The Placebo Chronicles: Strange but True Tales From the Doctors' Lounge

by Douglas Farrago M. D.

  MONTH FIVE Rode with my boss, who watched my every move. I was really nervous. Still couldn't get in to some offices. What was worse was that my boss kept interrupting me like he was making the sale himself. Listen, buddy if you want my job you can have it. When he left I cried in my car for 15 minutes.

  MONTH SIX Had another dinner program for doctors. Only a few showed. The speaker wanted his money right then and there like I was the one who was paying him out of my own account. Then the mother starting talking positively about our competitors! Whore.

  MONTH SEVEN The marketing people wanted us to have a “birthday party” for our ACE inhibitor. It has been on the market for three years now and they recommend we use the birthday hats and napkins that they gave us. It has our logo and drug name on it. They said the doctors would love it. Who the are they kidding? As if I am going to get the few doctors that even give me the time of day to light candles and wear hats because our lousy “me too” drug is three years old and selling like sh&*? Do these marketing people even know what's going on out in the real world?

  MONTH EIGHT Dr. Smith, who was so rude to me, wants to know if I have any baseball tickets for the upcoming series. I wonder if the phrase “kiss my ass” means anything to him. Saw Dr. Johnson recently. After the “episode” which occurred at our last dinner, I have purposely stayed away from him. The restraining order still remains. He needs to get a life.

  MONTH NINE Went back to our bullsh &% meeting in Florida again. Who are they fooling with this AMWAY crap? This is all cult worship anyway. In fact, I'd rather drink Kool-Aid laced with cyanide than sell this piece of sh& drug. We met in small groups and they tried to teach us new points that would convince any doctor to use our drug. Talk about a circle jerk. Got drunk most nights I was down there.

  MONTH TEN The company is getting on my case more and more. They want to know what I am doing every minute of every day. They want signatures. They want programs. They want my firstborn. My boss is a prick and if he interrupts me one more time I am going to kick him in his balls.

  MONTH ELEVEN Slept with Dr. Johnson. Fu# it, I needed the numbers. I am also giving away stocking stuffers of goodies to any doctor that will write my loser medication. Whatever it takes to make bonus. Dr. Flock again tells me he is writing our drug. What a fuliar. We buy the prescription numbers right from the pharmacy so I know what his numbers actually are and this guy bullsh%ts me right to my face. I think he wants to sleep with me.

  MONTH TWELVE Slept with my boss. I needed to keep him off my case. One more dinner program and I will put the cyanide in the doctors’ drinks myself. Every time I get new marketing material, I throw it right in the trash. Our company sucks. I know I hit all numbers but they changed the threshold at the last minute and screwed me out of my bonus.

  MONTH THIRTEENThis job sucks. If I see another pompous physician I will kick him right in the balls like I did my boss. I will die before I ever feed a bunch of overweight and ungrateful staff workers again.

  Told my boss to go screw himself or screw Dr. Johnson and leave me the alone. Threw my keys to the generic minivan at him and walked away with my pride. Never again will I work for a pharmaceutical company.

  MONTH FIFTEEN Took a job at our rival. They got some new stuff in the pipeline. The money is even better than my old company. Called Dr. Johnson, meeting him Tuesday night.

  A few years ago I read a newspaper story about an upcoming visit to Our Fair City by none other than John Wayne Bobbitt.

  I have been a big fan of amputee sex stories ever since the Penthouse Letters I read back in the 70s, so I knew I HAD to see this show, which was playing at a local topless bar. I tried to get together a gang of my medical colleagues to go see Bobbitt. Unfortunately nobody would go, except my friend Bill, a urologist. Most doctors are afraid to go to these establishments. Not because it's unprofessional, but because they are scared they may be spotted by patients (both the patrons and dancers).

  I didn't give a sh#t. This was

  John Wayne Bobbitt for God's sake!

  When Bill's wife heard about the planned trip, she tried to keep him from going. I subsequently threatened Bill that if he backed out I'd let everybody know he was “whipped.” So we set out on a sunny Saturday afternoon. After paying the cover charge (interesting term for a place where not being covered is the main attraction) we entered into the main room, where we got some cheap steak-like substances from the buffet and sat down to wait for the show.

  We ordered drinks and turned down a couple of overtures from some Ladies of Negotiable Affection. Then the lights dimmed. The spotlights came on. The emcee announced the “man we have all been waiting for,” and then there he was, “John … Wayne … Bobbitt!” In a tuxedo!

  John told maybe three insipid jokes and then showed a tape from the Howard Stern Show re-enacting the Big Event. After that, the “Bobbitt Girls” came out and waggled their bobbitts at us. There was enough silicone there to caulk all the pools in Florida. After the show John and his Girls were available for autographs. We got him to sign one for each of us (above). Then we mentioned that we were “trained medical doctors” and had a “professional interest in seeing his medical miracle.”

  We could have been anybody wanting to look at his private parts but for some reason, John trusted us. Maybe it was the sincere way we managed to keep a straight face. We persuaded John to go into the men's room with us so we could inspect his “object of interest.” There we were: Bill the urologist, John Wayne Bobbitt, and me in the men's room, with John whipping out one of the most famous phalluses this country has ever known. It was a sight to see. We knew we were breaking the ancient “Never Look at Another Guy in the Men's Room Especially Below the Waist” rule but we ignored it as well as the curious sidelong glances from the other denizens taking a bladder break. Bill and I felt since this was the opportunity of a lifetime for a physician – to hell with rules.

  As I stated, Bill is a urologist and I guess he is used to seeing these things up close. This is probably why he stuck his face right into John Wayne Bobbitt's crotch to get a better look (much closer than necessary in my humble opinion).

  “It looks like you've had some fat injected there to give it support,” said Bill, who truly seemed fascinated and wouldn't stop staring.

  “Never mind that,” I said, breaking Bill's trance, “Mr. Bobbitt, I have a huge favor to ask you.” I pulled an ink pad from my back pocket. “Would you mind making an imprint for us as a souvenir?”

  From what I had seen of John on TV and just witnessed up close and personal, I knew that he wasn't a mental genius. Still, I was surprised at his reply. “Is that stuff safe?” he asked me.

  “Mr. Bobbitt,” I assured him, “as we explained before, we are trained medical doctors. This ink pad is the very same kind that we use to make baby footprints for birth certificates. Surely if it's safe enough for a newborn baby it's safe enough for you.”

  With these ridiculous and totally unverifiable assurances, John walked over to the sink, put the pad on the counter and smooshed his “famous member” into the ink and then onto a piece of paper (right). Twice; one for me and one for Bill.

  We thanked John profusely and started to leave with our trophies, trying not to rupture our tracheas with suppressed laughter.

  “Are you sure this stuff will come off?” he called after us.

  To which I replied over my shoulder, “Absolutely – just use a little alcohol. Vodka will do nicely. Ask the bartender.”

  And with that, Bill and I walked out giving each other high fives. It was like two kids getting Barry Bond's autograph. I said we were medical professionals but I didn't say we were mature medical professionals.

  I later found that my Bobbitt-grams were in big demand, so I made photocopies and handed them out. I discovered this interesting fact about human nature: people will not touch a photocopy of an imprint of a man's penis. Even when I reminded them that it was a photocopy, and not the original, people still wouldn't touch it. Some wouldn't ev
en hold the paper in their hands. For grins, sometimes I'd hand them to people and ask them to guess what it was. They'd study it carefully and usually give up. When I told them what they were holding they went through a bobbling routine like Curly from the Three Stooges, except most of them didn't go “Woo woo woo woo! Hey Larry! Hey Moe!”

  Some of you are probably wondering if I still have the ink pad. I don't. Although I was tempted to use it to stamp “Past Due” on delinquent patient bills, on the way to the parking lot I threw it in the trash. I bought my secretary a replacement the following Monday.

  The Famous “While I'm” Visit. You cannot figure out why this patient is here with her problem until she says, “I was visiting my mother upstairs in room 342, and I thought that while I'm here, I thought I would be seen.”

  The teenage imperative to wear a baseball cap while being otherwise undressed for an exam.

  The “Party of Five” visit. Suddenly in the middle of the busiest Sunday of the year, the triage nurse dumps five charts on the desk. You go to examine this group, thinking that Mom has brought in all five kids, and find out that three of them are not hers! They are nieces’ or neighbors’ kids! What do people do before they leave for the ED? Do they call around the neighborhood and ask if anybody needs anything while she is going out? “Yeah,” replies a friend. “Can you take little Mike to the ED and get him seen for this cough?”

  The patient with the sick kid who has an appointment with their pediatrician in twenty minutes, who came to the ED because they “couldn't wait that long” to see their own doctor.

  Why do patients think that their child with the nausea and vomiting should undergo the Doritos Challenge in the ED?

  And why do patients think that their Primary Care MD is going to meet them in the ED at 9 p.m.? Probably for the same reason that they ask you why the subspecialist that they need is not in residence at the hospital at 1:32 a.m.

  I never understand the patient who queries my nurse, “Do I have to undress?” No you idiot, the doctor has X-ray vision!

  “My child just isn't herself.” (Who the hell is she?) Enough said.

  “To tell you the truth Doc …” What? Have you been lying up to this point?

  “I hate to go to doctors.” Why the hell did you have to have a change of heart tonight!

  “I've had this problem for two years, and neither my primary nor the three specialists she had me see can tell me what it is. Can you diagnose it?” Yeah, right!!!

  Why do patients think it's okay to eat pizza, subs and burgers in the exam room?

  And my favorite. It always appears to come from some baseball cap–wearing, pimply-faced 16-year-old … You introduce yourself to the patient and get a dead mackerel handshake. You ask the patient what is wrong and they reply …

  A real Henny Youngman!!!!

  1. Ask for more data – this always works. Use phrases like “level of confidence is low” or “statistically insignificant” to scare the members into searching for more data. This data is never available.

  2. Ask for whatever data you have to be “analyzed” in a more effective manner – use phrases like “confounding variables” or “background noise” to make the members skeptical.

  3. Ask for more members to be added to the group – everyone knows that more is better, but since everyone hates committees, you'll never get anyone to join.

  4. Ask to have a consultant brought in – somehow this fools even the best of them. You have to first debate if a consultant is needed, and then debate what type of consultant to get. Even if you get an answer on this, you still have to find a way to pay the consultant. There is never money in the budget to pay a consultant.

  5. Ask to have the group broken down into smaller task forces, steering committees or action groups – by the time you define what the goal of the “micro-committee” is, you will head right into the realization that no one will volunteer to be on it.

  6. Ask to bring the issue to the largest group of the hospital (general staff meeting, etc.) – by the law of averages, some crotchety bastard will hate the issue enough to force it back into the smaller committee again where you can filibuster it all over again.

  7. Try bringing up a point and then slowly, but deliberately go tangential – by the time the committee realizes you are on another topic, you make sure that new topic is really controversial. That will piss off your “hothead” in the group enough to have him speak his mind about the new topic and you are now off to the races. Sit back and enjoy.

  8. Ask to have a consensus on the issue and then try to have the committee define consensus and see if they can have a consensus on that definition.

  9. Ask your “slowspeaker” in the group to give their in-depth opinion and when she does, ask her more questions on how she can elaborate on what she just said.

  10. Ask if the issue at hand is really that important when so many other issues are critical (they never are) – try to table this issue and promise to bring it up on the next meeting and then reapply any one of the top nine techniques.

  I am a registered nurse, and I love reading each issue of Placebo Journal. However, I am also a PHARMACEUTICAL REP and I've had just about enough of your insulting, critical comments regarding my line of work! So, I thought I'd let you and your readers know what it's REALLY like to be a drug rep. I'll call my piece …

  I know doctors are very busy and I really try to respect their time(honestly) while simultaneously fulfilling my job requirements. I try to have some pertinent piece k of information to share as quickly as possible. I try to be pleasant, brief, and helpful. Mercifully, some of my docs respond well to this tactic. Following is a sampling of some of the physicians that make my I job so much fun… see if you recognize yourself:

  DR. FIBBS Upon seeing me in his office, immediately he begins declaring, “I use your drug a lot. I know all about it.” When, in fact, the lying bastard doesn't use it at all. Just give it to me straight, Doc. I'd prefer a brusque “ I hate your f drug. Don't f come back to me, f okay?” over a lie any day. But I realize this is just a technique to send us on our way without wasting more time than necessary. That is why I can't be too angry with Dr. Fibbs.

  DR. LUNCHESONLY He's elusive and mysterious (but not in a good way). Sometimes, when I bring lunch into one of these offices, some staffer will have pity on me and actually say something to me like, “Thanks for lunch” while grabbing her food and bolting for the door. (Oops! Don't forget to take a lunch to your boyfriend/ husband/ child waiting around the corner!) If I'm lucky, the doctor may make an appearance, like a surprise celebrity guest on a talk show. Does he use my drug at least? Who knows? (That's the mysterious part.)

  DR. FLIRTY EYES I call on about 250 physicians, and Dr. Flirty Eyes is the only one who turns me into a demure babbling idiot who speaks intelligibly. “I am a professional,” I tell myself. “Just go in there and avoid eye contact. Just give your detail and get the hell out before he looks at you with his flirty eyes!” Dr. Flirty Eyes does something to me, alright. If only he'd just ignore me like so many other doctors. Problem is, he is one if my most “important” customers, so I have to see him on a regular basis. Okay, okay. So I'm human. It's not like I'm sleeping with him. Or dreaming about it … hmmm.

  DR. CODGER hates everything, everyone, himself, the world, etc. Every time I see him, he lectures me on how the world is going to hell because of pharmaceutical companies, Medicare, the government, and immoral people in general. Last time, he spewed on and on about the moral decline of today's youth and how no one takes marriage seriously any more. (This caused sharp guilt pangs, considering my feelings for Dr. Flirty Eyes.) Generally, I like this type of doctor, though. They seem to need someone to “vent” to, and after all, I am there to take care of my customers.

  DR. RANDY I call on Dr. Randy because I know his staff won't get miffed if I use their bathroom when it has been seven hours since I last voided and my bladder is about to burst. Last time I went to Dr. Randy's office, I looked like a dr
owned rat (having been out and about in the rain all day). My hair was frizzy, my makeup was streaked, my clothes were wet, and I smelled like the fast food I had scarfed for lunch. I got soaked walking into the office (I always park away from the building so as not to take the prime spots from patients – TRUE), and I was told to wait. I knew I'd get in to see him because he tells everyone to let in the “hot ones” (TRUE) and apparently, I'm hot (debatable). Although on this particular day I looked like a drowned rat, as I mentioned earlier, so ha ha! The joke was on him! But alas, the joke was on me. Dr. Randy just stared at my breasts during the whole visit. What was there to see except a bulky raincoat? I don't worry about what he thinks when I laugh out loud at him. He probably thinks I'm a bimbo anyway and a giggling, bouncing chest just adds to the charm, right?

  DR. NEWBIE Meeting doctors who are new in town is usually a challenge because I have to prove to them that I'm not a twenty-three year-old with a business degree who knows nothing about patient care. The younger ones respect my clinical background. The older ones just think I'm a low-life nurse who only knows how to take orders. How infuriating to be ignored, while the males reps are taken seriously! Poor me (sigh). Maybe I should take off the raincoat? Just kidding. Puh-lease. As if.

  DR. SERIOUS He and others like him worry me the most. I honestly believe that this man has never smiled a day in his life. Dr. Serious is very serious about his patients, about life, about medications, about the weather. He happened to be standing in line behind me one day at a local restaurant. We were each there with some friends. I caught his eye, smiled, and said “Hello,” and then went back to thinking about how miserably full I was. Just then, he put up his hand - crossing-guard style -and proclaimed (loudly), “No offense, but I don't talk to reps outside of my office. My personal life is my personal life!” Okaaaayyyy. Next time I'm out in public, Doc, I'll make sure to go incognito so you won't be bothered. Sheesh! Just because some of your drug reps are overbearing leeches, doesn't mean that I am. Besides, I have a life, too, you know. Why do you think I'm peddling pharmaceuticals? I got tired of working 16-hour shifts, and on nights, weekends, and holidays in a grueling job that doesn't pay enough. Sound familiar? You're not the only ones with families! Besides, I look sexy in the company minivan