Memories...

It was the early 1970's. I don't remember the man's name. Maybe I never knew it.

My Dad didn't know it either, but he helped him.

Dad was downtown, driving home from his law practice one afternoon. I don't remember the time of year.

He was stopped at a red light while people crossed in front of his car. One was an elderly man with a cane. One of his legs was shorter than the other, and so he had a shoe with a platform bottom on that side to support him.

As he hobbled across the street, he tripped and fell, landing on his chest. The cane went flying, and he was unable to get back up. While he struggled to get to his feet the typical rush hour traffic began honking and yelling at him.

Dad got out, and helped the man up. The cane was gone, smashed by a car trying to beat the yellow light. He got the man to his feet, but without the cane he couldn't walk. So Dad put an arm around the elderly stranger, and got him to his car. He put him in the passenger seat, figuring then he'd find out where he lived and drive him home.

The man was scared, and badly shaken up. A stranger had just run out in front of traffic and yelling people to help him. And now my Dad learned he didn't speak a word of English - just Italian.

Nowadays maybe people would have left the man lying there, called police on their call phone, and driven around him. Or helped him to the edge of the curb and left him there for someone else to find. Or just not given a shit at all and continued honking at him.

But Dad brought him back to our house.

There was no cell phone. The first hint we had that anything was up was when Dad came in the carport door, supporting an elderly man I'd never seen before. He called my Mom, and as he explained what happened they got him to a chair at the kitchen table. Mom got him some water and a few band-aids for his bumps and scrapes.

Dad went to the phone. A friend of his was a doctor, whose father was an Italian immigrant. He reached him at his office as he was finishing up for the day, and the good doctor immediately called his father (who was fluent in both English and Italian) and they came to our house.

While the doctor checked him over, his father spoke to the man, and they quickly got his information. He didn't know the phone number of the building he lived at, but knew the address. It was a few miles from where he'd fallen, and he'd been on his way to the bus stop to go home when the accident happened.

The doctor's father drove the man home a short while later, though they stopped at the drugstore for a new cane.

I never saw the man again, but the memory is still there. A frail looking elderly man in a black suit, white shirt, and dark Homburg hat. The one shoe with the platform bottom. Sitting at the formica table in our yellow 70's kitchen.

I don't recall my Dad mentioning the events of that day again. I don't think I even remember him talking to me directly about it while it was going on. But I learned a lot that day that I hope I never forget.

Annie's desk

Annie: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Annie."

Mr. Blood: "Hi, I have a question about the labs Dr. Grumpy ordered."

Annie: "Sure, what's up?"

Mr. Blood: "It says here the labs are fasting."

Annie: "Yeah, that's standard for what he wants done."

Mr. Blood: "Okay, but am I the one who has to be fasting? Or is it the tech who draws them?"

Glad they cleared that up

Last night I was at a meeting about an upcoming drug study, and this was one of the slides:

I wanted to ask what they consider REALLY serious.

Words

On call yesterday I was in ER, examining a lady who'd just had a seizure. From the other side of the curtain I hear this:


Her: "Did you cover it? I don't want to catch diseases."

Him: "Yes. Now I'm going to put it in."

Her: "Please be gentle. I'm very sensitive there."

Him: "Of course."

Her: "Is it in yet?"

Him: "Just a little bit, I need to put it in further."

Her: "Ow! Don't push so hard!"

Him: "Sorry... It's in now."

Her: "I can feel it."

Him: "And... I'm done. I pulled it out. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Her: "Only when you first put it in, but it went fast."


And it was... A male nurse checking a tympanic temperature on an elderly lady.

Sigh

Mrs. Seven: "I also take Spazon-XR."

Dr. Grumpy (looking at her list): "You take that just once a week?"

Mrs. Seven: "No, it's every Saturday."

Looking for clues

Mr. Construction: "My hands have been getting numb over the last few years."

Dr. Grumpy: "Any change in your activities in that time?"

Mr. Construction: "Nope. Same old boring job."

Dr. Grumpy: "Is there..."

Mr. Construction: "I hope you can figure this out, doc. It makes it hard to hold a jackhammer all day."

On the road again

(Guy walks in, stands at counter)

Mary: "Hi, can I help you?"

Mr. Distance: "I was referred to see Dr. Grumpy." (pulls out piece of paper, hands it to her)

Mary: "Okay, I can make an appointment for you. How about..."

Mr. Distance: "You mean you can't see me NOW?"

Mary: "No, today is full, but on Tuesday we have..."

Mr. Distance: "But I just drove over 200 miles to get here! You can see from the referral that I live in Waywest!"

Mary: "I'm sorry, but..."

Mr. Distance: "I saw Dr. Referral this morning, and she said that I should see Dr. Grumpy. So I decided to just come on over."

Mary: "Why didn't you call for an appointment?"

Mr. Distance: "I thought that would complicate things. Hey, can I use your bathroom?"

Clarification

I'm not sure what these guys want. Can anyone out there help me? They're pretty vague.

Thank you, Nos!

Hey, it's all your insurance will cover

Great medical ads:




Thank you, Jillian!

Thursday afternoon

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you allergic to anything?"

Mr. Anaerobe: "Chlorophyll, and all other oxygen producing substances."

Kissing up

About a month ago I had a pre-med student spend an afternoon with me. Actually, it wasn't even that. After 2 hours she looked liked she was bored out of her mind (I'd warned her about that, but she still wanted to come in) and left at 3:00, saying she was meeting a friend for lunch.

Anyway, I didn't hear from her again until yesterday, when this neatly typed note showed up in the mail:

Dear Dr. Grumpy,

Thank you for taking the time and allowing me to shadow you last month. I understand that having me there required a tremendous amount of time and effort, and I genuinely appreciate your support. My time with you was an unparallelled pleasure.

You are a great leader, humanitarian, and physician. I will always cherish the knowledge that you shared with me.

Yours truly,

Katie Brownnose



Dear Katie,

Thank you for your kind note. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep you awake during your brief time here, but I warned you that office neurology, to an outsider, is less than exciting.

I'm glad you wrote, because I've been meaning to get in touch with you. Based on our brief time together I'm concerned you may have narcolepsy, and suggest you see a sleep specialist. If it would be easier, try to spend time with one (like you did with me) and they'll likely notice.

Thank you for your kind words. I've always considered myself a great leader here in my practice, but given that I'm solo this is easy. The real truth, though, is that Mary and Annie are in charge, and I just do what they tell me. If you become a doctor, you'll figure that out at some point.

I'm assuming that someday you'll hit me up for a letter of recommendation. Based on my interaction with you, I can certainly reassure them that you're neatly dressed, speak English when wide awake, and have 4 limbs, 1 head, and 2 eyes.

Yours truly,

Ibee Grumpy, M.D.


Actually, folks, I understand her note. I wrote my share of similar stuff back in the day, and now I realize even more so how awful it sounded.

My staff is awesome

Mary: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Mary."

Mrs. Memory: "Hi, I need to come back and see Dr. Grumpy."

Mary: "Um... Actually, you have an appointment today, at 1:45."

Mrs. Memory: "No I don't."

Mary: "You do, ma'am."

Mrs. Memory: "I most certainly do not. Otherwise I wouldn't be calling you. Now, as I was saying, I need to see Dr. Grumpy again."

Mary: "Okay, well, if you'd like to come in today we have an opening at 1:45?"

Mrs. Memory: "Oh, that works perfectly. I'll be there."

Mary: "Great! See you then."

Mrs. Memory: "Thank you for getting me in so quickly."

Dear Azilect,

Recently, one of my patients applied to your Azilect assistance program, to help those unable to afford a prescription for it.

She filled out the papers, got them together with her Azilect prescription and financial info, and I signed the forms and put them in the mail.

So, I was somewhat puzzled when she brought in this letter last week:

What's up with this? I mean, if the Azilect Patient Assistance Program DOESN'T provide Azilect, what do they provide? Oven mitts?

For future clarification you should consider renaming the program "Non-Assistance" or "No-Azilect Program."

Or, simply have it supply Azilect in the first place.

Yours truly,

Ibee Grumpy, M.D.

From the slushpile

Okay, it's time to hit the mailbag for more examples of artisan/artisanal junk you guys have sent in.

Again, this is not to make fun of tradesman who are genuinely working on handmade artisanal products. This is to highlight, as I have before, the many bullshit uses of the word being slapped on pretty much anything that's mass-produced, or grown (if it grows on a tree, you didn't make it), or other abuses of the word.

First, we have this:

I mean, it's SEAWEED for crap's sake. It grows in the ocean and washes up on the beach, making a rotten, smelly, mess. How is that artisanal?



What else is artisanal these days? Maybe something made in small quantities... Like hot dogs and their fluffy buns:

I'm pretty sure ANYTHING advertised on a roadside billboard isn't artisanal.

What about the security guard who drives around your neighborhood looking for suspicious characters, and calls your house when you set off the alarm while putting out the dog? Is he an artisan? Apparently so.

"So, Mr. Zimmerman. You say you're an artisan?"

Hopefully, having a good artisanal security system will bring you some peace of mind. But, if it doesn't I suppose you can always go buy it:

"Handcrafted tranquility is in aisle 4. Do you have a note from your doctor for that?"

Speaking of peace, have you been trying to find a nice place for Grandma? How about...

"What does artisanal mean? What does artisanal mean? What does..."

And, lastly, while the overuse of "artisan" certainly brings an uncertainty principle of what it means, I still have to respect it when it's tied to a good joke.

"Hey, what's this blue candy inside my baguette?"