My reader's write

Dr. O is a psychiatrist, who says:

Occasionally patients make threats towards others. When that happens we're required to inform the individual in question.

In this case the patient was in the hospital, and had threatened pretty much his entire care team, including the surgeon who'd recently operated on him. So I had to call him, too.

Dr. Scalpel: "This is Dr. Scalpel, returning a  page."

Dr. O: "Hi, I'm the psychiatrist taking care of Mr. Haldol, who you saw last week. I just wanted to let you know he's been making statements about killing you."

Dr. Scalpel: "Oh, I signed off on him over the weekend, so he really isn't allowed to be doing that, if you could have psychiatry let him know."

Dr. O: "I am the psychiatrist, and I'm just calling to let you know he threatened you. Whether you signed off doesn't matter to him."

Dr. Scalpel: "Well, you'd think it should. Anyway, you should probably consult psychiatry to evaluate him, and let him know I signed off."

Dr. O: "Yes, that’s me. I'm the psychiatrist."

Dr. Scalpel: "He probably needs a psychiatric diagnosis."

Dr. O: "Yes, I'm addressing that."

Dr. Scalpel: "Yeah, that should happen, so consult psychiatry on him."

Dr. O: "I'm just informing you of what he said. Have a good day."

Dr. Scalpel: "Thanks, don't forget to consult psychiatry on him."

 

As of the time of this writing, me and the nurses are taking bets on whether Dr. Scalpel orders a consult for psychiatry.

The aunt did it

 

Seen in a chart

 

Mary's desk

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

Ms. Soap: "Hi, I was referred to you, and I need to get in right away. Dr. Tacky was sending over a referral."

Mary: "Hmmm, that hasn't come over yet, but the fax machine has been busy. I can schedule and call you back if there's an issue?"

Ms. Soap: "Oh, thank you!"

Mary: "Okay, let's see... Actually our 9:30 patient for tomorrow morning had to cancel a few minutes ago, will that work?"

Ms. Soap: "That's perfect! Thank you!"

Mary: "Okay, we will see you then."

 

Ten minutes later

Ms. Soap: "Hello?"

Mary: "Hi, this is Mary, from Dr. Grumpy's office. You made an appointment a few minutes ago?"

Ms. Soap: "Yes, did you get my referral?"

Mary: "I did, but it says you're supposed to see a neurosurgeon, not a neurologist. Dr. Grumpy is a neurologist, so he's not who you're supposed to see."

Pause

Ms. Soap: "So he's not the kind of doctor I was referred to?"

Mary: "No ma'am, I'm sorry. I can give you names of some..."

Ms. Soap: "And. You. Waited. Until. The. Day. Before. My. Appointment. To. Call. And. Tell. Me. This?"

Mary: "Ma'am, you just made the appointment 10 minutes ago."

Ms. Soap: "That's beside the point. And you also - deliberately - didn't tell me when I made it that Dr. Grumpy isn't the kind of doctor I'm supposed to see."

Mary: "I didn't know that until the referral came in. I told you I didn't have it yet."

Ms. Soap: "You people suck."

Click

Seen in a chart

 

On call

Guy walks in, comes up to front desk.

Mary: "Hi, can I help you?"

Pete: "Hello, I'm Pete, I have an appointment with Dr. Grumpy at 1:45."

Mary: "Okay, let me have you fill this out... pens are over there... Can I get a copy of your insurance card?"

Pete: "Sure."

He hands over his card, starts doing the form.

Mary: "Oh, you work for Deuce Brown Plumbing. That's a big company, I think you guys have been to my house a few times."

Pete: "Yeah, we have people all over Grumpyville. I'm covering for this part of town today. Here's your form back."

Mary: "Thanks, here's your card back. Have a seat and the doctor will be out in a few minutes."

Pete sits down, picks up a magazine. His phone rings.

Pete: "Deuce Brown plumbing, this is Pete... Yes... A septic tank? Yeah, we... yeah, that doesn't sound good... overflowing out into your living room... hang on. Excuse me, uh, Mary?"

Mary: "Yes?"

Pete: "Can I reschedule my appointment? Sorry, but I have a work emergency. A lady has..."

Mary: "Yeah, that's fine. Why don't you take care of her, I understand. You can call back later."

Pete: "Thanks... I'll be there in about 15 minutes ma'am... yeah, uh, I'd probably take the dog outside and hose him down..."

Pete ran out of the office.

Okay

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you allergic to any medications?"

Mrs. Leavening: "Yeah, I don't know what it's called, but there's something they put in bread that makes me fat."

Guessing Games

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, folks, good to see you again, been a few years. What brings you in today?"

Mrs. Corn: "I wanted to get my MRI results."

Dr. Grumpy: "Hmmmm... I don't show that I've ordered an MRI on you for around 5 years."

Mr. Corn: "She had one last week, and we've been waiting to hear the results."

Dr. Grumpy: "I don't see that I ordered it. Who did?"

Mr. Corn: "We thought you did."

Dr. Grumpy: "No... What was it of anyway?"

Mrs. Corn: "I think it was my head."

Mr. Corn: "I thought it was your back."

Mrs. Corn: "I don't know, it was a body part. Do they do stomach MRI's?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Where did you have it done?"

Mrs. Corn: "Local MRI, across the street."

Dr. Grumpy: "Mmm... Nothing there on you for a few years."

Mr. Corn: "Maybe it was the place over on the north side? You know, the one with the MRI machine?"

Mrs. Corn: "I thought that place closed."

Mr. Corn: "Oh, maybe it was the one downtown, can you look there?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No, I only have access to the Local MRI system. Do you have it written down?"

Mrs. Corn: "It's on my desk at home. I didn't think you'd need to know that, since you ordered it."

Dr. Grumpy: "I didn't order it. What other doctors have you seen recently who may have ordered it?"

Mr. Corn: "We have them written down on the calendar on the fridge. I figured all the records were in the system."

Dr. Grumpy: "Maybe their system, not mine. You should probably check your recent appointments to see which doctor may have ordered it, and contact that office."

Mrs. Corn: "That seems like a lot of work. Wouldn't it be easier if you just ordered another MRI?"

Mount Wannahockaloogie

Dr. Grumpy: "Do you have a medication list?"

Mr. Skoal: "Yeah, it's in my wallet, hang on. Hey doc, can I have your trash can next to my chair for the visit?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Sure, here it is, are you okay?"

Mr. Skoal: "Yeah, I just need something to spit my chewing tobacco in."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, uh... let's have a look at the med list."

Mr. Skoal: "Here you go. Ya know, my family doc has a spittoon in every room in his office. Maybe you should, too."

Referrals

Dr. Oldasdirt is an internist across the street. He takes every managed care insurance known to man.

Occasionally one of his patients needs a neurologist and is referred to me. That's fine, it's my job.

The managed care patients he sees generally need a referral to see a specialist. This is pretty common in American medicine, and has been since at least the late 80's. A form shows up on the fax machine saying something like "AUTHORIZED: patient Kris Kringle, DOB: 8-17-29. National Illness Insurance HMO plan. 4 visits. To see Ibee Grumpy, neurology, for Rangifer's disease."

So Mary files it. A few days later, when Mr. Kringle calls to see if we got the referral she looks it up, says "yes" and schedules him. When we send in a bill for his visit we have to include the referral to make sure we get paid.

About 3 months ago one of his referrals showed up before Mary got in, so I pulled it off the fax. I was about to put it in her filing book when I noticed something different about it.

At the bottom it said: "Only valid for CPT level 2."

To explain this, medical office visits are billed by CPT codes, ranges 1-5, with 1 paying the least and 5 paying the most. The difference is based on how complex the case is, how much time you spend with the patient, what percentage of that time is spent talking vs. doing an exam, whether you're seeing them on a day that does or doesn't end in a "Y," if Mercury is in retrograde, etc. For the record, there are more than 10,000 CPT codes for different stuff,  but I'm just talking about office visits.

I began digging through Mary's file. No referral from any other doctor with that insurance had such a qualifier. It looks like the ones from Dr. Oldasdirt had started including the line about a week previously - fortunately I hadn't seen any of those patients yet.

Basically, what Dr. OldasDirt (or his office staff) were doing was putting a cap on how much I could get paid for the visit, no matter how much time I spent or how complicated the patient was. A level 2 new patient CPT code applies to visits between 15-29 minutes, and (as of 2024) pays a whopping $71. So that's what I get whether they take up 15 minutes or 90 minutes.

This isn't, at least to me, acceptable. Basically I'm agreeing to a set fee, without even knowing why the patient is coming in. Yeah, they could be simple, like carpal tunnel syndrome, but not likely in my field. You think you can take a history, examine, and explain to grandpa and his 7 person entourage what Alzheimer's means in 29 minutes? Good luck. The alternative is to have an alarm go off at 29 minutes, and say "Times up!" & leave the room.

Try calling Target and saying "can I buy any item in the store for $5, in advance, without you knowing what I'm getting until I check out?" I'm pretty sure they're not going to play.

So Mary called Dr. Oldasdirt's office and asked for a new referral without that line. She was told no, that was their new procedure, and if we didn't like it they'd stop sending me patients. With my approval she said okay, and shredded the referrals from them.

If they can find a neurologist desperate enough to work under that condition, more power to them.

Some out there are going to say I'm just here for the money, and don't give a damn about those patients. Whatever. The truth is that I'm here for the patients. This job is what I love. But I also have to pay both of my awesome staff their salaries, and my rent, and all the other overhead items. Not to mention my own mortgage, utility bills, kids college tuition, and so on. I can't help any patient if I can't keep my office open.

Why is Dr. Oldasdirt doing this? I have no idea. Other doctors haven't sent patients from the same insurance to me with that limitation, so I doubt it's the plan. Maybe he was hoping I'd start refusing to see his patients for whatever reason. Maybe the insurance is secretly letting him pocket the difference as a kickback.

I don't know, probably never will.

Resistance is futile

Dr. Grumpy: "So let's work on that MRI... What dates, or days of the week, work best for you to have the study?

Ms. Dixon: I'm not sure yet, I need to make a call."

Dr. Grumpy: "That's fine, just call back after you know what days work with your job to get this done."

Ms. Dixon: "Actually, I need to call my astrologer."

Dr. Grumpy: "Your astrologer..."

Ms. Dixon: "I don't want to have it done at a time when the planets are in the wrong position to affect the results, you know what I mean?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Uh..."

Ms. Dixon: "I mean, if Mercury is in retrograde that can screw up the machine's magnetic field, right?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Actually..."

Ms. Dixon: "She knows a lot about this stuff, she went to a special school or something like that."

Annie's desk

Phone person #1: "Thank you for calling Low-Cost Radiology, where our prices reflect our quality every day! Can I help you?"

Annie: "Hi, this is Annie, at Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm trying to get insurance approval for a patient to have an MRI there, and to submit the form I need your facility's tax ID number."

Phone person #1: "What's a tax ID number? Is it how much we paid in taxes? Last year I paid..."

Annie: "No, it's the number your facility is assigned for tax and business purposes. The insurance companies need it so they can pay you for the MRI."

Phone person #1: "Is that the same as my social security number? I can give you that. It's 738..."

Annie: "No. It's the assigned..."

Phone person #1: "Let me transfer you."

 

On hold with a subdued piano & cello version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

 

Phone person #2: "Thank you for holding. Can I help you?"

Annie: "Hi, this is Annie, at Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm trying to get insurance approval for a patient to have an MRI there, and to submit the form I need your facility's tax ID number."

Phone person #2: "Hmmm... Is that the number you just called to reach us?"

Annie: "No, that's your phone number. It's..."

Phone person #2: "Oh, is that like a special number the IRS calls us on?"

Annie: "No it's..."

Phone person #2: "Let me transfer you."

 

On hold with a subdued piano & cello version of "Safety Dance."

 

Phone person #3: "Thank you for holding. Can I help you?"

Annie: "Hi, this is Annie, at Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm trying to get insurance approval for a patient to have an MRI there, and to submit the form I need your facility's tax ID number."

Phone person #3: "I don't think we have one."

Annie: "No, you do, every business has one, it's assigned to you before you open by the..."

Phone person #3: "Let me transfer you." 

On hold with a subdued piano & cello version of "Paint It Black."

 

Phone person #4: "Thank you for holding. Can I help you?"

Annie: "Hi, this is Annie, at Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm trying to get insurance approval for a patient to have an MRI there, and to submit the form I need your facility's tax ID number."

Phone person #4: "Oh, hang on. Let me look that up for you. Hmmm. I thought I had it on a Post-It note somewhere... maybe it's behind the take-out menu for Blumenthal's Chinese... no, maybe it got stuck to the menu for the place we ordered lunch from on Monday, I can't remember the name though... that may be over by the fax machine with the Chipotle forms, hang on... you know, I may have accidentally thrown it out because a bunch of stuff got marinara sauce on it when I was eating yesterday... let me transfer you."

 

On hold with a subdued piano & cello version of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

 

Phone person #5: "Thank you for holding. Can I help you?"

Annie: "Hi, this is Annie, at Dr. Grumpy's office. I'm trying to get insurance approval for a patient to have an MRI there, and to submit the form I need your facility's tax ID number."

Phone person #5: "I hate you phishing scams. Fuck off."

click

Current status

Sir, if you don't stop tapping "Rock Lobster" out on my desk with your horribly untrimmed fingernails I am going to have to kill you with a Trömner.

Fore

Mr. Lewy was brought in by his son.

 

Dr. Grumpy: "So, what happened? I mean, I spoke to the police earlier, but want to..."

Son: "A neighbor called the police, Dad was chasing invisible people down the street, screaming at them and waving a golf club."

Mr. Lewy: "There were people all over the house! And in my yard! And they were having a party, and I told them to leave, and they wouldn't! So I told them to get out or I was going to clobber them, and when they didn't I chased them outside and down the street!"

Son: "The police calmed him down and searched the house and yard, there were no signs of anyone besides Dad. They also took away the golf club."

Mr. Lewy: "It wasn't just a golf club. It was a 3-wood. And I need it back before the tournament next week."

Son: "Dad, you aren't in a tournament next week."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, so..."

Son: "And it was a 9-iron, not a 3-wood."

Mr. Lewy: "I'm not that far gone. It was a 3-wood. Know your damn Callaways."

Dialing for dollars

Doing some marketing surveys for $ over the long holiday weekend.

They often include questions to see if you're paying attention, like this one:

Then there's this, asking me how many patients with a given condition I've seen in the last month:

The first choice (which I had to look up) is from a Roald Dahl book. It's a disease contracted by eating shoelaces that turns you into a rat. Although personally I think it would be much cooler if it turned you into a cassowary.

Then you get stuff that makes no sense whatsoever:

 

 

 

Or this one, which didn't give me any options in case this wasn't the case:

 

And lastly, in the middle of a survey on treatments for Alzheimer's disease, I encountered this question. I can only assume the survey writer had a personal interest in the topic.

Reality check

Yesterday I was on my way home from work when there was a loud noise and the Grumpymobile immediately veered right. I pulled into a side street to assess the damage:

 

Sigh.

So I dug out the spare and its gear and got started, jacking up the car, unbolting the shredded tire, tossing it in the trunk...

I'd just started rolling the spare around to the front when a crew from the Grumpyville fire department drove by. They pulled over and 4 guys piled out. One of them took the wrench out of my hand, another handed me a bottle of water. They bolted the spare on, lowered the car, and put all the stuff back in the trunk in what seemed like 15 seconds (maybe they were secretly an Indy pit crew).

As they piled back in their truck one of them said, "sir, it's pretty hot out, and a guy your age should know better than to do stuff like this."

Random pics

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

First, we have this, from a patient medication form:

 

I never thought of this product coming in different grades, and I really don't want to know what the difference is between "professional" and "amateur."

 

Next, in the way only Amazon can, we have this juxtaposition from their "you might also like" algorithm:

 

One reader is currently on an Alaskan cruise, and one night at dinner they were serving uh...

 

 

 

And lastly, the same reader saw this in a brochure on board. While I'm sure the award is well-deserved, I really don't want the details. I'm sure it involved being called at 2:00 a.m., was really disgusting, and had something to do with the all-you-can-eat buffet.

 

"Helluva diuresis, eh?"

One of my patients landed in the hospital overnight for mild pneumonia, and his wife asked me to look at the records to make sure there weren't any changes in his Parkinson's medications.

In the discharge summary I noticed this:

 

June 6, 1944

"There have only been a handful of days since the beginning of time on which the direction the world was taking has been changed in one 24-hour period by an act of man. June 6, 1944, was one of them.

"No one can tell the whole story of D-Day. Each of the 60,000 men who waded ashore that day knew a little part of the story too well. To them the landing looked like a catastrophe. Each knew a friend shot through the throat, shot through the knee. Each knew the first names of five hanging dead on the barbed wire offshore, three who lay unattended on the beach as the blood drained from the holes in their bodies. They knew whole tank crews who drowned when their tanks were unloaded in 20 feet of water.

"There were heroes here no one will ever know because they're dead. The heroism of others is known only to themselves.

"What the Americans and the British and the Canadians were trying to do was get back a whole continent that had been taken from its rightful owners. It was one of the most monumentally unselfish things one group of people ever did for another.

"It's hard for anyone who's been in a war to describe the terror of it to anyone who hasn't. How would anyone know that John Lacey died in that clump of weeds by the wagon path as he looked to his left towards Simpson and caught a bullet behind the ear? And if there had been a picture of it - and there weren't any - it would've shown that Lacey was the only one who carried apples for the guys in his raincoat pocket.

"If you think the world is rotten, go to the cemetery at Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer on the hill overlooking the beach. See what one group of men did for another, D-Day, June 6, 1944."

- Andrew Rooney (1919-2011)

I'm not following this

 Seen in a chart:

 

 

Quiz time

Okay, as required to maintain my hospital privileges (in addition to sending in a check) every 2 years I have to take mandatory online testing to make sure I can deal with situations at the hospital.

So, without further comment (that's your job, isn't it?) here are some of the questions I was asked, along with the answer options:

 

Here

LOOK, PEOPLE! JUST BECAUSE LADY GAGA IS ADVERTISING FOR A MEDICATION DOESN'T MEAN SHE'S GOING TO PAY FOR YOURS IF YOUR INSURANCE WON'T!

Waiting list

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

Ms. Frantic: "Hi! I really need to see a neurologist! All the ones at Massive Clinic are booked out to July, so I was hoping your office might have something sooner."

Mary: "Actually, you're in luck. We just had a cancellation for tomorrow, so Dr. Grumpy can see you at 10:00 in the morning if that works."

Ms. Frantic: "Dr. Grumpy has an opening for tomorrow?"

Mary: "Yes, would you like it?"

Ms. Frantic:" Um... no. Honestly, if your doctor isn't booked out, than he probably isn't very good. I'll just wait for July."

Detective stories

Did anyone else out there read "The Problem of Cell 13" by Jacques Futrelle?

I'm assuming I'm not the only one, as it was in the standard 6th-grade reading textbook my generic public school used in the early 1970's.

It was one of several early 1900's detective stories by Futrelle featuring his character Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen (AKA The Thinking Machine), a reserved, brilliant, scientist who solved problems solely by logic (kind of a 1905 Mr. Spock). Almost 100 years later Van Dusen also appeared in the comic book series "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen."

"The Problem of Cell 13" featured Van Dusen being voluntarily incarcerated in a high-security prison to prove that, by thinking, he could figure a way out and escape within a week - which he did. Probably Futrelle's most well-known story, it's since been adapted, both in whole and in part, several times for TV and radio. Most recently was in 2019 for an episode of the NBC TV series "The Blacklist."

For whatever reason it was a handful of stories I read growing up that I never forgot ("The Long Sheet" by William Sansom was another) and when the internet age dawned the story was long in the public domain and easy for me to find.

The writer, Jacques Futrelle started as a journalist. He began the sports section for the Atlanta Post, then was hired by the New York Herald where he covered the Spanish-American War. Afterwards he worked in Boston, then left journalism to become a full-time, and successful, detective writer.

His wife, Lily May Futrelle, was also a prominent author. She wrote for the Saturday Evening Post. Her first novel "The Secretary of Frivolous Affairs" was on the U.S. bestseller list from 1911 to 1915 and made into an early silent film (one of the first movies written by a woman).

Besides raising a son & daughter, and their separate writing careers, they collaborated on a Van Dusen story, "The Grinning God," in which she wrote the first half of the mystery to set the stage and he wrote the second half, with Van Dusen solving it.

They both did well as authors, allowing them to build a coastal home in Scituate, Massachusetts and enjoy the newfangled luxury of an automobile.

In early 1912 they left the kids with his parents and headed to Europe for 2-3 months to promote their books. The trip was successful, to the extent that they were given a complimentary first class suite by a shipping line for the journey home.

 

 

112 years ago tonight, the Futrelles stood together on the sloping decks of the Titanic.

Offered a chance to get in a lifeboat with her, he refused, and insisted the space be given to another woman.

After returning home, she wrote a 2-part piece on the disaster for the Boston Post, published on April 21-22:

 

"The last I saw of my husband he was standing beside Colonel Astor. He had a cigarette in his mouth. As I watched him, he lighted a match and held it in his cupped hands before his face. By its light I could see his eyes roam anxiously out over the water. Then he dropped his head toward his hands and lighted his cigarette. I saw Colonel Astor turn toward Jacques and a second later Jacques handed the colonel his cigarette box. The colonel screened Jacques' hands with his own, and their faces stood out together as the match flared at the cigarette tip. I know those hands never trembled. This was not an act of bravado. Both men must have realized that they must die."

 

His body was never recovered. He was 37.

Lily May never remarried. She raised their children, published her own novels, completed & published those Jacques hadn't, taught writing clinics, and hosted radio shows. In 1940 she spearheaded efforts to extend authors' copyrights for an additional 28 years, which was signed into law by President Roosevelt. She was given the pen that he used.

Every year, on the anniversary of the sinking, she walked from their home to the seafront to cast flowers in for Jacques.

She died in 1967.

Inside Job

A long time ago, when I was first starting out, I worked at a hospital that had only one MRI-compatible ventilator.

For my non-medical readers, a ventilator is the "breathing machine" that keeps you alive when your body needs a break, during surgery, etc.  Once you're better we take you off it. It's a very complicated gadget, with a fair amount of ferrous metal.

As a result, a standard ventilator can't go in an MRI. Since patients on one sometimes need an MRI (usually once a pesky neurologist gets involved) there are MRI-safe ventilators. These are stripped down machines, mostly plastic and non-ferrous metal. They're less durable than a regular ventilator and don't have all the features, but they're fine for an hour or so that a patient needs it while in the MRI machine.

Anyway, back at Small Hospital, one day the MRI-safe ventilator was missing. This was a real problem, because now we couldn't do MRI's on ICU patients who needed them. We were able to temporarily get an extra from a larger hospital across town, but still needed ours back. They ain't cheap.

Security searched, literally, every square inch of Small Hospital. The kitchens, the bathrooms, every patient room, the storage areas... it wasn't there. Small Hospital didn't have the array of video monitoring they do now, so looking for someone leaving with it wasn't possible.

One early morning during rounds I was in ICU, chatting about it with some of the nurses when one of them said, half-joking, "maybe it's on Ebay."

Since I was on the computer looking up labs, I switched over to Ebay... and there it was. A used MRI-compatible ventilator, same model, which had been up for sale since one day after it had gone missing. The seller's name was an easily-recognizable variant on the name of a guy who worked as a hospital radiology transporter.

The ventilator was back a few day later.

The transporter spent some time as a guest of the state, in spite of his clever defense that he'd seen it standing next to a dumpster at his apartment complex several miles from the hospital and had just kept it as a decoration because he didn't know what it was but it looked cool.

The machine was at the hospital for several more years before it was replaced by a newer model. For the rest of its service the nurses kept a sign on it that said "NOT FOR DECORATION."

Doctors behaving badly

I'm with a patient when Mary wanders back.

Mary: "Hey, Dr. Hypothec is on line two, he asked me to interrupt you."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay. Hang on, Mrs. Fonebone, let me get this... Hi, this is Dr. Grumpy."

Dr. Hypothec: "Hi, this is Mort Hypothec across the street. Thank you for taking my call."

Dr. Grumpy: "What's up?"

Dr. Hypothec: "I had a a question about my wife, did you ever see her as a patient?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Not that a recall."

Dr. Hypothec: "Well, she works in mortgages, and was wondering if you were interested in refinancing your home? She can get you an excellent rate."

Seen in a chart

 

Happy Springtime!

(or Autumn, if you're on that side of the planet).

My favorite ode to spring, courtesy of the great Tom Lehrer:

Spring is here
Spring is here
Life is skittles and life is beer
I think the loveliest time
Of the year is the spring
I do, don't you? 'Course you do
But there's one thing
That makes spring complete for me
And makes every Sunday
A treat for me

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me
As we poison the pigeons in the park

When they see us coming
The birdies all try and hide
But they still go for peanuts
When coated with cyanide
The sun's shining bright
Everything seems all right
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park

We've gained notoriety
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games
They call it impiety
And lack of propriety
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon

So if Sunday you're free
Why don't you come with me
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park

We'll murder them all
Amid laughter and merriment
Except for the few
We take home to experiment
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strychnine
We feed to a pigeon
(It just takes a smidgin!)
To poison a pigeon in the park

Semantics

 "What do you mean the drug doesn't work? We can't write that! Find a better way to say it!"

Happy Pi Day!

In honor of Pi Day, AKA Einstein's birthday...

 

Hi, this is Craig Grumpy.

A few years back, you may remember, I worked at Local Grocery's bakery.

One of my co-workers there (besides my sister) was Josie.

Josie was no pussycat, but was good at her job, except for the whole dealing-with-customers bit. Polite conversation was not one of her strong points. Because she was otherwise a good employee management tended to overlook this, and the rest of us tried to deal with people and let Josie do her thing in the back, mixing dough, baking stuff, decorating cakes, etc.

Unfortunately, this wasn't always possible, and there was an afternoon where she and I were the only ones on. She was out putting bagels on the shelves and I was leaning into the donut case, cleaning it for the next morning. So I didn't see a lady walk past a large display that said "PIES," and head for Josie... until it was too late.

Lady: "Excuse me! Where are the pies?"

Josie: "Uh, over there, behind you, on the left."

Lady: "Thank you."

The lady went over and began carefully inspecting the pies that were out. I turned back to the donut trays, glad that it had been straightforward.

In the meantime the lady was going through the pies, carefully reading each box (these are generic supermarket pies, folks). After a minute I realized she'd followed Josie back to the bakery counter and it was too late for me to run interference.

Lady: "Excuse me again!"

Josie: "Yes?"

Lady: "I was looking at your pies. Do you have any that are sugar free and gluten free?"

Long pause.

Josie: "Ma'am, this is a bakery."

Josie disappeared into the back.

Sigh

Look, calling my phone every 2 hours all weekend is NOT going to make your lab results come any faster.

You go, dude

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Dr. Hyper: "HI! THIS IS MIKE HYPER! I'M THE HOSPITALIST ON CALL OVER NIGHT, AND I NEED YOU TO HAVE A LOOK AT A GUY I THINK MAY HAVE HAD A SEIZURE! HE FAINTED OVER AT THE HOCKEY ARENA!"

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, I'll swing by in the morning."

Dr. Hyper: "THAT SOUNDS GREAT! HANG ON, LET ME JUST GET MORE COFFEE HERE... ANYWAY, HE BIT HIS TONGUE, BUT DOESN'T HAVE ANY HISTORY OF SEIZURES!"

Dr. Grumpy: "Was he incontinent?"

Dr. Hyper: "HE CERTAINLY WAS! IN FACT, I CHECKED HIS PANTS MYSELF!"

Sunday afternoon

My current hospital consult is apparently unable to finish any sentence without putting the word "diarrhea" into it somewhere.

Quote of the day

 "I have insomnia, but it's only a problem when I'm trying to sleep."

Seen in charts

Here's some things you guys have sent in that somehow made it into medical records. Just remember folks, somewhere out there your doctor may be the culprit.

First, from the "wait, what?" department is this unusual treatment for anxiety:

 

"I guess it depends on what's making you anxious, nudge nudge wink wink"

From the "I'd like to buy a vowel" category cums comes this gem:

"I guess that's nudge nudge wink wink again"

From the case files of Captain Obvious, M.D. we have these notes:

and

 

 

And, lastly is this note from the "How lazy can you get?" department:

 

This brings back memories from when I worked at the VA 30 years ago. A patient would come to the floor, and the admitting note said "Past history: see old chart." The old chart was inevitably at least 5 volumes, each one 3-4 inches thick.

Random pictures

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

First off, we have this label from a home sander:

Next is this, from the insanely long line for Radiator Springs Racers at Disneyland:

"That's tongue in cheek... I didn't mean it that way."

In a tribute to capitalism, I have to respect the location of this cookie store:

Love these stupid ads. Here's a tip: don't try to sleep in the surf. Was this Harold Holt's idea?

 

 

 

 

 

Lastly, since we're on the subject of things to help you sleep, Netflix wants to play "one of these things is not like the others."

Modern technology

After having one for a few months, I highly recommend the Amazon Ring to anyone who's ever wanted to see regular pictures of themselves, in pajamas and a robe, carrying out the trash.

Kill me

Currently trapped in line at a pharmacy behind a woman demanding generic Emgality and refusing to leave until she gets it. So I guess I'll be here until 2034.

Memories

Dr. Hurricane was an attending where I trained.

He was one of these people who lived at warp speed. While he was a good teacher, and had an excellent fund of general neurology knowledge, it was all limited by his frenetic manic speaking style of rattling off facts, statistics, and teaching points at an insanely high speed on rounds. In fact, he reminded us of John Moschitta, the star of FedEx commercials in the 1980's.

Yeah, and that was what Dr. Hurricane sounded like on a slow day.

I carried a clipboard and notebook with me on rounds, and would frantically, if unsuccessfully, try to keep up with his teaching points. This only resulted in severe hand cramps and my notebook bursting into flames.

Another resident, Karl, made the immortal comment that "Dr. Hurricane doesn't talk. He has lip fasciculations."

In clinic, patients were terrified of him. Not for him actually being threatening, but for his ability to rapidly give them the entire diagnosis and treatment plan in about 10 seconds, at a speaking frequency far beyond the ability of others to discriminate individual words. Dr. Hurricane blew into the room, Dr. Hurricane blew out of the room, leaving a prescription behind, fluttering gently in the breeze.

And, of course, I (the resident) was left standing there as the patients asked "what did he just say?"

Damned if I knew. Their guess was as good as mine.