1. Always ask if there have been any deaths lately, and if so, if there have been any dead bodies on the stretcher you now occupy.
2. Before you have even been examined, ask for 6 warm blankets, footies, a cab voucher home, the head of the bed elevated at precisely 45 degrees, Coca-cola (not that generic cola crap) with the straw bent and most, but not all, of the bubbles swished out.
3. Insist that when you Googled your insignificant ankle twist in the 20 minutes since you injured it that it appears to be at least a "Grade 2" sprain.
4. Ask me about my squirrel. Go on. I dare you.
5. By all means ask for your IV fluids, which you do not need, to be heated to 98.6 degrees so you "won't get brain freeze"
6. Continuously refer to yourself in the 3rd person.
7. Make a comment about how glad you are that you came in on a "quiet" night.
8. Tell me how bad your veins are when I come in to draw your blood, especially if they are fu*ing pipelines that could easily sustain the biggest IV in the box. If you really want to piss me off, tell me how "they" tried to get your IV last time and it took 9 tries and gave you a bruise the size of a sofa pillow.
9. Ask for sandwiches, cocoa, coloring books, and stickers for your filthy, unruly brood at 11 PM when you are here for your refill of Percocet.
10. Keep sending your little wild animals out to inquire about how much longer the wait will be.
11. Insist that "we" have your records
12. Also insist that I should call Dr. Q to get your medication list.
13. If you think that standing in the doorway of your room and glaring at me because you don't think you are getting enough attention for your dental pain is intimidating, you are mistaken. You are a colossal failure in that department
14. Sorry, I'm busy with an Actual Sick Person right now and coordinating things like ICU beds and ambulance transfers. Your door is staying closed because you are a distraction and the goings-on in other rooms is none of your business
15. Absolutely allow your sullen teen with the urgent ankle pain/headache/dry skin to be on the phone when I am triaging.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Inappropriate Drop Medic has been at it again.
A paraplegic woman in an MVC. No real injuries, but since she couldn't feel her legs she just wanted to be sure. She was completely independent but relied on having her own wheelchair, slide board and bag of stuff like catheters and other paraphernalia that facilitate her independence. None of which Inappropriate Drop Medic had thought to bring along. I am old and don't lift all that well. Kate shouldn't lift anything, and Gil....well, he is older than me. Good thing the lady was gracious, open to suggestions, and wasn't really injured.
A psych patient who was clearly off her meds, ramped up and loudly and obnoxiously demanded to see another doctor. Um, this it it lady. Our crack security team (AKA, 911 local police, bless them) was happy to intervene so we could make phone calls to arrange transfer and a little bit of time to take care of less important stuff like vomiting kids and old ladies with pneumonia who needed admission.
One of the local drunks who was sleeping it off in the bushes, prompting a 911 call from a Good Citizen was brought in. NO! NO! NO! NO! Again. NO! We do not do drunks, psych patients, or women in labor. We stabilize and transfer only because we do not have the resources.
Know that I was not happy with you tonight, Inappropriate Drop Medic.
A paraplegic woman in an MVC. No real injuries, but since she couldn't feel her legs she just wanted to be sure. She was completely independent but relied on having her own wheelchair, slide board and bag of stuff like catheters and other paraphernalia that facilitate her independence. None of which Inappropriate Drop Medic had thought to bring along. I am old and don't lift all that well. Kate shouldn't lift anything, and Gil....well, he is older than me. Good thing the lady was gracious, open to suggestions, and wasn't really injured.
A psych patient who was clearly off her meds, ramped up and loudly and obnoxiously demanded to see another doctor. Um, this it it lady. Our crack security team (AKA, 911 local police, bless them) was happy to intervene so we could make phone calls to arrange transfer and a little bit of time to take care of less important stuff like vomiting kids and old ladies with pneumonia who needed admission.
One of the local drunks who was sleeping it off in the bushes, prompting a 911 call from a Good Citizen was brought in. NO! NO! NO! NO! Again. NO! We do not do drunks, psych patients, or women in labor. We stabilize and transfer only because we do not have the resources.
Know that I was not happy with you tonight, Inappropriate Drop Medic.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Award-Whining Behavior
The finalists for "Sketchy Parent of the Week" have been announced.
1. This mom brought her 5 year old with her for her 14th visit in 10 months for "dental access". Because she has Medicaid she "can't get a dental appointment" because she prefers to use her surplus cash for acrylic nails, cigarettes, pot, and extra large sodas from McCrap. Because paying for dental care is boring. She was allergic to Ultram, Motrin, Codeine, clouds, dirt air...basically everything except Tylenol, Percocet and Vicodin. Mom mostly ignored the kid while alternately moaning about her pain when I was within earshot, or texting about how awful her pain was.
2. Baby-daddy, who comes in a couple of times a week with his chronic pain issue (s), came in with his 7 month old who had been bitten by the family dog 15 minutes before. He "didn't think it was serious and the dog has all of its shots" but he wanted to be a stellar parent and get it checked out. In triage, he was unable to remember which hand. There was not a mark to be found anywhere on the child. Baby-daddy came back two hours later without the kid with a complaint of eye pain / blurring/ redness after taking a nap. Gil treated him for a corneal abrasion and actually gave him two Percocet to take home for this bunch of nothing. The first visit was recon to see which doctor was on and ascertain the likelihood of getting narcotics.
3. Mom came in at 10 PM with her 4 year old. Her complaint? " I filleted my thumb". It was barely bleeding. She had taken out her pink jack-knife while in the car to cut a straw for her child's soda. Her main concern was procuring a spoon so her daughter could eat her ice cream before it melted. Question: why are you feeding soda and ice cream to a 4 year old at 10 PM, and why are you using a jack-knife to cut...oh, never mind.
It was a nothing to suture, but Mac put on some Surgicel and wrapped the shit out of it. I couldn't believe that he actually wrote a 'script for Tylenol with Codeine for this. I reminded him that the woman was on methadone. Oops. He ripped it up.
4. This mom brought the 5 year old daughter to get her completely checked out. Some hours previously, the kid had gotten her finger stuck in some plastic toy at daycare, and they had urged mom to get it looked at to be sure it was not broken or going to get infected. It was a barely visible puncture wound. Because Mom needed "bandages and wrapping" for this incredibly serious wound she stopped at the local pharmacy. While in the parking lot, the daughter ran into / tripped over/ brushed against / or was nowhere near some crates carelessly strewn about by the Mountain Dew delivery guy. Absolutely mom should get the kid checked out for trauma at the local ER, and mom would "get some coupons for Mountain Dew". No bleeding, no wounds, no serious owwies, contusions or dirt was found anywhere on the child.
I see morons. They're everywhere....they don't know they're morons.
1. This mom brought her 5 year old with her for her 14th visit in 10 months for "dental access". Because she has Medicaid she "can't get a dental appointment" because she prefers to use her surplus cash for acrylic nails, cigarettes, pot, and extra large sodas from McCrap. Because paying for dental care is boring. She was allergic to Ultram, Motrin, Codeine, clouds, dirt air...basically everything except Tylenol, Percocet and Vicodin. Mom mostly ignored the kid while alternately moaning about her pain when I was within earshot, or texting about how awful her pain was.
2. Baby-daddy, who comes in a couple of times a week with his chronic pain issue (s), came in with his 7 month old who had been bitten by the family dog 15 minutes before. He "didn't think it was serious and the dog has all of its shots" but he wanted to be a stellar parent and get it checked out. In triage, he was unable to remember which hand. There was not a mark to be found anywhere on the child. Baby-daddy came back two hours later without the kid with a complaint of eye pain / blurring/ redness after taking a nap. Gil treated him for a corneal abrasion and actually gave him two Percocet to take home for this bunch of nothing. The first visit was recon to see which doctor was on and ascertain the likelihood of getting narcotics.
3. Mom came in at 10 PM with her 4 year old. Her complaint? " I filleted my thumb". It was barely bleeding. She had taken out her pink jack-knife while in the car to cut a straw for her child's soda. Her main concern was procuring a spoon so her daughter could eat her ice cream before it melted. Question: why are you feeding soda and ice cream to a 4 year old at 10 PM, and why are you using a jack-knife to cut...oh, never mind.
It was a nothing to suture, but Mac put on some Surgicel and wrapped the shit out of it. I couldn't believe that he actually wrote a 'script for Tylenol with Codeine for this. I reminded him that the woman was on methadone. Oops. He ripped it up.
4. This mom brought the 5 year old daughter to get her completely checked out. Some hours previously, the kid had gotten her finger stuck in some plastic toy at daycare, and they had urged mom to get it looked at to be sure it was not broken or going to get infected. It was a barely visible puncture wound. Because Mom needed "bandages and wrapping" for this incredibly serious wound she stopped at the local pharmacy. While in the parking lot, the daughter ran into / tripped over/ brushed against / or was nowhere near some crates carelessly strewn about by the Mountain Dew delivery guy. Absolutely mom should get the kid checked out for trauma at the local ER, and mom would "get some coupons for Mountain Dew". No bleeding, no wounds, no serious owwies, contusions or dirt was found anywhere on the child.
I see morons. They're everywhere....they don't know they're morons.
Friday, March 2, 2012
A Tale of Tattoos
I have nothing against ink; some tattoos are quite nice, some are works of art. I have two myself, one of which is a reminder of my skating days, a shooting star on my ankle for the last time I skated at the synchro national championships. It also serves as a reminder of my 4 year foray into the world of pyrotechnics, or “blowing shit up” as my friend Linda and I used to say. What started off as a lark turned into great fun, albeit a serious business. We would spend 4th of July, sometimes Memorial Day, and a few carnivals and fairs working 16 hour days setting up shows. These things don’t happen all at once. We would load various 2, 3, 5 inch shells into mortars after lugging the mortar racks and nailing them together. After spending hours of “plugging”, safety checks, chasing away the curious (who would always want to know how they could sign up because they loved to throw cherry bombs into 50 gallon drums of gas, yikes), a quick dinner and then the delicious anticipation as it got dark enough for show time.
We loved it even though it was dangerous, and we had a ball. There is nothing like watching fireworks from directly underneath, and since fire laws prohibit the public from being that close the experience has ruined fireworks displays for me forever. Now I am more interested in watching them come out of the tube, wary of shells that explode too low, or fail to launch. I am watching the pyrotechnicians.
Of course there are some tattoos that can be categorized under “What Were They Thinking”. My new doctor commented on my “interesting” ink as he did a minor procedure last summer. This would be my "smilin' sun" tramp-stamp that my friends bought me for my 50th birthday because “nobody should turn 50 without a new tattoo!” Wrong. “I plead insanity”, I told my doctor. “I ran with a rough crowd then”. At least he got a laugh out of it, and hopefully if I am ever in a nursing home it will make someone smile if it is not too scary-looking by then.
The young lady at the coffee shop I frequent has a pretty good sized skull and cross bones right in the center of her sternum; she always wears low cut shirts so you can’t avoid it. Even if her breasts weren’t a huge, blinking neon sign calling attention to her chest, the artist distinguished this tattoo by placing a little pink “Hello Kitty” bow on the top of the skull. Nothing says dangerous like a little pink bow, right? ‘Cause this says “I’m may be cute, but I sure am poison".
The brothers Daryl came in with a motor vehicle rollover. Two days ago. Dressed in cammo gear from head to toe and smelling pretty stinky, like old cigarettes, hockey equipment, fart, sour milk and cow manure, one of the Daryl’s had back pain. He had a giant rottweiler tattooed on his upper arm, I mean this thing was huge. New Cathy nailed it with a shot of Toradol before he went to x-ray. I knew it because, bizarrely, it had a small line of dried blood right between the eyes. Direct hit.
Kate made a random comment about not ordering the flank steak at the local steakhouse. “It was really tough, and I’ve never had a bad steak there”
“Oh”, I said, reminded about another tattoo. “That’s because my patient the other night with the STEMI (heart attack), that 42 year old is the cook there. I guess he will be out of action for awhile”. His tattoo was a large jolly Grim Reaper on his upper arm. He had ignored his chest pain for 6 hours, as well as similar pain for the last 2 months, but he got the luck and did not get jumped by Mr. Dead. Not that night.
Grim Reaper. It can't be a talisman forever.
We loved it even though it was dangerous, and we had a ball. There is nothing like watching fireworks from directly underneath, and since fire laws prohibit the public from being that close the experience has ruined fireworks displays for me forever. Now I am more interested in watching them come out of the tube, wary of shells that explode too low, or fail to launch. I am watching the pyrotechnicians.
Of course there are some tattoos that can be categorized under “What Were They Thinking”. My new doctor commented on my “interesting” ink as he did a minor procedure last summer. This would be my "smilin' sun" tramp-stamp that my friends bought me for my 50th birthday because “nobody should turn 50 without a new tattoo!” Wrong. “I plead insanity”, I told my doctor. “I ran with a rough crowd then”. At least he got a laugh out of it, and hopefully if I am ever in a nursing home it will make someone smile if it is not too scary-looking by then.
The young lady at the coffee shop I frequent has a pretty good sized skull and cross bones right in the center of her sternum; she always wears low cut shirts so you can’t avoid it. Even if her breasts weren’t a huge, blinking neon sign calling attention to her chest, the artist distinguished this tattoo by placing a little pink “Hello Kitty” bow on the top of the skull. Nothing says dangerous like a little pink bow, right? ‘Cause this says “I’m may be cute, but I sure am poison".
The brothers Daryl came in with a motor vehicle rollover. Two days ago. Dressed in cammo gear from head to toe and smelling pretty stinky, like old cigarettes, hockey equipment, fart, sour milk and cow manure, one of the Daryl’s had back pain. He had a giant rottweiler tattooed on his upper arm, I mean this thing was huge. New Cathy nailed it with a shot of Toradol before he went to x-ray. I knew it because, bizarrely, it had a small line of dried blood right between the eyes. Direct hit.
Kate made a random comment about not ordering the flank steak at the local steakhouse. “It was really tough, and I’ve never had a bad steak there”
“Oh”, I said, reminded about another tattoo. “That’s because my patient the other night with the STEMI (heart attack), that 42 year old is the cook there. I guess he will be out of action for awhile”. His tattoo was a large jolly Grim Reaper on his upper arm. He had ignored his chest pain for 6 hours, as well as similar pain for the last 2 months, but he got the luck and did not get jumped by Mr. Dead. Not that night.
Grim Reaper. It can't be a talisman forever.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
File Under "Stuff You Just Can't Make Up"
I found the sign below on a public trail last week while walking my dog, Tina. Today I found the same sign, in fact several, attached to trees on another hiking trail about 4 miles from the first location in the next town over.
OK, I am sorry for anyone who loses a pet since I like animals. But seriously? Look at that cat. It does not look like a back-packing kind of feline. And who takes a cat hiking? I am also thinking that Lucky is not a good name for a cat since it seems to be tempting fate. No cat should be named Lucky before it has used up at least 5 of its 9 lives.
On the subject of bad names for cats, one of my neighbors had a cat named Trevor. Yes, Trevor. I am preparing a post on stupid pet names, but that is for another day. Trevor's parents went away for a few days and Trevor escaped in their absence, perhaps lonely or merely pissed off that he had been left alone. Cats are like that.
Being an indoor cat and most likely lacking survival skills Trevor, predictably, remained at large for days in spite of his owners attempts to locate him. Desperate, they contacted an animal communicator who somehow, remotely, intuited that Trevor was alive, but "in a dark place". That will be $75, payable by Mastercard or Visa. Dark place = dead cat. There are lots of predators in my neck of the woods and Trevor has never returned home, nor has he called or written. He is likely living on the street with a $100/day catnip habit. After a few months the neighbors gave up and adopted a new Trevor.
I was thinking that the owners of the lost Hiking Cat might want to consult a cat psychic as well for some input as to the whereabouts of their lost pet. Perhaps it went trekking in the Catskills.
For a hysterical read on a lost cat, you should check this out.
OK, I am sorry for anyone who loses a pet since I like animals. But seriously? Look at that cat. It does not look like a back-packing kind of feline. And who takes a cat hiking? I am also thinking that Lucky is not a good name for a cat since it seems to be tempting fate. No cat should be named Lucky before it has used up at least 5 of its 9 lives.
On the subject of bad names for cats, one of my neighbors had a cat named Trevor. Yes, Trevor. I am preparing a post on stupid pet names, but that is for another day. Trevor's parents went away for a few days and Trevor escaped in their absence, perhaps lonely or merely pissed off that he had been left alone. Cats are like that.
Being an indoor cat and most likely lacking survival skills Trevor, predictably, remained at large for days in spite of his owners attempts to locate him. Desperate, they contacted an animal communicator who somehow, remotely, intuited that Trevor was alive, but "in a dark place". That will be $75, payable by Mastercard or Visa. Dark place = dead cat. There are lots of predators in my neck of the woods and Trevor has never returned home, nor has he called or written. He is likely living on the street with a $100/day catnip habit. After a few months the neighbors gave up and adopted a new Trevor.
I was thinking that the owners of the lost Hiking Cat might want to consult a cat psychic as well for some input as to the whereabouts of their lost pet. Perhaps it went trekking in the Catskills.
For a hysterical read on a lost cat, you should check this out.
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