Hospital Surrealismus
Internal medicine sounds exciting (...or not...). Have you seen Harrison's Internal Medicine? It's a freaking bible; so many diseases, and all so interesting and so dangerous, and you get to diagnose them, and cure them and stuff.
In reality, most of your patients are quite geriatric, and very very chronic, and frankly, bread and butter sans exotica, and you're really not about to cure anyone. If you're lucky, you make them feel better. When you DO get a "curable" patient, they're usually young, and that is never good, and almost always sad.How easy would it be to go absolutely insane in this sort of work environment? Very. What keeps us sane? Hospital surrealismus. What is that? Hard to explain. Better to show you with examples.
Hospital surrealismus isn't always about patients. One prime example is the unforgettable variety and degree of diversity of ghost personnel, aka, personnel we always hear about but have never seen. From our end, it is a true mystery.
For example, there is the infamous Linda Wing, who emails us every Friday: DON'T forget, nonivasive vascular conference is today... I don't know what that is, or where, or who's supposed to go. But I always remember, thanks to the invisible Linda Wing. I thought she was a small Vietnamese lady. I heard a rumor she's actually white, but it was never proven.
Or, we'd get daily Lab Tips from a certain Carol Branton over email. They clutter the mailboxes of many a doctor. Once I saw a short chubby lady in the elevator, lo and behold, her name tag said BRANTON, Carol. Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I blatantly pointed and said "YOU'RE Carol Branton!!!" She looked terrified. She said, "Yes. Please don't hurt me."
But the best is the cryptic overhead calls.
Every night, at 7pm, right at the start of the night shift, the operator would call:
"Wendy Kwon, dial extention 6407, Wendy Kwon, Wendy Kwon."
Who the hell is Wendy Kwon? Once we called back to the coronary care unit, extention 6407, and said, "This is Wendy Kwon, I was paged?" Vicky, the secretary, was stumped too. "Ummmm" click!
At 9pm, the operator dutifully called,
"Jean Tamucci... extention 5995, Jean Tamucci, Jean Tamucci"
Actually, it could have been, "Gene Tamucci, Gene Tamucci," man or woman, we never knew. It could have been a Pat type character.
Every once in a while, we'd hear,
"Pedro Martinez, Pedro Martinez..." Back in 2004, this was the topic of many many baseball jokes. I feel badly for Pedro.
A silence fell over the brilliant young minds in the lounge.
"What d'she say?"
It's like you had to have a weird name to work for the hospital.
Daily, at noon, the operator pleaded for
"Augusto Teixtera, please report to the emergency room, Augusto Teixtera, Augusto Teixtera"
Now you, must understand, when someone actively tries to die without warning, that's called a code. When that happens, the operator announces, "Adult code 99, adult code 99" and everyone drops what they're doing and runs. "Adult code 99" and "Augusto Teixterra" sound alike. So after months and months of hearing this day in and day out in the middle of lunch, and lurching forward to run to the alleged code only to realize, it's just elusive Augusto being summoned once again, understandably, we were somewhat upset.
Finally, the angriest resident, ironically named Mars, called the operator. WHO the hell are these people?? WHAT is the emergency of having to page them overhead??? HOW do they spell their names???? Are they men or women!!
The operator was not surprised to hear from us. Evidently, residents lose it like this routinely. After a short conversation with her, it turned out they ghost workers worked for transport, or housekeeping, or security, and are always called overhead because they don't have pagers.
OF COURSE.
In reality, most of your patients are quite geriatric, and very very chronic, and frankly, bread and butter sans exotica, and you're really not about to cure anyone. If you're lucky, you make them feel better. When you DO get a "curable" patient, they're usually young, and that is never good, and almost always sad.How easy would it be to go absolutely insane in this sort of work environment? Very. What keeps us sane? Hospital surrealismus. What is that? Hard to explain. Better to show you with examples.
Hospital surrealismus isn't always about patients. One prime example is the unforgettable variety and degree of diversity of ghost personnel, aka, personnel we always hear about but have never seen. From our end, it is a true mystery.
For example, there is the infamous Linda Wing, who emails us every Friday: DON'T forget, nonivasive vascular conference is today... I don't know what that is, or where, or who's supposed to go. But I always remember, thanks to the invisible Linda Wing. I thought she was a small Vietnamese lady. I heard a rumor she's actually white, but it was never proven.
Or, we'd get daily Lab Tips from a certain Carol Branton over email. They clutter the mailboxes of many a doctor. Once I saw a short chubby lady in the elevator, lo and behold, her name tag said BRANTON, Carol. Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I blatantly pointed and said "YOU'RE Carol Branton!!!" She looked terrified. She said, "Yes. Please don't hurt me."
But the best is the cryptic overhead calls.
Every night, at 7pm, right at the start of the night shift, the operator would call:
"Wendy Kwon, dial extention 6407, Wendy Kwon, Wendy Kwon."
Who the hell is Wendy Kwon? Once we called back to the coronary care unit, extention 6407, and said, "This is Wendy Kwon, I was paged?" Vicky, the secretary, was stumped too. "Ummmm" click!
At 9pm, the operator dutifully called,
"Jean Tamucci... extention 5995, Jean Tamucci, Jean Tamucci"
Actually, it could have been, "Gene Tamucci, Gene Tamucci," man or woman, we never knew. It could have been a Pat type character.
Every once in a while, we'd hear,
"Pedro Martinez, Pedro Martinez..." Back in 2004, this was the topic of many many baseball jokes. I feel badly for Pedro.
Another popular player was:
"Wilcal Gideon, Wilcal Gideon."
Or maybe,
"Will Calgideon..." I'm not sure.
Once, were signing out in the lounge, and the operator said with, what I imagine to be a straight face:
A silence fell over the brilliant young minds in the lounge.
"What d'she say?"
It's like you had to have a weird name to work for the hospital.
Daily, at noon, the operator pleaded for
"Augusto Teixtera, please report to the emergency room, Augusto Teixtera, Augusto Teixtera"
Now you, must understand, when someone actively tries to die without warning, that's called a code. When that happens, the operator announces, "Adult code 99, adult code 99" and everyone drops what they're doing and runs. "Adult code 99" and "Augusto Teixterra" sound alike. So after months and months of hearing this day in and day out in the middle of lunch, and lurching forward to run to the alleged code only to realize, it's just elusive Augusto being summoned once again, understandably, we were somewhat upset.
Finally, the angriest resident, ironically named Mars, called the operator. WHO the hell are these people?? WHAT is the emergency of having to page them overhead??? HOW do they spell their names???? Are they men or women!!
The operator was not surprised to hear from us. Evidently, residents lose it like this routinely. After a short conversation with her, it turned out they ghost workers worked for transport, or housekeeping, or security, and are always called overhead because they don't have pagers.
OF COURSE.
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