sales going toward the national debt.

Remember: Vote Grumpy in November! Unlike my competitors I actually have my birth certificate immediately available (sort of - I think it's in an old briefcase in the back of my Dad's closet) and I don't own an Olympic horse that I'm spending $77,000 per year on. I've also never driven with a dog strapped to the roof of my car. And I've never been to Kenya. Or Africa. Or the moon. After all, these are the REALLY important issues you should be paying attention to, not silly things like the economy or women's rights. And, like any good politician, I'm for sale. Someone (hell, anyone), please buy me. I take Paypal.

OH NO! That will never come out of my shirt!

Yes, worse than getting blood or grease stains on your clothes:

Thank you, Webhill!

Fashion

They turned off the air conditioning at my office last night for repairs, so when I got here early this morning it was quite warm. Since on Fridays no one else comes in until 9:00, I took off my shirt.

I went up front to get water from the cooler, and found myself at the front window, face-to-face with the lung doctor next door. He'd just gotten out of the elevator across from my door.

The bottom half of the front window is fogged. So for all he knows...

This can only improve my reputation.

Effort

Today I'd like to share this bracelet, which was sent in by Beth (thank you, Beth!). Her husband got it after being treated at an outpatient surgicenter:

Now, I don't know about you guys, but I don't find this particularly reassuring. Granted, the word "excellent" is pretty overused these days, but still. They might as well write "Our goal is anything above mediocre care" or "Our goal is to avoid being on Fail Blog." I mean, this is surgery for crap's sake. I don't think "very good," even when all capitalized, sounds especially comforting.

I could probably go on with a whole post about how many resources are wasted on these stupid bracelets, which my kids bring home from school for one cause or another almost every freakin' day. With various shit like "I believe in art class" or "Support your local pencil factory" or "Eat at Rigatoni's House of Overpriced Pasta." They end up all over the floor, and then get tossed in recycling. But I think I'll stop there.

Life at the cheap motel

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, we'll try this new medication, and I'll see you back in a month. Any other questions?"

Ms. Viridae: "Yeah, it looks like I have, um genital herpes. Can you call in some Valtrex for me?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No, that's not something I treat. I recommend you go back to your family doctor to have it properly evaluated and get the right medication."

Ms. Viridae: "I'd rather not... I think he's the one who gave it to me."

Tuesday morning, 2:18 a.m.

"Hi, can someone call me back? I saw you in 2005, but changed to another doc because I didn't like you. Anyway, that doc just moved away, and I'm out of Vicoden. Can you please call some in for me until I can find another neurologist?"

Tonight's health tip

While I don't have any large-scale, double-blinded, placebo-controlled studies to back it up, I'm going to go out on a limb with this recommendation:

IT IS NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, A GOOD IDEA TO SHOVE LIT FIREWORKS IN YOUR ASS.

This has been a public service announcement from Grumpy Neurology, Inc.

Today's quiz

This picture:

A: Shows why you shouldn't pass out drunk when your friends have magic markers lying around.

B. "OMG grandma, I told you not to use the discount tattoo place!"

C. Is the latest innovation from Apple, the iBrain. The flash drive is planted right under your skin, and connects in your gums via Bluetooth.

D. Is from an ad for a new type of brain scan.


The correct answer is D. Really!

Weekend reruns

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 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.

July 28, 1909

The Waratah wasn't a fancy ship compared to the giants that crossed the North Atlantic. She was built for mixed-use (both freight and passengers) but still had fashionable features to keep her travelers comfortable. She worked the long (6-8 week) voyage between England and Australia, serving stops in South Africa along the way.

And 103 years ago today she disappeared. Without a trace.

211 people vanished with her. She'd stopped in Durban, South Africa, where one passenger disembarked as he felt she was top-heavy and unsafe. She left port later that day, never to return.

Cruising along the South African coast on July 27, 1909 she was passed by (possibly) 3 other ships, though identification was difficult. The Waratah, like many other ships of the era, didn't carry the newly invented telegraph equipment.

The area is known for monstrous freak waves, which can overwhelm and badly damage ships. One steamer reported seeing a ship coming up quickly, possibly on fire (though it could also have been a brush fire on land, which were common). A police officer patrolling the Transkei coast thought he saw a large ship offshore being battered in huge waves, finally rolling over and sinking.

She was expected to reach Cape Town on July 29, but never made it.

The Royal Navy quickly launched a search with 3 cruisers, without success. One of them (HMS Hermes) was so badly damaged by huge waves that she required extensive drydock repairs upon return.

Further patrols were sent out, both private and government sponsored. All together they covered 14,000 square miles of water of South Africa. Without any evidence of the Waratah.

Not a single verifiable trace has ever been found. A few sightings of what may have been bodies floating off the coast afterwards, or a non-identifiable chair cushion bobbing on the waves. All seen from passing ships, but no one stopped to get a better look. For all we know they were seaweed or aquatic objects.

Leads have come in sporadically over the years. In 1925 the pilot of a plane reported seeing a large vessel on the bottom, but searches of the area have since been unsuccessful. Similar searches of the offshore area where the officer reported seeing a ship sink have also found nothing.

Twice it was thought her wreck had been found, but on investigation they turned out to be other lost ships. One was a freighter sunk during World War II.

What could have happened?

The answer remains a mystery. She was considered a safe, well-built ship, and had received top ratings from government inspectors and insurance companies.

A great deal of investigation time was spent on descriptions of her stability, but in the end a board of inquiry was unable to find any clear evidence of her being unseaworthy.

103 years later and we're no closer to finding her, or learning the fate of 211 voyagers, than we were in 1909. Like U.S.S. Cyclops, this is a mystery I'd love to see solved.

But I'm not optimistic.

Patient quote of the day

Mrs. Young: "I like to walk a lot, but not hike. I prefer streets. I like to streetwalk. Um, that didn't sound good, did it?"

Magic

Dr. Grumpy: "Have you lost or gained any weight since starting Fukitol?"

Mrs. Pound: "I don't know... I don't have a scale at home."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, then let's go over to the scale. I need to know what your weight is on the drug."

Mrs. Pound: "No, you don't need to."

Dr. Grumpy: "I'm sorry, I do."

Mrs. Pound: "No, I'm not going to. A good doctor should be able to tell my weight just by looking at me."

Drug rep swag

Since January 1, 2009 drug reps haven't been able to give us any of their goodies like pens, post-notes, calendars, or pretty much anything.

However, my colleagues in non-human medical fields are exempt. So veterinarians still get their bountiful, yet bizarre gifts. My colleague Webhill recently received this gem, which she kindly sent:

What the hell is that? A rubber cat? A hurkle? (no, wait, it has 4 legs, not 6) A Pokemon?



Nope. It's a flash drive.

Because, let's face it. Nothing could ever make your day like having someone ask, "Hey, doc, why do you have a blue cat's butt sticking out of your computer?"