Stick It!

My dad just loves to give me grief about my belonephobia. With good reason; in grade school I fainted while touring a blood bank with my class.

A few years ago, while I was living at home, I figured I would show Dad a thing or two and get him to stop teasing me, so I went with him to donate blood. When we got to the donation center, I filled out the questionnaire about my health and personal habits, and was doing OK. Then, the lady pricked my finger and congratulated me on having enough iron in my blood to donate. I suddenly got the horrible sensation that my visual field was narrowing and got lightheaded. The lady, who was writing something on the sheet of paper, looked up and found me lying on the ground, my feet up on the chair, looking pale and sweaty.

The nurse ran back to where the actual donors were sitting and said "We have someone down on the ground out here!" My dad, who was already back there with a needle in his arm, immediately knew what was going on and burst into laughter. Apparently the experience made an impression on the donation center, because when my sister went there years later to donate blood, they remembered me and were very amused to learn that I was in medical school. Suffice to say that my Dad mentions this experience at every opportunity.

So, yesterday I figured I would exorcise the demons of phlebotomy from my system and donate blood at a church blood drive. I came armed with a book and determined that I would not look as they stuck me with the needle. I also warned everyone that I talked to - the secretary, the clerks, the other donors - that I have a history of vasovagal responses.

It was "Soup and Homemade Bread Night" at the church where they were holding the blood drive. I came, ate some bread, and filled out the same FDA-mandated paperwork about personal habits and health. When it came time to poke my finger, the pinprick was not that bad - probably because I was reading Freakonomics the book at the time and doing my best to ignore what was going on. They pronounced me fit, and it was time to get blood taken.

I warned the phlebotomist that she and I would both be happier if she just let me lie down. She laughed and said that she couldn't get the needle in my arm while I was lying down, but that she would tip my feet up as soon as the needle was in. She called another phlebotomist over to distract me while she put the needle in, and it was not as bad as I had been anticipating because I was busy ignoring it. She covered my arm with a sheet so that I couldn't see what was going on, and left me to my book with an admonition to let her know if I got lightheaded. I got through nineteen pages and learned about cheating in Sumo wrestling matches, and before I knew it we were done. She asked me which bandage I wanted on my arm - I chose tan because it matched the rest of my ensemble - then she pulled out the needle and we were done!

I stayed in the chair for a while reading, then got up and ate a lot of good soup - there was a butternut squash soup that was really good, as well as some chili and minestrone soup. After I had stayed for the requisite 15 minutes (they want to make sure the donors don't faint), I left. My first act was to call my dad and shamelessly gloat.

Medicine Man

Yesterday my wife was sick with a urinary tract infection when I woke up. She was having burning with urination, and was feeling miserable. She took some pyridium, which is a local anesthetic that works on the urinary tract, and called her doctor for treatment. They had her go to the medical center to leave a urine sample, presumably so that they could check to make sure it was an infection and to get a culture of the bug. It took her almost three hours to get there, leave a urine sample, and get out, which seems to be an unreasonably long time for 20 seconds of actual peeing-in-a-cup time.

After she got home, we waited for several hours, then I finally called the hospital and asked if they were going to call in an antibiotic or what. The doctor called back and said yes, she has an infection for which she needs an antibiotic, so the doctor called our designated pharmacy with a prescription. A Rite Aid pharmacy called us shortly after we talked to the doctor and asked to confirm my wife's information, which we thought was a little odd, since she had filled prescriptions there before.

When I showed up at the pharmacy, the clerk said that they had received no prescriptions for anyone of my wife's name. I asked the pharmacy clerk if they were sure that there was no prescription called in to Rite Aid, since we had gotten a call from someone who claimed to be a Rite Aid employee; the clerk - somewhat snippily - said "positively not - our computer systems are all linked together, so we would know if another store had filled it."

I called the hospital, explained the situation, and gave them the number of the correct pharmacy. They called back and told me that they had passed the message along to the doctor, so the prescription should be coming in soon. Shortly thereafter, the doctor called me to say that she had called the number the nurse gave her and it was a private residence - the nurse had passed the incorrect number to the doctor. So, I had to give her the correct number of the pharmacy. The snippy clerk meanwhile came by and informed me that he had called the other Rite Aid pharmacies in town, and they denied having received any calls leaving prescriptions for my wife.

After giving them what I felt like was a reasonable time to fill the prescription, I went to the desk only to find that, surprise, the insurance company was refusing to pay for the prescription because it had already been filled earlier that day at - surprise, surprise - another Rite Aid pharmacy. Had the snippy clerk been there who originally assured me that by no means had a prescription had been called to a Rite Aid pharmacy, I would have been sorely tempted to slap him.

This would be a good time to mention that I had gone to the pharmacy with the girls in anticipation of a quick trip to get them out of the house and to give my still-under-the-weather spouse a quick break. I wound up spending the two hours it took to finally get the medication sorted out meandering through the pharmacy looking at the Christmas decorations that, for some reason, are already up for sale; helping the girls try on silly sunglasses that are way too big for them and taking pictures with my camera phone (see below); and playing with little motorized massage toys that the girls really got a kick out of (good Christmas gift idea for the girls!).



In any case, I have learned my lesson - next time I will just bust out my medical license and order an antibiotic for my wife rather than going through the 10-hour process of getting the antibiotic through the conventional health care system.

The world of barium

Double contrast barium enemas, I have decided, are among the most innately beautiful of the radiology studies we do. A colleague and I were discussing how some of these studies are nice enough to hang on the wall. See the following:

My daughter

As a radiology resident, there is so much that I am expected to know. In essence, I need to know everything that an internal medicine doctor knows, and everything that a surgeon knows, plus some detailed anatomy. Wow. Thus, it is expected that I will read for 2 hours every night.

My oldest daughter, Liberty, likes to spend time with her daddy, and thus likes to spend time reading the same books.



She also likes to study other books that I have, such as surgery textbooks from medical school. She particularly likes orthopaedic surgery, and recently tried to perform some on daddy.