Proctologian Mimicry

Mr. Jumpy eyed me suspiciously. "Don't let her near me! I say, don't let her come anywhere near me!" He shuffled to another side of the bed.

"Why, what's wrong?" A nurse asked.

"I can't believe she did that to me, that doctor there," he pointed at me. I had been nowhere near the new elderly patient, so the nurse smiled and humored him, "what did that bad, bad doctor do to you, Mr. Jumpy?"

"I'd know her from anywhere. I will never allow anybody to put a finger there again, you hear? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hide my anus."

I have logged another "first" to my list of experiences. This was definitely the first time I was mistaken for anyone's proctologist.

For the rest of the morning, everytime I walked by, he would mutter and shift, presumably hiding his anus. He watched me as I went about my duties and eventually allowed me to give him a pillow/blankets.

"You know what," he mused a few hours later, "you' all right. Just never do that to me again."

"Ok, Mr. Jumpy, I promise that you have nothing to worry about from me."

Mr. Jumpy didn't turn out to be mentally ill, surprisingly... he was just a man terrified of rectal exams.

S

My Friend Betty

I was doing an EKG on my patient Ms. Sloppy, lifting one large breast to put on stickers when I spotted Betty scurrying across a pale leg. I followed my first instinct and grabbed Betty in a piece of gauze. Gingerly, I opened the gauze and Betty looked at me for a second and we were friends at first sight. Then she attempted to scurry to the underside of my gauze, perhaps to get closer to me.

I tried to tip her into a urine cup, but I had to use my gloved fingers to carefully fish her off the gauze, though she used her spider-silk-thin legs to cling as she might a particularly hairy leg, perhaps. Engorged to about six times the size I'd previously seen, Betty the bedbug seemed comfortable enough where she was. I shook the cup, which made her lose her balance and she landed on her back, delicate legs waving in the air.

She is the perfect parasite, carefully designed to glide on light, feathery legs that help her otherwise cumbersome body escape detection. Her glossy ectoskeleton was clunky (due to overeating, perhaps) but aerodynamic and provided sufficient armor to make sure she did not suffer from being knocked around the cup I carried in my pocket. I had a long and busy day, but this did not fatigue Betty as much as it did me. Every time I showed my new friend to my co-workers, she would wave her little legs with just as much energy as before.

She had a magical effect on everyone she met. Psychosomatic pruritis followed everywhere she went.  And everyone was itchy (to meet her). 

The janitors had the most interest of all in big Betty. As the first line of defense against colonization in the hospital, I would have imagined them to see her family more often than anyone else. But no, they surrounded the little orange urine cup and they spoke in hushed tones like there was a mystical aura around it. The infestation of bedbugs isn't just physical... it's psychological, they whispered, awestruck and reverent. I hear they're impossible to get rid of and even if you do, you still feel like they're there, another added, like some sorta curse. All nodded.

At the end of the night, though, I put a quick end to our friendship; though we had a great time all day, Betty was getting feisty, clinging onto the sides of her cup, perhaps attempting escape. The janitor who watched me wouldn't believe Betty was gone and exclaimed every few seconds that 'the legs are wavin'! ' But I knew... Betty had already gone to a big bed in the sky.

RIP Betty

S

Playing with Bullets

"Excuse me, I wanna get your number so I could like call you about my care and stuff."

"I'm sure that we'll give you a lot of numbers for followup appointments for your care, Mr. Gunshot-wound."

"Well what I mean to say is can I get your number so we can like hang out and stuff?"

"Haha, aren't you a charmer?" I beamed him a smile and turned to finish stocking the trauma room.

"Wait till I become a doctor. Then maybe you'll talk to me when I'm like the one taking care of you."

I looked at him pointedly. "I'm going to get there first."

He grinned dejectedly, but seriously- I wasn't about to give my number to my young gunshot wound patient who was about to be discharged. The bullet was still lodged in his leg and they were not going to remove it via surgery. I wonder that he had the interest to ask me for my number a few hours after he just got shot.

I had to hand it to him, though, as I thought about him and laughed to myself on my way home. He was pretty smooth and definitely a young player in the making.

S

My Life in the ER: Musical Edition

Scene 1: S is walking to work in the afternoon and feeling great after spending the morning at the gym.

S: Oh, what a bright and lovely afternoon- I could break into song! The air is brisk, the sun is shining, nothing can bring me dowwwn. :musical interlude as she walks into ER:

Scene 2: Crowded ER treatment area

S: Oh my what a busy day it is,
oh my what a busy day.
The patients load is rather high and
The drunks are piled up that-a-way...

That man has a mesh bag on his head,
he must have tried to spit.
(Mesh bag head man: dramatic snore)
Those others also have been restrained,
just beware they also might spit.
(Drunk chorus: growls)

(change of key)
But I cannot complain- I'm not sitting,
and changes afoot are a-plenty.
I've got a pager now, and it rings a bell (riiing)
whenever my nurses need meeeeeeee-----

(change back into key)
Oh my Mr. Mesh bag man just woke,
oh my he just woke up now,
he's screaming that he needs to pee,
but no empty rooms I can see.

Mr Mesh bag head man (solo): I can't wait, I can't wait! I'll kill you all just wait!
Tech chorus: We have no room- just a sec- be patient and you'll go-
Mr. Mesh bag head man: I will wait, but just a sec- you need to take these off--
Tech chorus: You can pee with one hand, we won't release you-
Mr. Mesh bag head man: I can't ****ing take my pants off- you dirty *****sss-
Tech chorus: Then you will wait, Mr. MBHM, security is a-coming-
Mr. Mesh bag head man: I hate *****es!
Security: I'll help you sir, what do you need?
Mr. Mesh bag head man: Thank God!
Security: How can I help?
Mr. Mesh bag head man: I would like to be releaaased- I can't pull my pants dooown.
Security: I can help with the pants, but I won't hold it for you. (wink)

End Scene.

Scene 3: Ambulance bay

Ms. Drunk Pregnant woman (soprano): AAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
(scuffle ensues)

Nursing staff chorus (softly)
Oh my is that hot mess coming here,
Oh dear, she's rolling our way.
She's thrashing, yelling, cursing lots,
and a mesh bag is over her head.

Ms. Drunk Pregnant woman looks defiantly around and opens her mouth: AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
AIEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa

(she continues)

New resident chorus:
What is that?
What could that be?
It is so hard
to believe THAT is a she.

Yet she must be,
though who would want
to impregnate
somebody like that.

Ms. Drunk Pregnant woman: AIIYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
(solo)
Let me out! Let me out!
You *****es let me out!
You are all ****ing retarded
and I want to get out.
 AIIIEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What the ****, let me out!
what you n***** lookin' at?
Just shut the ****ing up
and let me ****out.

Bemused Very Tanned Drunk Guy:
Who you callin' a n****?

Ms. Drunk Pregnant Woman:
What the ****, shut your face,
who do you think you are,
when I get the ****ing out
of these restraints, I'll make you pay!

Mentally retarded patient in room 3: Gyahhhhhhhhhhh?

Doctor solo: Take her out as she so desires! To the ambulance bay she shall wander- until she can control her terrible mouth, she can get her ultrasound yonder. I believe I shall exercise my power, for your pleasure and your thanks, please make haste and open up- the most crude of all drunk tanks.
Nursing staff chorus: And be careful, she spits!

Scene 4: Treatment area
(from afar, synchronized trio
Ms. Drunk Pregnant woman: AYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAA
Tanned Drunk Man, Mesh Bag man and drunk chorus join in: AAAAAAAAAAHIIIIIIIYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

repeat x200)

S: Oh my it has been a crazy day,
Oh my, I can't wait to go home-
I've got a candy bar waiting for me-
the sweetness will keep me warm!

Final Song:
When you go to the ER, guest,
be sure to bring ear plugs,
for though the chorus is plenty boist'rous,
you will still want to squash them like slugs.

The tale of the ER drunks must end,
for my morning is swiftly passing,
I must return to work again,
and therefore this passage is ending.

Normal Patient Chorus: Hey nurse, hey nurse, hey nurse! This place might be craaaaaayzeeeee.... But it is better than tvvvvvvvvv
Nursing Staff Chorus: It is, after all, the full moon, full moon, full moon moon.
Manager Solo: And in the eeeeend- patient satisfaction is our frieeend. Can you please stay, my favorite tech, to help patients find their way--- bring them upstairs and sign out laaaate?

S: I suppose... I ... caaaaaaannnnn.
(squeaky stretcher wheels fade into distance)
End Scene.

Family Problems

An 18 year old man was rushed into my trauma room- a bullet had gone into his back. As the physicians were crowded around, arguing with each other about the best course of action, he said quietly to me at his side, I feel it right here. There was no exit wound- there was a bullet still inside.

I put a hand over his and felt the sharp point of the bullet barely protruding from his right chest/abdomen.  "Hey, he says he feels it right over here." The doctors looked up and started moving the ultrasound probe near the bullet.

"Hey, I'm really uncomfortable, can I lie on my side?" Absolutely not, the doctors replied. And the young boy laid sulkily in the chaos, feeling unheard.  "It's because the bullet went so close to your spine. If you move, you might be paralyzed," I whispered in his ear. He nodded. He understood.

"Where were you when this happened?"
"At my grandmother's funeral."
Shot at a funeral... Really??
I had seen the new tattoo on his young neck- RIP Grandma- "Is that the tattoo on your neck?"
"No, it's the other one. And I don't want to talk about it."

Things were moving so quickly because he had to be transferred to the operating room immediately, but I couldn't help but feel for the young man- so young, with so many family problems, a bullet in his chest and nobody able to answer his basic questions.

S

Dumb Idea

"Why did you do it, sir?"
"Well, when you get a little bit drunk, have you ever thought maybe I'll just jump out of a window?"
"Actually, no, sir, I have never thought that."

My patient had jumped out of a second story window "just to scare (his) brothers".  Still intoxicated, he babbled happily about the party and what had gone on before he jumped.

"Oh, by the way, I can't feel or move my right leg- can you help me fix that?"

Sure, Mr. Jumper, will do. Just know that your actions have warranted that you can have no visitors, a sitter, and a lot of pain/surgery in the days to come.

S

In Which I Lose My Temper

I'm not proud of it, but I showed my temper last night.  Thinking of it still makes my blood boil.

The attending physician asked me to take vital signs on a woman in room 13, a section that I was not working in.  I agreed to do it, however, as it was the attending and came to the room just as the OB-GYN residents exited the room.  I knocked the partially open door and the young and obese drama queen told me to stay out as she got dressed. The doctors outside were discussing her impending ultrasound and such, so I knew that she was not supposed to get dressed.  I paused at the door and told her to wait a second before getting dressed.  When I peeked inside that they had left her lying back, exposed, and still in the stirrups.  So sloppy. It was understandable why she was upset.

"Din't I tell you not to stay out, miss?" 
"You look so uncomfortable and the head doctor is worried about you. He wanted me to get your blood pressure right away. Can I help you with getting up?"
"No, you can get out. I don't need your help."

The OB-GYNS then barged in without knocking and she ordered them around.  For whatever reason, I was the target of her ire. I'm not sure what kind of hold she had over the doctors, perhaps she had something seriously wrong with her, but they did her bidding as she imperiously commanded them around the room.  Silly, as the clumsy new residents had no idea where we kept anything. I watched silently as she flexed her ugly attitude.

"Get me a pad," she turned to me, "and you can get the **** out while I get changed."
Obviously, she was not going to cooperate with getting vital signs.

Wordlessly, I left and shut the door without responding. I didn't think I could muster anything polite at that point. This perceived insult incurred bellowing on the other side of the door as vicious curses and rejoinders that I should never enter that room again.

Honestly, how does she expect hand-to-foot waiting service when her manner is so horrible? Boggles the mind...

S