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<\/a>By Diane Batshaw Eisman, M.D. FAAP<\/strong><\/p>\nDoctor Eisman, is in Family Practice in Aventura, Florida with her partner, Dr. Eugene Eisman, an internist\/cardiologist.<\/p>\n
Arrrgggh.<\/p>\n
I am awake.<\/p>\n
Thoughts jitter around<\/p>\n
Things that go bump in the night in my cranky old brain.<\/p>\n
Those bumpy thoughts used to be about the health of my patients, did Mr. Jointpain see the rheumatologist, haven’t heard from Ms. Headache in a while, haven’t received that MRI that I ordered on little HumptyDumpty’s lumbar spine…<\/p>\n
But, far too frequently, I grind my teeth and, instead of fuzzy sheep jumping their fences, I count the unthinking things that patients do.<\/p>\n
George WiggleWagglePuffer was told to bring all his meds and supplements on his next visit. He was seeing two specialists and, although I had their notes, I wasn’t sure if he was taking all his meds or was still taking drugs that were discontinued<\/p>\n
And so what happens?<\/p>\n
You’ve probably guessed it.<\/p>\n
This gentleman walked over to the sink and emptied his pockets on the counter. A rainbow of pills: white and purple and oblong and round and square. He didn’t even put them in a plastic bag (not that it would have helped)<\/p>\n
Grinning triumphantly, he said: “Here you are doc…..all of them.”<\/p>\n
And Maribel Monolith tells me that she just saw a gynecologist.<\/p>\n
“What is his name”, I naively ask?<\/p>\n
“I don’t know. But he is in a big building that is white on 20th or 40th avenue or something and I think he is on the top floor, maybe 6 or 7 or something.”<\/p>\n
“Oh”, I even more naively say.<\/p>\n
Ms. Monolith continues: “and he said I have to have surgery.”<\/p>\n
“For what?”….I ask, stupidly.<\/p>\n
“I dunno. Something.”<\/p>\n
“Well, are you in pain?”<\/p>\n
“Huh?”<\/p>\n
And there was the shocked colleague that called me last week. He was a specialist to whom I often referred. He always sent notes and occasionally called me to discuss a patient and his treatment plan.<\/p>\n
Doctor Nicely: “Hi, there, my friend.<\/p>\n
ME: “Good morning. Who’s the patient? My staff didn’t bring a chart. Not like them. They are usually so efficient.”<\/p>\n
Doctor Nicely: “Oh no, it’s not about a patient.”<\/p>\n
ME: “Are you OK?”<\/p>\n
Doctor Nicely: “I’m fine, Curmudgeon. Just calling to thank you.”<\/p>\n
ME: “For what?”<\/p>\n
Doctor Nicely: “For your thank you note.”<\/p>\n
ME: “You’re calling to thank me for thanking you for that great basket of chocolate?”<\/p>\n
Doctor Nicely: “Yes, you old curmudgeon. Out of many baskets that our office sent, we got three Thank You notes. So, I just want to say ‘thank you for the thank you note.'”<\/p>\n
And now, one of those things going bump in the night is a reminder to myself to call Doctor Nicely next week and thank him for thanking me for my Thank You note.<\/p>\n
Doctor Curmudgeon\u00ae is Diane Batshaw Eisman, M.D., a physician-satirist. This column originally appeared on SERMO, the leading global social network for doctors.<\/p>\n