phynedyning

No editorial? Just “random thoughts”…(mumble).

In Editorial on October 11, 2012 at 6:19 pm

 Whew! I already fired off a “lifestyle” piece and a dubious “hint and tip” column. My editorial hit late, so I’m a free man. That can only mean one thing…

 …random thoughts!

 

Visit to “The Doctor”

Nothing puts a physician into a better mood than being busted to the rank of “patient”. Through the miracles of modern bureaucracy, my old friend from medical school was replaced by a “PGY-1” (“Intern Physician – Year One”).

I was screwed.

At about the same time she was begging her mother for her first set of pierced earrings, I was finishing my surgical residency.

I shall resist the temptation to call her a “whipper-snapper”.

The visit was uneventful except for me reminding her that my hydrochlorothiazide diuretic was not in a “statin” class of drugs and, therefore, a liver function profile was not indicated. I think I shall send the clinic my bill for participating in the training of one of their newly-minted doctors.

 It took me less than an hour to convince her that all of the wonderful “tests” she was “ordering” would not be done. I reminded her, “Sit down, shut up. Let the patient tell you what is wrong.” An ECG (EKG) was unnecessary ($400) if she paid adequate attention to the physical diagnosis portion of her schooling and used the stethoscope hanging around her pretty little neck for its intended purpose.

I recall saying, “That thing hanging around your neck is not a badge of office. It was not purchased to impress the unwashed masses or to enable you to cut in line in the “all you can stand” hospital cafeteria. I suggest you use it for its intended purpose.”

Yep, it went that well.

She was a good sport and we parted as friends. And, yes, I will return to her “care”…

…if only to drive those thoughts of “Nothing can heal like surgical steel” out of her doctor’s repertoire.

The visit lasted forty-five minutes. Thirty of those minutes were spent watching her attempting to navigate the clinic’s new electronic medical records software. She looked like a lower primate with Parkinson’s playing a computer game with a broken mouse.

At the end of the visit, I apologized for being a pain in the tukkes. She laughed and said, “I’m even worse.”

I like her.

Poor Harley

Gosh, I love dogs.

Yesterday, the verdict came in for the police handler of “Harley”. A three-day suspension?

Harley died, forgotten, in the stifling heat of the police car he had the misfortune to be assigned to on a 95+ degree day when his handler, officer Brian Mathis, forgot him while he made telephone calls.

Sorry ‘bout that, Harley.

Harley represented a $4000 to $10,000 “equipment” investment. No restitution was ordered. “Officer Mathis is grieving too”, simpered the official mouthpiece for the blue-suited gang-bangers.

Who will be punished?

The taxpayers.

How?

The police are assuring the public that they will now purchase “alarms” for every canine-equipped patrol car to remind idiot officers that a living creature is under their care. The cost is expected to reach $19,000 per car.

Gosh, I love dogs.

This morning, I went out on one of the last truly warm days of the year to “sit”…to meditate. I took my greyhound, “Adi” with me to enjoy the morning sun.

For a while, she poked around in the garden. She sniffed for squirrels and panicked when a bug landed on her haunches.

I had just taken my last preparatory breath when…

“SQUEAK!”

“SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK-HONK-HONK-HONK” erupted at my elbow. A cold, wet nose poked furiously into the crook of my elbow.

“SQUEAK!” Baleful hound eyes gazed at me as the lithe canine form play-bowed at my seated mass.

I spent the next hour belly-laughing at my young hound as she chased her “squeaky-ball” and cavorted wildly in the (former) piles of brown leaves piled in the yard.

It was a great meditation.

Have a wonderful Shabbat and, G-d willing, a peaceful coming week.

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