For my final act of intern year, a grand menagerie! A collection of things that shouldn't be; a hospital of patients that are not sick! Gather one, gather all to the myth, the mystery, the *greatest* show in history; the last month of inpatient Internal Medicine as an intern!
The Man Without Symptoms!
Straight from Bavaria and to our show exclusively, the man without symptoms! Not a single complaint. Not a single problem. Flawless, painless, soreless and completely disease free; solely in need of a complicated CT scan available only in our very own military institution! Watch as he is not only hospitalized, anesthetized, dialyzed, and lesion localized, but also canonized, exorcised, and cannibalized all over the course of a three day hospital stay. The man has no business being here but because no expense is too small and no admission to the hospital too trivial we will admit him for your viewing satisfaction anyway!
The Respiratorical Horror That Wasn't!
Also for your exclusive entertainment a man so sick, so ill, so reportedly toxic and pernicious, you'll be surprised to hear it's *all* fictitious; the man with a COPD exacerbation so stable it's exasperating! His symptoms are at baseline. His oxygen requirement is unchanged. His breathing is unlabored. He looks altogether all too good; but for a limited time only he will be admitted directly from clinic to receive the same care he'd of received at home!
The Woman that Communes with Spirits!
Next. Born with a terrible gift. A young woman scourged by the Almighty with a supernatural talent lain dormant for centuries. Our very own telegraph to another world. The Woman that Communes with Orthopedic Surgeons! She will be brought to the hospital for reasons unworldly, her care will guided by voices emanating from the very ether, and her entire stay will be determined by a presence heard but never seen! Truly, lads, you have not lived until you have communicated with those not living! Commune with the orthopods for just one shilling! *Never* has health care been so thrilling!
The Amazing Record Player Woman!
Imagine now madams and gents: every day the same thing, every day the same thing, every day the same thing. The next poor woman is bound by an inescapable cosmic cycle to call the police weekly raving of impending robbery at the hands of her neighbors. She is captured in an unbreakable celestial loop to be brought to the hospital on a seven day circuit to be treated for the exact same dementia. She will see exactly the same physicians. Decline exactly the same tests. And be discharged to exactly the same home exactly the same way every time; just like clockwork! It's a rotation so accurate you can mark your calendar by it -- I kid you not! And you're in luck with this one, folks, because if you miss this week's show just come back next week for the encore!
The Phantom Fibrillation!
And if that wasn't enough, friends, gather closer as I speak to you of a phenomenon that some say doesn't exist. A phantasm that materializes only to vanish seconds later. A cardiac conduction abnormality that few have ever seen! The Phantom Fibrillation! The poor bearer of this accursed arrhythmic spirit -- a gentleman from our very own town -- is forced to walk the Earth waiting for his next atrial possession. Come awe at the reports from the ER of his shortness of breath. Then astonish as the same ER reports him to be symptom free! And finally astound as we admit to monitor him, test him, and pursue a workup that could just as easily be done at the cardiac clinic anyway! Now we cannot guarantee that the specters will present themselves, but we *can* guarantee that if they do it will be an event you will not want to miss!
The Golden Crap!
But that's not all. No that's not all at all, folks. Don't even think about it -- not a bit! Our very last act -- our very last sensation, the topic of tomorrow's conversation, an aberration of constipation; ladies and gentleman I present to you the Golden Crap! The man has not pooed for days, some say months, possibly even years! Many have tried to disimpact him but some say he is undisimpactable. He will come into the hospital for one day and one day only to have what many believe will be the most expensive bowel movement ever!
(And cue curtain.)
In conclusion: sometimes my life is like a circus. But with less funnel cake.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Something's Fishy with this Fish
Fish. Some are pretty to look at, some are fun to catch, some keep the jellyfish in line, and it is said that altogether they are all an important integral part of the food chain. Not my food chain, but someone's food chain they say. That was until yesterday.*
Although sushi currently seems to hold the title of "greatest thing ever," I have always personally been under the impression that mankind did not discover flame broiling simply to have another task added to his day and in which to potentially cripple himself with, but rather because he once killed something, immediately took a bite out of it, and thought, "man, there's gotta be a better way." Persuaded at times by family and friends to occasionally question these assumptions I have always been disappointed and have always been told that that particular place either did not have very good sushi or just not very good sushi at that particular time. With odds such as these even if it turned out sushi was delicious I doubt it would be worth the culinary gamble you need to go through in order to get the good stuff.
Similarly once or twice I have deigned to try fried fish under the belief that fried batter makes everything better, and while this is still universally true, better does not necessarily translate into good. Fried catfish and fried Chinese-body-bone-and-eyeballs fish would taste better still without the catfish and bodies, bones, and eyeballs.
I have also since been fed salmon, tilapia, cod, orange roughy, and likely other tasty sounding but not terribly tasty tasting fishes only to be unimpressed every time. Canned tuna continues to be an offense to both my taste buds and my nose buds.
But I had not, until recently, tried ceviche. The thought of adding acid to fish for whatever inexplicable reason just never sounded appealing to me. It turns out, however, that a handful of hydrogen ions and a little bit of denaturing of proteins are exactly what is needed to take the fishy out of fish. I am still not entirely convinced that there was in fact fish in the dish, but I am repentant. I was wrong. I am sorry fish eating people of the world. Fish, or at least the fish served in the ceviche at Rosario's, is in fact palatable if not enjoyable to eat. What else can a little bit of acid improve? Liver? Gibblets? The global economy?
* In the interest of full disclosure. I had actually had one prior occasion where I sampled and did not die from eating fish. The butterfish in Hawaii is actually quite good if you can get all the bones and what not out of it. But come on; it's called butterfish. It's like God was demanding it be eaten.
Although sushi currently seems to hold the title of "greatest thing ever," I have always personally been under the impression that mankind did not discover flame broiling simply to have another task added to his day and in which to potentially cripple himself with, but rather because he once killed something, immediately took a bite out of it, and thought, "man, there's gotta be a better way." Persuaded at times by family and friends to occasionally question these assumptions I have always been disappointed and have always been told that that particular place either did not have very good sushi or just not very good sushi at that particular time. With odds such as these even if it turned out sushi was delicious I doubt it would be worth the culinary gamble you need to go through in order to get the good stuff.
Similarly once or twice I have deigned to try fried fish under the belief that fried batter makes everything better, and while this is still universally true, better does not necessarily translate into good. Fried catfish and fried Chinese-body-bone-and-eyeballs fish would taste better still without the catfish and bodies, bones, and eyeballs.
I have also since been fed salmon, tilapia, cod, orange roughy, and likely other tasty sounding but not terribly tasty tasting fishes only to be unimpressed every time. Canned tuna continues to be an offense to both my taste buds and my nose buds.
But I had not, until recently, tried ceviche. The thought of adding acid to fish for whatever inexplicable reason just never sounded appealing to me. It turns out, however, that a handful of hydrogen ions and a little bit of denaturing of proteins are exactly what is needed to take the fishy out of fish. I am still not entirely convinced that there was in fact fish in the dish, but I am repentant. I was wrong. I am sorry fish eating people of the world. Fish, or at least the fish served in the ceviche at Rosario's, is in fact palatable if not enjoyable to eat. What else can a little bit of acid improve? Liver? Gibblets? The global economy?
* In the interest of full disclosure. I had actually had one prior occasion where I sampled and did not die from eating fish. The butterfish in Hawaii is actually quite good if you can get all the bones and what not out of it. But come on; it's called butterfish. It's like God was demanding it be eaten.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
No Dogs Allowed
My favorite movie as a kid was a toss up between Garfield's Halloween and Snoopy, Come Home. The first was and always will be great even long after Garfield ceased to be amusing to me. The second is possibly the saddest movie I have ever seen. Or, at the very least, the saddest animated movie I have ever seen. The most glaring memory which seems to daily reinsert itself into my thoughts, however, is the line, sung slowly in a deep voice, "No dogs allowed!" sung just about whenever Snoopy tries to go anywhere or do anything in the movie. I will likely go to the grave with that as the chorus in the back of my mind.
This last weekend I felt Snoopy's pain. I was thrown from a swanky Houston club, the Drake, for no good reason at all. Officially it was because of my lack of shiny shoes, but I believe reverse racism somehow played a role. Either my awesomeness or my excellence were clearly being discriminated against here, perhaps both. Although I could not hear it over the thumping base emanating from the club, I believe a distant baritone could be heard saying, "No tennis shoes allowed!" I had even specifically put these not shiny shoes on (and a button up shirt and pants) per the request of my friend, Ro, who I thought had been properly informed specifically to avoid such discriminations from happening. After failed attempts at then going to see a movie and renting a movie -- they were both closed -- we ended up spending the night playing two man Trivia Pursuit until Ro experienced trivia fatigue and began feeding me the answers in order to bring the game to its long delayed conclusion. Clearly the people of the Drake missed out.
In other news, I finally stopped at a Buc-ee's (the Beaver) Gas Station on the drive home just to see what there was to see. It was nice and clean and full of jerky and various Texas themed knick knacks. Oh, and about 3,000 people. I have never before and likely never will again see so many people in an isolated gas station in the middle of nowhere. Although I am not sure, I think this to be a good thing.
"Arrr, I think you be havin' a bit too many peg legs there, matey!"
This last weekend I felt Snoopy's pain. I was thrown from a swanky Houston club, the Drake, for no good reason at all. Officially it was because of my lack of shiny shoes, but I believe reverse racism somehow played a role. Either my awesomeness or my excellence were clearly being discriminated against here, perhaps both. Although I could not hear it over the thumping base emanating from the club, I believe a distant baritone could be heard saying, "No tennis shoes allowed!" I had even specifically put these not shiny shoes on (and a button up shirt and pants) per the request of my friend, Ro, who I thought had been properly informed specifically to avoid such discriminations from happening. After failed attempts at then going to see a movie and renting a movie -- they were both closed -- we ended up spending the night playing two man Trivia Pursuit until Ro experienced trivia fatigue and began feeding me the answers in order to bring the game to its long delayed conclusion. Clearly the people of the Drake missed out.
In other news, I finally stopped at a Buc-ee's (the Beaver) Gas Station on the drive home just to see what there was to see. It was nice and clean and full of jerky and various Texas themed knick knacks. Oh, and about 3,000 people. I have never before and likely never will again see so many people in an isolated gas station in the middle of nowhere. Although I am not sure, I think this to be a good thing.
"Arrr, I think you be havin' a bit too many peg legs there, matey!"
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