Doctors Behaving Badly

Dr. Dickweed is an internist upstairs from me. He's been there since I moved into the building over 10 years ago.

He's never referred to me. I'm polite, I've tried to talk to him in the elevator. When I started out 10 years ago I went by his office asking for referrals. He's coldly informed me that he doesn't trust, or refer to, physicians under 60 years old. Whatever. He's entitled to his opinion.

Anyway, my secretary interrupted me today to say that Dr. Dickweed was on the phone for me. This was a first, and I picked up the phone.

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy."

Dr. Dickweed: "Grumpy, this is Dickweed. I just want you to know that I'm out of Topamax samples, and one of my patients needs some. So I told her to come by your office to get some. Your staff doesn't need to schedule her for an appointment, and you don't need to see her. Just give her whatever Topamax samples you have."

Dr. Grumpy (somewhat taken aback by this kind request): "Dickweed, I'm out of Topamax samples."

Dr. Dickweed: "You young doctors are so fucking worthless." (click, hangs up).


The funny thing is that nobody has Topamax. They stopped giving out samples last Summer.

Einstein She Ain't

A new drug rep, Ms. Pharmafakeones, brought lunch to my office today, piling a bunch of sandwiches wrapped in white paper on the break room table.

Ms. Pharmafakeones was furious. She'd ordered 4 roast beef and 4 turkey sandwiches, and was angry because she'd asked the deli to label them so people could tell what kind of sandwich it was without opening it.

Instead (according to her), the deli had only written "their own codes" on the wrappers, so she wasn't sure which were which.

My staff noticed that 4 of the wrappers said "RB", and the other 4 said "Gobbler".

Ms. Pharmafakeones was amazed at how my staff were able to figure this out.

Smokin' Deal, Dude!

I was looking for a new camera a few weeks ago, and noticed this on Amazon. Check out the remarkable savings Amazon offers over the list price.

(click to enlarge)

It's The Little Old Lady from Pasadena

Last night, on my way home from the hospital, Mrs. Grumpy called and asked me to stop for some tomatoes (don't get me started). So I pulled into Local Grocery.

Inside Local Grocery, one aisle looked like a war zone. A large cardboard display had fallen over and was torn in half. Cans were everywhere, like a bulldozer had driven through a display. There were a few potted plants from a nearby gardening display that were lying on their sides, with soil spilling out. A small army of teenagers with push brooms were working on the mess.

But, since I was in hurry, I grabbed my tomatoes and left.

I'd forgotten about it until today. My 10:30 is a sweet old lady with serious balance problems, who recently got a motorized scooter. So I asked her how she's been doing with learning to drive it.

"I've been doing fine. Or at least I thought I was. I keep forgetting how to stop it, and last night I was going down the aisle at Local Grocery, when I tried to slow down and swerve around this huge display of cans........"

Okay, So I'm Cheap

If I ever catch the person who super-glued a dime to the floor of the doctor's lounge sometime last night, I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR BUTT!!!

Like Hell I Will!

I stopped for gas on the way to the hospital this morning. While filling up, I noticed this sign on the pump:

"If a fire starts while you are pumping gas, please press the 'call attendant' button and wait for further instructions".


I'm sorry, but if a fire starts while I'm pumping gas, I'm going to be running away too fast to call the attendant. They may hear me screaming, though, in lieu of the "call attendant" button.

Good Thing He's in a Coma

Being a neurologist means sometimes being LOUD. In residency, no matter how quiet and soft-spoken you may be, you learn how to SHOUT, yet still be polite.

Is this because we deal with little old deaf people? A little. But the main reason is because we are frequently consulted to wake the dead (or at least try) and evaluate the comatose. In order to do so you need to make sure that this person definitely isn't responding. So you learn to be able to shout into their ears in the gigadecibel range, to see if they can actually hear you.

And you yell simple commands, trying to break through a wall of brain damage, drugs, and loud ICU machines to see if there's anyone in there. "MR. JONES! CAN YOU WIGGLE YOUR TOES FOR ME?" or "MRS. SMITH! CAN YOU SHOW ME TWO FINGERS?"

If you don't believe me, just ask any ICU nurse. They often carry their own earplugs for when they see a neurologist going into a patient's room.

So this morning I got called in to evaluate a guy with brain damage named Mr. Dick.

So I did my usual shouting routine to try to wake him.

"MR. DICK! CAN YOU HEAR ME? CAN YOU HOLD UP TWO FINGERS?"

No response.

"MR. TOES! CAN YOU WIGGLE YOUR DICK FOR ME?"

Mercifully, the patient didn't respond. The nurses' station, however, broke down in hysterical laughing. So did the patient 2 doors down. I'm sure I turned bright red when I realized what I'd said.

Leave me alone. It's 5:00 a.m., and I haven't had a Diet Coke yet.

Fun on Rounds

Checking a cantankerous old guy's vision at the hospital today.

Dr. Grumpy: "What color is my hair, sir?"

Mr: Evenmoregrumpy: "You're a half-bald asshole!"


(for the record, Mrs. Grumpy says that's the correct answer)

Some Days It's Fun

Medicine is a serious business. I try not to take it too seriously (obviously), but it's the patients who come in with a great sense of humor who can make the job worthwhile.

Yesterday I was seeing an older couple, and we had a couple of great exchanges.


Dr. Grumpy: "And is this Mrs. Funpatient?"

Mr. Funpatient: "No, she's a hooker. I picked her up in your lobby."


AND


Dr. Grumpy: "Now that you've retired, what are you guys doing?

Mr. Funpatient: "We're training for a new hobby. We'd like to see a different doctor every day."


AND


(Mr. Funpatient completes reading off a long list of symptoms, in a silly fashion).

Dr. Grumpy: "Boy! You sure have a lot of complaints!"

Mrs. Funpatient: "Oh, he's awful, Doctor. Can he live with you?"

Okay, Then Let Me Talk to Her Janitor

Hospital phone call tonight:

Dr. Grumpy: "Hello, this is Dr. Grumpy."

Nurse Helpful: "Hi, Dr. Grumpy. I'm taking care of Mrs. Shakesalot. She just had a seizure."

Dr. Grumpy: "Does she have a history of seizures?"

Nurse Helpful: "I don't know. I'm just her nurse."

Great Deal! Call Today!

The real estate market here, like everywhere else, has tanked. It's damn near impossible to sell a house, which makes it even harder to buy another one if that's what you're trying to do.

So several local realty companies have been using the gimmick that if you buy a house from them, and can't sell your old one, they'll buy it from you.

This afternoon, on my way to a meeting, I passed a house that was obviously abandoned. Some windows broken, a front door hanging loose, graffiti, etc. It was obviously being used as a crackhouse, or homeless shelter, or teenage drinking hangout, or all of the above.

And in front of this wreck was a big sign from a realtor: "If you buy this house, I'll take your old one off your hands!"

More Strangeness

It's a full moon coming this weekend. Great. And I'm on call again.

Nothing seems to bring out the whackies and WTF's quite like a full moon. This isn't just my opinion, it's a fact. You can track it by ER data, police calls, etc. No one knows why. My guess is that it activates some primitive unidentified hormone, or cell group, or something, in our brains. Maybe related to the things that cause other animals to spawn, or howl, or whatever, when the full moon is out.

But I digress.

This afternoon an irate elderly lady called. My secretary is out, so my nurse and I are fielding the calls ourselves.

She chewed me out. "Dr Grumpy, my husband, Mr. Backpain, has been in the hospital for 2 days waiting to see you. Dr. Brilliantinternist is his regular doctor. Anyway, they're ready to discharge him home, but are still waiting for you to come say it's okay".

I told her I'd look into this. I hadn't received any hospital consults on this guy. Neither had my nurse. I even called my secretary at home. Nope, not her either. I listened to all 4 of the office's voicemail boxes to to see if something had been forgotten. Nope. Zip. Nada.

So I called Dr. Brilliantinternist to get to the bottom of it. I pride myself on seeing patients when called to do so, and it ticked me off that someone might think I was slacking off.

Dr. Grumpy: "Hey, Dr. Brilliantinternist, it's Ibee Grumpy"

Dr. Brilliantinternist: "Hi, Ibee. What's up?"

Dr. Grumpy: "A lady is calling saying I was supposed to see her husband, Mr. Backpain, at the hospital?"

Long pause.

Dr. Brilliantinternist: "He's not in the hospital. I just saw him here an hour ago."

Dr. Grumpy: "WHAT?!!! Why the hell is his wife calling me then?"

Dr. Brilliantinternist: "No idea. Sounds like SHE needs to see you, though. I'll have my secretary set it up".

Thank You for Calling

The following message was left on my office voice mail over lunch hour today.

"Yes, hello. I need either Dr. Grumpy or his nurse to call me back. When I left my house to go shopping my jigsaw puzzle wasn't completed. When I got home, however someone had finished it. So I need to know how to proceed. Thank you".

WOW! If I Drown, that Would be Great to Have!

Our Science Marches On Department, in North Carolina, has kindly brought the following product to my attention.

It's a portable computer for bicyclists, to help calculate speed, distance ridden, calories burned, stock prices, whatever.

Anyway, please note that under "Basic Features", in the lower right corner, that it is waterproof to 10 meters (32 feet).

I gotta say, if you find yourself riding your bike more than 30 feet underwater, the number of calories you're burning (especially without access to oxygen) is the least of your worries.

(click to enlarge)