Getting your heart racing

comment of the night - I walk into a 30 yr old patients room that the nurses are worried about her low heart rate. Heart rate jumps up from 50 to 87 in 2 seconds. "Well looks like I cured your low heart rate" -- "I'm sure you get all the ladies hearts racing" finally I can market myself - take 1 of Me with food daily

going down

while sitting at the nurses station working on the computer, i notice a 50 yr old lady walk toward the two elevators and stand in front of them waiting. so I go back to my work when she mutters to herself "which one goes down?"

so i look over again and shes standing there without pressing the elevator button and still looking at the 2 elevators. "i hate elevators, why isnt it going down"

like watching a train wreck, I sit there for another minute while she waits patiently. finally feeling bad, i walk over and press the down arrow and the elevator opens up and i go to sit down. she gets in it. door closes and for the next minute the elevator stays on the same floor. she was standing in side of it not pressing anything again.

finally someone from the floor above pressed the button and the elevator went up, picked up the new passenger and then reopened on my floor with the lady still in it. Completely shocked at what im watching , i got into the elevator, pressed the first floor and rode it down with her.

Looking at her with a shocked / retarded expression, i asked her if shes feeling fine

she looks at me deadpan "ofcourse im fine, why?"

oh i dont know maybe the fact that you dont know how to use an elevator, maybe the fact that you stood infront of it for it to magically open for you, or maybe the fact that you stood in it for a minute not known why the elevator wasnt moving..... but all i could say was "oh you look tired"

watched the elevator open on the first floor and her leave, not believing what just happened.

Guest Blogger

the first guest blog was a great story and people loved it , heres a new one from Kelli. once again its from the point of view of the patient, i know ull find it hilarious, i did.

Rectal Examination

By Kelli Petersen

One evening, I discovered blood in my poop. (Hey, if you can’t talk candidly to the Internet, then who can you talk to?) I’m not usually the kind of person who checks out bowel movements—unlike my boyfriend who not only examines it, but also takes an occasional picture and texts it to his friends. But as I reached over to flush the toilet, I saw a flash of bright red in my peripheral vision. I glanced down and saw small streams of blood lacing on and through the poop.

I made a sound like “muleh!” then started to flush the toilet, before pausing to wonder if I should somehow stick the poop in a plastic baggy. Would a doctor need to actually see it or have it tested? I decided a camera phone picture would suffice.

The next morning, I called my doctor’s office from work. Note to self: sitting at the front desk while fielding incoming calls and greeting visitors is not the place to call your doctor about bloody poop. The conversation went something like this:

Nurse: …and what is the problem you are experiencing?

Me: Um, well, it’s complicated…so, um, I think I may be sick?

Nurse: Sick with what?

Me: Well, there was something, uh, strangeaboutmypoop…last night…

Nurse: I’m sorry?

Me: Therewasbloodinmypoop…that’s why I need to make an appointment…

And so on. I was finally able to secure an appointment for the next day. Unfortunately, upon signing in for my visit, I was faced with sharing my problem with the front desk staff. C’mon, do they really need to know? I wondered. I gave the same stunted explanation as on the phone, except with hand gestures filling in wherever “bowel movement” should have been said.

Finally I was in the private examining room where I could speak openly about the issue. The doctor sat on a stool, slightly lower than the table upon which I sat, naked from the waist down, covered with what seemed to be an enormous paper towel. She asked about the color and consistency of the blood. Was it a dark red or brown? Or was it bright red?

Proudly, I pulled out my camera phone and declared, “I took a picture!” She stared at me for a moment before waving it away, asking, “How about you just tell me about it?” I described the poop in detail, adding creative flourishes here and there: “I would say the blood was the color of a red apple, freshly plucked from a tree.”

I answered more questions: no, I wasn’t constipated; no, I wasn’t feeling nauseous; no, I wasn’t allergic to anything. Finally, the doctor set the clipboard down and instructed me to lie down. Being a woman, I was well accustomed to being pants-less at a doctor’s office, so I shimmied down, ready to put my feet in the stirrups.

“I’m going to have you turn on your side, actually. Facing toward the window.”

Awkwardly, I turned onto my side, as the doctor snapped on latex gloves and rolled her stool behind me, putting her face level with my butt.

“Uh…should I, um, do anything?”

“Just relax, this may feel a bit uncomfortable.”

While looking out the window, I felt her spread my buttocks apart and put a finger inside the hole. “Try not to clench,” she instructed.

Taking her cue, I forced myself to relax and quickly found my thoughts drifting to sex. While she probed and examined, I dreamily looked out the window and focused on not moaning. In my head, the doctor had become a sexy 20-something man with strong arms, and who didn’t really have to do an anal exam (I was only there for an annual check-up, after all), but “just wanted to make sure everything looked good down there.”

The doctor said something, which I missed. “Excuse me?” I hadn’t realized she had pulled away from the table and was making notes on her clipboard.

“Everything looks good down there. My guess is it was a bit of food poisoning, something your body didn’t like. Keep an eye on it and let me know if it gets worse or if you feel pain.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Thanks!” I smoothed my hair which, strangely, seemed to be more unkempt than when I arrived.

She paused for a moment, looking as if she had smelled something strange, then said, “You’re…welcome?” She quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.

I hopped off the table and pulled on my pants. Feeling more refreshed than I had in days, I swung open the door, and giddily walked out of the office.

http://BohoInTheBurbs.blogspot.com

Guest Blogger

Since my posts are all from the doctors point of view, its time to hear how weird and awkward it is from the patients point of view. So here is Jeffrey with a funny story of his own, thanks for writting it for us. if anyone else is interested in posting their own, let me know

So first allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jeffrey, I blog over at www.fartooimportantblog.blogspot.com and this story was about the romantic experience that occurred as a result of an inflamed appendix. Let me set the scene. The town of State College in Central Pennsylvania. November, snow had already fallen and accumulated fairly high. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving (I remember because there was a thanksgiving themed episode of "Top Chef"). 2AM...

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night and knew something was wrong? Well it happened to me last November. I woke up with the most severe pain in my right side. Believe it or not, I had had appendix problems before, but it had never been serious enough to take out. Well, after calling the hospital, they seriously told me that I should come to the hospital. I had just moved to a new state for grad school and didn't know the area well. As I was riding down in the elevator of my apartment building, I was trying to focus through the pain and remember where the hospital was. I finally got to my car and realized "dammit, I don't have my glasses." Was I about to waste more time and go back upstairs? No.

By the grace of a higher power, I managed to find the hospital. I checked in and when through all the paperwork. They finally take me back and this poor man has been tasked to put an IV in me. Needles and I do not get along. Not only did it feel like it took forever, I think I may have scared the man away from his chosen profession with my, considerably non-masculine weeping and screaming(because of the pain). I finally get some morphine in me, and I'm doing pretty good. The entire time I'm thinking, any second now they're going to come get me. Two hours later, I have fallen asleep. Yet again, I am awakened by the most dreadful pain you can imagine. I practically screamed at the top of my lungs. The poor man who had put the IV in me was doing the same to my mysterious unseen neighbor behind the paper wall. As I'm writhing in pain, he's coaching me like I'm giving birth. Well let me say, if giving birth was a fraction of what I felt, I have so much more respect for my mother.

Well, before they can get some more morphine in me, they decide this is the optimal time to come get me for the X-ray. At this point, I don't remember much. I remember lying on the machine, but that's about it. They must have given me something good without me noticing.

Next thing I know, I'm being woken up and told I have to have surgery ASAP and they need signatures. I manage to call my mother and my classmate. Next thing I know I'm in this room asking about things like "could you wax me instead of shave?" and "if you want to suck some fat out while you're in there, I'd appreciate it" with the nurse who was attending me. I'm still fairly loopy and unsure whether my candidness is a coping mechanism or drugs.

The doctor finally comes in to talk to me. He's talking. Naturally, I'm not understanding a word of it. Whether it was the big words or the drugs, I'm not sure. Finally, I stop him. He's looking at me like he thinks I have a question for him. Apparently, I did. I found out later that the words that then came out of my mouth are "Damn, You're cute. After this is over, you wanna go out?" From then on I really have no recollection of what happened until I woke up to see my professor looming over me. I was sure that I had died and gone to hell.

Well fast forward a week or two. I was recovering. I had already been to a physician to have my staples out and everything. I get a call from the doctor, but it didn't come up as the doctor's office which was in my phone. And we chat briefly about my recovery. About 5 minutes in he says "well, what I'm really calling about is...(pause)... you said you might want to hang out sometime and I was calling to see if you were still interested." Well damn, a doctor was asking me out. And his good looks had, indeed, not been a hallucination. He was fairly handsome for someone nearly twice my age. Me 23, him 45. We met a few times. We went out for a fancy dinner (in central Pennsylvania fancy is a relative term) and bowling (I schooled him so badly). We chatted a few more times, but, sadly, it didn't work out. However, I later discovered when the hospital bill came that, what my insurance hadn't covered, he had taken care of. I called and thanked him, and we still chat sometimes. In the end, it was a surprisingly fun experience, except for the painful part.