It's always an accident

Thank you, Tab!

Memories...

"Who's the U-Boat Commander?"

As part of a mid-life crisis a few years back, Dr. Pissy bought a Porsche. This is not an uncommon event in males. His wife wasn't exactly thrilled about it (also not uncommon).

About a year later, she went out of town for 2 weeks to visit family. Pissy stayed here.

And did something his wife would never have allowed: entered himself in a local Porsche club's monthly race at the Grumpyville Speedway. He'd always wanted to do that, and he figured that, like a wild teenager, this was the best weekend to do it.

He had a lot of fun until the 4th lap of the 3rd race... when he blew up the engine to the tune of several thousand dollars. The car was towed off to DeutschenSprockets repair shop.

Then the fun began. Like Joel Goodson, Pissy had to have the Porsche working again before the authorities returned home. So each office day involved him calling the repair place - several times - to frantically check on how things were going. He paid extra to have the work expedited over other owners. At one point, when a certain part would take 3 days to have shipped, he called the distributor himself to arrange (and pay more for) overnight delivery.

He got the car back a few hours before her flight landed, and even took it to pick her up from the airport. On the way home they ordered take-out, and he went into the restaurant to get their order.

She looked for her sunglasses in the glove compartment, and found the repair bill.

Patience

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

Mrs. Amyloid: "Hi, I just saw a TV commercial for Noforget, and want to take it."

Annie: "Okay, let me look at your chart... you are taking it."

Mrs. Amyloid: "I am? I didn't know I take any pills."

Annie (sighs): "Yes, your husband gives them to you each day. He reviewed them with Dr. Grumpy at your appointment last week."

Mrs. Amyloid: "My husband sees Dr. Grumpy? Should I make an appointment, too?"

Annie: "No, you're okay. Your husband is handling it all, so you don't need to."

Mrs. Amyloid: "What's Noforget used for, anyway?"

Annie: "Memory problems."

Mrs. Amyloid: "Do I have those?"

Annie: "Yes."

Mrs. Amyloid: "Nobody told me that. Why did you call me, anyway?"

Willows and poppies

So, last night I was doing a market research survey on stroke treatments.

Sandwiched between a question on the efficacy of anti-platelet agents and another on their safety profiles was this:

I'm not sure if this falls under the "IT guy screwed up" or "let's see if you're paying attention" categories.

Huh?

Later this week, Marie is leaving for Camp Wannahockaloogie to further enhance her skills at pick-pocketing, breaking & entering, and car theft.

Over the weekend I received this email from the camp:

Random pictures

Okay, time to hit the mailbag for some shots you guys have sent in.


First is this bizarre placement for a Hall's cough drop ad:

"Endorsed by Linda Lovelace."

Next is a bit of jealousy. While drug reps haven't been able to give really cool pens to us human-specializing doctors since 2009, my colleagues in veterinary medicine still get them. Like this:

Then there's this supreme plaque seen at the Toledo Zoo:

"Courts have scales, fish have scales.. Is that it?"

Here's the last word in 1-stop shopping (okay, 2nd-to-last-word. The last word would be booze).

And then there's this screen pic, which really gives you confidence in the IT guy.

Years after it was run, it's still hard not to love this awesome ad for an antipsychotic drug.

"I think the tie is scarier than the cane."

And, lastly, from the "check out our website" department.

"Are you allergic to 10W40?"

Dr. Grumpy: "What medications do you take?"

Mr. Ford: "I have a list here, hang on..."

(takes a folded piece of paper out of his wallet and hands it to me)

One out of three

Mrs. One: "Hello?"

Mary: "Hi, this is Mary, from Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm just calling to remind you of your appointment tomorrow at 8:45."

Mrs. One: "It's on my calendar. I'm quite aware of it. I'm an adult, you know, and you don't need to bother me with such condescending behavior. Reminder calls are demeaning."

Mary: "Sorry."

_____________________________


Ms. Two: "Hello?"

Mary: "Hi, this is Mary, from Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm just calling to remind you of your appointment tomorrow at 2:30."

Ms. Two: "Great! I'll be there! Thank you!"

Mary: "See you then."

_____________________________


Mr. Three: "Hello?"

Mary: "Hi, this is Mary, from Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm just calling to remind you of your appointment tomorrow at 4:15."

Mr. Three: "It's about time."

Mary: "Excuse me?"

Mr. Three: "It's about time you called. I was wondering if you people were going to have the simple courtesy to do a reminder call."

Mary: "Okay, this is your reminder, and so we'll see you at..."

Mr. Three: "Customer service in medicine is obviously dead, or you would have called earlier."

One way, or another

Him: "Good morning, thanks for calling Local Grocery."

Me: "What time does the post office in the store open?"

Him: "I don't know their hours. You'll have to call back around 9, when they open."

Friday whatever

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you right or left handed?"

Mr. Vocab: "I can write with either, I'm bisexual."

Dr. Grumpy: "Um, you mean ambidextrous?"

Mr. Vocab: "Yeah, whatever it's called."

Memories...

Dr. Bond was an attending physician where I trained, known for insanely long wait times (like 3 hours or more). Although I never really understood why (and still don't) he had a loyal following of patients who put up with it and came armed with books, magazine, and coolers.

They'd wait in the lobby, then get taken back to an exam room where they'd wait a few more hours... and at some point he'd see them.

Until one night.

I was the neurology resident on call, and around 11:00 that night was paged by the head of the hospital's janitorial services.

Apparently, Dr. Bond's 4:45 patient had been put in a room... and forgotten. The staff left around 6:00, and the patient, used to Dr. Bond's usual waiting times, just stayed in there. Eventually he fell asleep (the badly-rattled cleaning lady actually thought she'd found a body).

So I walked across the street to the clinic (not exactly a great idea in that area) and briefly met with the patient. After determining that he wasn't dead (he'd just left his hearing aids at home) I called Dr. Bond to ask him what to do.

To his credit, he drove in to see the patient for the regular appointment that had been scheduled for that afternoon.

Maybe

Dr. Grumpy: "Any other questions?"

Mr. Rem: "Do you think I'm so tired because of all the Oxycontin I'm on?"

Dr. Grumpy: "That could do it... Um, I don't have you listed as taking Oxycontin."

Mr. Rem: "That's because I didn't tell you. I'm on 80mg three times a day."

Dr. Grumpy: "Um, yes, that could make you tired. Why didn't you tell me that?"

Mr. Rem: "I didn't think it was relevant."

"I'll be damned if I'm buying the next round."

Seen in a chart:

Memorial Day

Howard Gilmore was born in Alabama, and joined the navy when he turned 18. For an enlisted man to become an officer was a rarity at the time, but after 2 years he was appointed to Annapolis following competitive examinations.

He was, as a fellow officer described him, "one of the finest men I ever knew, but he was born under an unlucky star." While ashore in Panama during the shakedown cruise of the submarine U.S.S. Shark, he was attacked by local thugs and had his throat cut. He survived, but was left with a bad scar.

A few years later his first wife died, at a young age, from a disabling disease.

The day after the Pearl Harbor attack he was assigned to command the U.S.S. Growler, a submarine that was nearing completion. He supervised her during commissioning, and then took her through the Panama canal to fight in the Pacific.

Through 4 patrols, he led his crew on a series of successes. In July, 1942 Growler single-handedly attacked 3 Japanese destroyers, sinking one and badly damaging the other two. He was awarded the Navy Cross for this action. On a second patrol later that year he sank 4 Japanese merchant ships.

Shortly after Growler left on her 4th patrol, his 2nd wife fell down a flight of stairs and was in a coma for several months. Because his sub had already left, this information wasn't relayed on.

In early February, 1943, Growler was hunting off the Solomon islands, sinking one freighter and damaging another. Just after 1:00 a.m., in the early morning of February 7, 1943, she was stalking a Japanese convoy and preparing for a surface attack. Gilmore and 6 others were out on the bridge, planning strategy, when they were spotted by the enemy.

A convoy escort, Hayasaki, came after them, intending to ram the sub. In the darkness the course change wasn't immediately seen, and the enemy vessel got quite close before being detected. Gilmore ordered a sharp turn... but it was too late.

Growler struck the Hayasaki amidships. The collision bent the submarine's bow sharply to the left and destroyed her forward torpedo tubes. As Gilmore ordered the crew to clear the bridge and get below, they were raked with machine gun fire. Two crewmen were killed, and Gilmore was wounded.

The Japanese vessel, undamaged, raced away and turned around, intending to ram the submarine again and send her to the bottom. Gilmore, wounded and now the only living person on the bridge, couldn't get to the hatch quickly and realized the submarine had to dive immediately if she were to have any hope of surviving. He yelled "Take her down!", repeating the order to make sure he was understood. He knew this would leave him on the surface to drown.

Growler's executive officer, Arnold Schade, hesitated for a few seconds, but realized the situation, too. He followed the commander's last order and submerged to avoid the oncoming ship.

After hiding deep to escape Hayasaki for several hours, Schade brought Growler to the surface. The Japanese ship had left, and the submarine slowly cruised around the area looking for Gilmore while the crew carried out makeshift repairs. Though badly damaged, she was able to make it to Brisbane.

Commander Gilmore was never found. His posthumous Medal of Honor was presented to his widow when she recovered from her injury.