Dude, Where's My Stethoscope?

by Gray, Donovan

  So now I try really hard not to kvetch too much whenever someone presents to my ER requesting ear syringing. But I do have to confess - I’m still not that crazy about earwax.

  For Better or Worse

  I have a real love/hate relationship with my job. Some days I think being a doctor is the best job in the world. Why? Easy:

  • It allows me to help people

  • It’s exciting

  • It’s intellectually stimulating

  • It pays well

  Other days I’m convinced practicing medicine is without a doubt the worst job ever. Why? Once again, easy:

  • It’s stressful

  • It invades my personal life

  • It burdens me with an absurd amount of responsibility

  • It exposes me to a never-ending stream of demands from the public

  Most days I’d never consider doing anything but medicine for a living, but there have certainly been times I’ve sworn I’d sooner dive head-first into a wood chipper than work one more shift in the ER.

  One day recently my feelings regarding medicine went from one extreme to the other within a span of 30 minutes. Here’s how it happened.

  As is often the case on Wednesday mornings, by 10:30 the ER was completely gridlocked. When a cubicle finally became available, the nursing supervisor went out to get my next patient. To my dismay, she returned with Blair Neanderthal.

  Blair is the president of our local Society for the Advancement of Alehouse Brawling. His abrasive personality is legendary. Unfortunately for me, this knuckle-dragging troglodyte also happens to be my patient. I hadn’t seen him in more than a year, which made me wonder if he hadn’t just completed yet another “timeout” in the slammer.

  I reviewed the triage nurse’s note. “Dental infection.” Seemed fairly straightforward. I stepped into his cubicle and just about bounced off the force field of hostility crackling around him.

  “I’ve been waiting for over an hour!” he barked.

  “Sorry, Mr. Neanderthal, it’s been super-busy this morning. How can I help you?”

  “I’ll tell you how you can help me! You can fix these!” He peeled back his chapped lips to give me a terrifying close-up of his furry, yellow teeth. I cringed.

  “I agree – your teeth look pretty awful. Have you been to the dentist?”

  “Dentist? Dentist? Don’t talk to me about the dentist!” he roared. “He wants to charge me 70 bucks for each tooth he pulls! 70 bucks! Do I look like I’m made of money?!”

  “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!”

  Aargh! Parking lot ambush!

  I turned around. It was one of my patients, of course. Like Savoir Faire, they’re everywhere.

  “Hi Mr. Snodgrass.”

  “Gotta love this weather, eh doc?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How’s your family doing?”

  “They’re well, thanks. And yours?”

  “Great! Say, I’m running low on my little white pills and I was wondering if I could get a refill.”

  “Your little white pills?”

  “Yeah, you know the ones, they’re about this big… .”

  “What do you take them for?”

  “Geez, that’s a good question! I think they’re for my cholesterol. No wait, they might be for my blood pressure! Or gout maybe? What colour are gout pills?”

  To my credit, I didn’t roll my eyes. I hardly ever do that anymore.

  “How about you check the name on the bottle when you get home and leave a message for me at my office? Then I’ll be able to fax a refill to the drugstore for you.”

  “Sounds like a plan, doc! You have yourself a great day!”

  I bolted inside. As I passed the tiny drugstore near the entrance, Fred the pharmacist waved at me.

  “Hi Dr. Gray!”

  “Hi Fred, how’s it going?”

  He motioned me over and dropped his voice to a clandestine whisper.

  “Hate to bother you, but would you happen to recall if you told Mr. Johnson you’d phone in a Viagra refill for him yesterday?”

  “Oh yes, I did, but then things kind of went sideways on me and I forgot. He can have eight 100 mg tabs with three repeats.”

  “Thanks!”

  “No problem!”

  I went to get a shopping cart. One of the women from the hospital auxiliary was sitting at a makeshift desk strategically located right beside the trolley corral.

  “Hi Dr. Gray! Care to buy a raffle ticket to support the Disease-of-the-Week Foundation?”

  “I’d love to!”

  “They’re five dollars each.”

  “I’ll take two, please.”

  I paid my trolley tax, selected one that didn’t squeak too much and wheeled it into the store.

  Aside from a few nods and waves, my trip down the produce aisle was completely uneventful. Next up was bread. After scoping out some potential candidates, I leaned over and began covertly squeezing loaves. I had a firm grip on a promising loaf of Wonder Bread when I got the distinct feeling someone was watching me. I looked over my shoulder guiltily, expecting to encounter a frowning store clerk. Fortunately it was just some flaxen-haired, gappy-toothed kid.

  “Hey! Dr. Gray! Remember me?”

  “Er, no. What’s your name again?”

  “Ralph! You put a cast on my leg when I broke it last summer.”

  “Hi, Ralph. How’s your leg feeling?”

  “Great! I can rollerblade and skateboard and everything now!”

  “Awesome.”

  “So, what are you doing?”

  “Shopping.”

  “How come you’re not at work?”

  How come you’re not at school?

  “My office hasn’t started yet.”

  “Oh. What’s the matter with that loaf of bread?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So then why were you squeezing it just now?”

  “I, uh… .”

  “Come along, Ralphie,” his mother called from the far end of the aisle. Leave the peculiar, bread-squeezing doctor alone… .

  Cereals:

  “Hi Dr. Gray!”

  “Hi Mrs. MacLeod!”

  “Did you get the results of that ultrasound I went for last week?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How about my diabetes test?”

  “Um… .”

  “My cholesterol test?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “My – ”

  “Usually no news is good news, but if you want you can call my office and they’ll look up the results for you.”

  “Okay, thanks!”

  Eggs:

  “How’s it going, Dr. Gray?”

  “Just great, Mr. Polokov. And you?”

  “I’m fine. Will your office be open this afternoon? I need to get some travel grants signed.”

  “We’ll be open until about six o’clock.”

  “I also need some Workers’ Compensation forms filled out. How long do you think it’ll take you to do them? We’re going on a cruise next week and I’d really like to mail them in before we leave.”

  “If you speak to my receptionist, she’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks!”

  Toiletries:

  I needed some bathroom supplies, but the recently-jettisoned Blair Neanderthal was parked in the middle of the aisle by the "My First Toothbrush" display. Oh, well, who needs soap, anyway? It’s so overrated. Detour, detour… .

  Meat:

  “Hey, doc! Thanks for stitching up my finger last week.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “It’s almost healed already! Do you want to see it?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Actually, would you mind taking a quick peek at it just to make sure it’s not getting infected?”

  “Okay, let’s see… . Uh-huh… . Looks fine to me.”

  “Thanks! Say, can you write me a note to give the wife saying I won’t be able to do the dishes for the next couple of weeks? Har-har!”

  Dairy:

  My last stop before checkout was the dairy section. I was reviewing the expiry date on a carton of Lactaid when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Dr. Gray, am I ever glad to see you!”

  Oh no! The Kiss of Death!

  “Hi Mr. Runciter. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been having one heck of a time with my bladder lately!”

  “I see… .”

  He start
ed pulling up his shirt.

  “I think maybe it has to do with my prostate.”

  “Uh-huh… .”

  He began fumbling with his belt buckle.

  “The last time I got this you ended up having to send me to the urologist.”

  “Ah… .”

  He started unbuttoning his pants.

  “Mr. Runciter, what are you doing?!”

  “I figured I’d show you – ”

  “Not here!”

  “Oh, okay doc. Do you want me to drop by your office later?”

  “Sure! Five o’clock!”

  I skedaddled.

  Clearly this incognito shtick isn’t working out for me. I wonder if it’s possible to order my groceries online and have them delivered to my house instead?

  Rust Ring

  Last Saturday morning one of our local mechanics presented to the ER complaining of a foreign body sensation in his left eye. Apparently on Friday afternoon he had been grinding without safety goggles. Hmm. Never seen that before. Our slit lamp was out of commission, so I had him recline on the stretcher in the ophthalmology room and used a magnifying glass to locate the piece of metal embedded in his cornea. I then took one of the single-use topical anaesthetic tubes from the appropriate box in the eye tray and squeezed two drops of tetracaine into the affected eye.

  After waiting the customary five or six seconds for the freezing to take effect, I began scraping the surface of his eye with a miniature Alger brush to remove the offending particle. He immediately did a whole-body flinch and bellowed, “Ouch!” I had never seen anyone react like that before. Geez, what a wimp, I thought. I added another couple of drops and continued working. This time he sat bolt upright on the stretcher and started rubbing his eye vigorously. “Ow, doc! I can still feel that!”

  “Four drops of tetracaine is more than enough to numb the surface of the eye,” I sniffed. Just to be on the safe side, I opened a new tube and put another two or three drops in. “Now please rest your head on the pillow and hold still so I can get this thing out.”