Thoracic Park

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My darling friend, Drew, who is good to animals, loving to his children, generous with the needy, and the first person you’d ever want to be your doctor in the time of a crisis…is the meanest attending physician in the world.

Drew: (to me) “Hang on for a second…” (putting the phone to the side, to talk to one of his residents) “What’s going on?”

Resident: *mumblemumble pulmonary mumblemumble*

Drew: “Well, what procedure are you going to order for that patient?”

Resident: *mumblemumble hemopneumosarcoiditis mumble*

Drew: “Oooookay, and what procedure are you going to order AFTER that one?”

Resident: “Ummmmm, I’m not sure, Sir.”

Drew: “The procedure you’d order after is called a FUCKING AUTOPSY, because that first thing you wanted to do is going to KILL him! The object of this ICU is to make them LIVE…you know that, right!? We’re trying to free up beds by getting them better, NOT by KILLING THEM.”

Resident: “Ummm”

Drew: (to me) “Hey, loved the picture of the kids…say hi to your folks.”

Me: “Ummm.”

Terrorists…They Care About Your Colon.

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And the angry texting continues…

Drew: I swear to fucking G-d, if I get one more page in the middle of the night to ask something as stupid as “Can this patient have Colace”, I’m going to kill someone.  These fucking new residents are KILLING ME.

Me: First…  A pager?  Really?  In the year that you’re doctoring, are leaches still a thing?

Drew: *sigh*

Me: Also, can we discuss that I’m FAIRLY sure that the Hypocratic Oath covers you not murdering other doctors?

Drew: It would be justifiable homicide.

Me: Because they PAGE you at 3am, asking if they can help a patient poop?

Drew: Because I’m running around night and day, trying to keep them from killing my patients.

Me: I’m sure they’re not trying to kill your patients.

Drew: Megan, I’m not convinced that they weren’t sent by Al Qaeda.

Me: Take it easy, Jack Bauer.  Maybe YOU should have a little Colace.

Yeah…So That Happened.

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Soooo, in a stunning display of the grace and dignity that can only be mustered when you are a McMcerson, my darling mother, an absolute gazelle of a woman, tripped over her own feet and went down hard, taking out her own arm and shoulder, which, in her own words, “Went in a direction that I never want to see an arm ever go again”.

Believe me, if there is ever a time that you don’t want to be surrounded by cute firemen being exceedingly nice to you, it’s when you or someone you love is hurt.  I could have had January through December on the P.F.D. calendar, and the whole experience still would have been a complete boner-killer.

Following her ambulance to the nearest hospital, I had just enough time to call one of my best friends (an ICU physician on the east coast), who advised me that, “They start all the new residents in July!  Most of them kill more effectively than ebola.  Do NOT let any of those Doogie Howser fuckwads lay a hand on her!”

Many hours in the ER later…physicians consulted (and checked for actual gray hairs and crow’s feet, prior to treatment), meds given, x-rays taken (by a lovely man sporting a Juggalo tattoo, who was shockingly gentle and kind-hearted given his musical taste), and one attempt at putting her shoulder right…the decision was made that the damage was significant enough to warrant admission for surgery, in the morning.

I am thankful she has had excellent care.  I am thankful all of her doctors have grown their own pubes.  I am thankful for her morphine, although, I could certainly use a Xanax, if anyone’s asking.  I am thankful for free wifi, which is just distracting enough to keep me from thinking too much.  I am thankful that she’s pretty badass, because she needs to be, and because I need her to be.

And now…we wait…

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I knew it…my mother is a friggin’ Gremlin.