the pads and dregs of 'pure thought'
Last night I dreamed I was playing hockey on a football field. Teams were guys against girls, and then I was the only girl on a team of guys against guys. Passing and strategic maneuvering were not my forte; however, when I received the puck I shot it clean in.
Some doctors address their colleagues as "Dude" because they think it makes them seem young and hip. Those same doctors listen to the most recent Green Day album loudly in their offices for the same reason. Those same doctors also make crass jokes and draw sexual innuendo into hallway conversation to show that they are risky, which they feel also demonstrates youth and hipness.
I am speaking of one doctor in particular.
Dr. B, do you have more prescription pads for the front desk?
It occurred to me this morning that until I worked in a hospital I didn’t think doctors were real people. But first there were mud puddles, acne, college, then med school, then residency, or some similar order of events. At some point these real people were given prescription pads and (hopefully) looked their patient in the face, after scribbling on the pad, and said, "Take one of these twice a day for ten days." That’s a heap of responsibility.
I don’t know if I could be a doctor. I might constantly be too aware that I was just a real person and that the science was not exact and that possibly my patient was not afflicted with what I thought and that those pills were prescribed erroneously, or possibly the patient had some unique allergy to said pills and as a result of taking them turned into a gila monster or died.
I’d be in a constant state of wonder-worry. My cape would jitter nanotatively.
Or I’d decide it wasn’t worth all the worry, play the role, and prescribe with a caricature-smile and confident toss of the arm. Until the malpractice allegations poured in.
Then I would retire and play hockey professionally. On a football field simultaneously surfaced with ice and grass.
My head is full of snot. It’s difficult not to say this when people in the office ask me how I’m doing. My response instead, as I pass a doctor with my tea on his way to retrieve coffee is that of a southern-accented deaf girl turned through a bent mirror: The City of the Lost Children of Georgia.
My range of hearing is this bubble. Here’s some news:
Meditate your gamma waves high; teach yourself the skill of being happy. It’s all part of the future because the Dalai Lama and neuroscientist/friend of Ram Dass, Richard Davidson have been exploring the neuroscience of meditation.
"In the end, Einstein felt that in his own field he had, like Mozart, succeeded in unraveling the complexity of the universe."
Soon you can get your ass both heated and sprayed down after it spews. A nice picture of a clothed woman seated on a toilet demonstrates.
Have a look over at Whateverland (via Benjamin).
Some doctors address their colleagues as "Dude" because they think it makes them seem young and hip. Those same doctors listen to the most recent Green Day album loudly in their offices for the same reason. Those same doctors also make crass jokes and draw sexual innuendo into hallway conversation to show that they are risky, which they feel also demonstrates youth and hipness.
I am speaking of one doctor in particular.
Dr. B, do you have more prescription pads for the front desk?
It occurred to me this morning that until I worked in a hospital I didn’t think doctors were real people. But first there were mud puddles, acne, college, then med school, then residency, or some similar order of events. At some point these real people were given prescription pads and (hopefully) looked their patient in the face, after scribbling on the pad, and said, "Take one of these twice a day for ten days." That’s a heap of responsibility.
I don’t know if I could be a doctor. I might constantly be too aware that I was just a real person and that the science was not exact and that possibly my patient was not afflicted with what I thought and that those pills were prescribed erroneously, or possibly the patient had some unique allergy to said pills and as a result of taking them turned into a gila monster or died.
I’d be in a constant state of wonder-worry. My cape would jitter nanotatively.
Or I’d decide it wasn’t worth all the worry, play the role, and prescribe with a caricature-smile and confident toss of the arm. Until the malpractice allegations poured in.
Then I would retire and play hockey professionally. On a football field simultaneously surfaced with ice and grass.
My head is full of snot. It’s difficult not to say this when people in the office ask me how I’m doing. My response instead, as I pass a doctor with my tea on his way to retrieve coffee is that of a southern-accented deaf girl turned through a bent mirror: The City of the Lost Children of Georgia.
My range of hearing is this bubble. Here’s some news:
Meditate your gamma waves high; teach yourself the skill of being happy. It’s all part of the future because the Dalai Lama and neuroscientist/friend of Ram Dass, Richard Davidson have been exploring the neuroscience of meditation.
"In the end, Einstein felt that in his own field he had, like Mozart, succeeded in unraveling the complexity of the universe."
Soon you can get your ass both heated and sprayed down after it spews. A nice picture of a clothed woman seated on a toilet demonstrates.
Have a look over at Whateverland (via Benjamin).
7 Comments:
Why, thank you for the link. All very interesting, this, as ever. Stuart Murdoch once hinted at the first step to enlightenment. 'Start by kidding on you care,' he murmured. It seems to apply. I hope you get well soon, Sara. Take care x
doctors are so foreign to me, as if they exist in some world beyond my consciousness. to think of one of them--just one--listening to green day skews up the world as i know it.
oh, and ditto on ben's well-wishes. much love.
Thanks, you two. Well-wishes back at ya. And I'll check out that link, Benjamin.
The Japanese are way ahead of us in toilet technology. They have toilet that both have adjustable sprays with modular speed and patterns, play music, are heated to preferable temperatures, and raise and lower on command. Meanwhile, in the US, we're still amazed and confused by toilets that flush automatically.
It's true, what you say about toilets in America. Recently automatic-flushers were installed at my workplace. Sometimes they flush before you enter the stall, while you're on the pot, when you stand, and a fourth time after you've left the stall. O the wasted.
I get the feeling that the "Washlet" would often malfunction and soak your clothes. I would be nervous to use this feature. I've worked in 2 hospitals and I've found that people are kind of in awe of the doctors, and because of it they come and go as they please. It bugs me. Patients who are scheduled to be discharged need to see the doc first - who will come ANY time between 6am and 11pm. I don't think it's fair that they just wait all day on the doc's whim.
that doctor attitude goes on where i work too, though thankfully not with all of them. one is an arrogant big baby. i think i pissed him off once by mocking him--i didn't do it on purpose, it just came out. another is an immature attention whore. there are a few stock ones who simply think their degrees make them "better". i want those doctors to call me Master, to honor my degree of course. but there are also some treasure-chest oddballs and truly nice human beings with doctor degrees here.
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