“Well, I can’t take your teeth out, but what I can do is give you a prescription for some antibiotics and painkillers. That should help settle things down until you get a chance to work something out with your dentist.”
“Antibiotics! All you goddamned doctors ever do is prescribe antibiotics! Didn’t you hear me? I want these teeth out now!”
“I think you’d better calm down, Mr. Neanderthal. I’m a doctor, not a dentist. How am I supposed to remove your teeth?”
“Don’t you know anything? My ex-wife had a cousin with teeth like mine! He got a note from his doctor saying it was an emergency and they took them out for free!”
“Do you know the name of the dental office that did the extractions? Perhaps we can give them a call.”
“I don’t know! Some clinic in the city!”
“I’ve never heard of that sort of arrangement before, but we can certainly look into it. Did you mention any of this to your dentist?”
“Yeah!”
“What did he say?”
“He said to ask you! How come you don’t know about it?”
“I – ”
“You’re the worst doctor I’ve ever had! I don’t know how you ever got a license! If you don’t get my teeth pulled for free right now, I’m going to report you to the College of Physicians and Surgeons!”
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10… .
“Mr. Neanderthal, I think it’s time you found yourself another family doctor.”
He jumped off the stretcher and lunged at me. For a second I thought he was going to take a swing.
“Fine! You’ll be hearing from the College as well as my lawyer!” He swept by me and stormed out of the department, hurling obscenities over his shoulder. I leaned against the wall and shook my head. Why on God’s green earth do I keep doing this crappy job? I’m clown-hammering myself into oblivion.
Half an hour later I was wrapping up with another patient when my beeper went off. I dialled switchboard.
“Hi, this is Dr. Gray.”
“Hi Dr. Gray,” the operator whispered. “Listen, there’s a guy out here at the front desk who says he wants to talk to you.”
“Just make out a chart and we’ll get to him eventually.”
“No, he says he’s not sick or anything; he just wants to talk to you for a minute.”
“This guy wouldn’t happen to be Blair Neanderthal, would he?” The last thing I needed was another round of Sturm und Drang.
“No, it’s not him, thank God.”
“Okay, send him in.”
In stalked a rough-looking guy in his late 40s. He was wearing a baseball cap, a bomber jacket, black cords and biker boots. His pockmarked face looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. He got right up in my grill and said, “Are you Dr. Gray?”
Is this the part where I get shanked?
“Yes,” I replied.
He grabbed my right hand and started pumping it up and down enthusiastically.
“I just wanted to thank you for saving my life two months ago! All the docs down south said I would’ve been a goner if it hadn’t been for you! Thanks!”
Memories flooded back. This fellow had suffered a heart attack and developed a horrendous case of cardiac electrical storm. The doctor on call had paged me stat and we worked on him together for several hours. He ended up requiring more than a dozen defibrillations, RSI with post-intubation paralysis and ventilation, thrombolytics, blood thinners, amiodarone, magnesium, epinephrine, dopamine, beta-blockers… . He had literally been a one-man Advanced Cardiac Life Support course. It had taken all of our combined knowledge to rescue him. When we finally got him stabilized we had him flown down to a cardiac ICU in southern Ontario via Medevac. And now here he was, alive and well and shaking my hand like there was no tomorrow.
I smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
“You’re very welcome, sir,” I replied.
And thank you for reminding me why medicine is the best job in the world!
Prima Donna
Quarter to one in the morning. The last outpatient just left the department. My charts are in order. I’m all grokked out. It’s time to go home to bed. As I pull on my coat the telephone at switchboard starts ringing. Nine rings later, no one’s answered it. That’s strange. I go out to investigate and discover there’s nobody staffing the switchboard desk. Now that’s downright weird – the operator isn’t usually more than a few steps away from her phones, and whenever she has to leave the area she always gets someone to cover for her. Maybe she got caught short and had to run to the washroom. Sometimes you’re summoned to the throne most ricky-tick. The phone is still ringing. What if it’s an emergency? I trot over to the desk and pick it up.
“Hello?”
“How busy is the emergency department now?” a nasal female voice demands.
Whoa. Think fast, boyo. You don’t want to lie, but if you say it’s not busy she’ll proclaim she’s coming in to have her stuffy nose looked at.
“If you have an urgent medical problem or an emergency you’ll be seen.”
Okay, not that smooth, but acceptable.
“The last time I was there I had to wait 45 minutes before I was finally seen!”
45 minutes? Really? Most other hospitals measure their ER wait times in hours. Were you hoping to beat the rush by showing up at one in the morning?
“I see,” I reply blandly, hoping she doesn’t recognize my voice.
I guess that response isn’t sympathetic enough, because now she’s going Medusa on me.
“I want to speak to someone in the emergency department right now!”
Lady, I am the emergency department.
“Hold the line, please,” I instruct.
I put her on hold and telephone one of the nurses on the medical floor down the hall.
“If you happen to see the switchboard operator, could you please tell her she has a call on line one? Thanks.”
The blinking red light on the console tells me our diva is still on hold. Good. I zip up my coat and leave. I’m grinning like a madman.
Running the Supermarket Gauntlet
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for another thrilling episode of… Supermarket Gauntlet! Watch as our hapless rural physician tries to shop for groceries anonymously! Will he succeed? Of course not! But it’s fun to watch him try! Take it away, Dr. Gray!”
Okay, hang on a minute. I don’t want to come across as being some sort of Grinchy recluse. Although a number of you may be skeptical (and I’m sure that last story didn’t help much), please allow me to reassure you that I am not some antisocial curmudgeon freshly sprung from the pages of a Dickens anthology. I honestly do enjoy meeting and greeting people as much as the next guy; it’s just that I don’t always feel like having a dozen conversations every time I go pick up some eggs. Whenever I want a less communal shopping experience I generally try to go early in the morning – our local supermarket tends to be less congested then. That approach doesn’t always work, though. Take today, for example… .
Morning inpatient rounds ended 15 minutes earlier than usual, so I decided to do a quick supermarket foray to pick up a few odds and ends. When I arrived I was pleased to see the parking lot was only about one-quarter full. I pulled into a stall and scanned the area. The coast looked clear. I disembarked, ducked my head down low and started speed-walking towards the main entrance. I hadn’t gotten more than five paces when a loud voice behind me boomed: “Hey, there’s Dr. Gray! Hi Dr. Gray!”