My 2nd post!!

2007-10-09T19:43:00.000-07:00

I suppose this could be a shrine of sorts... I guess I'm just too exhausted at the end of the day to do "proper" blogging so I resort to creative writing. I like creative writing and try to jump into at every turn. Need a little hidden poetry in a signout? Why not! I'm not the only one who has resorted to such devious entertainment. My favorite to date has been "fibrosis, necrosis, and no diagnosis" (it wasn't as simple as this but came damn close). The clinician wasn't too pleased though and took a little barb at pathology during the internal medicine CPC (dunno what that stands for but its where the graduating medicine residents prance in front of the everybody "strutting their stuff"). I presented the pathologic findings in the next CPC, and retorted "here is fibrosis with a diagnosis--we called it cirrhosis". The offending clinician wasn't there to enjoy my wit though... Back to creative writing! I have the most fun with the residency/applicant evaluations. Last year as the attendings cast their votes behind a closed door, we could hear laughter spread through the pathology suite as they read some of my better work... Nonetheless, lets return to Dr. Donner, shall we? The man definitely is worth a good yarn or two! Here is a one such tale.

Note to reader:

The story that follows took place early during my residency when I hadn't accurately gauged Dr. Donner. To a certain extent, he scared me. At the time this event transpired, the grossing room was half the size it is today as the other half was being renovated. Formalin fumes filled the tiny room, tempers flared, and an environment begging for scalpel play flourished...

In the middle of a dictation, Dr. Donner suddenly and aggressively penguin waddled my way shouting, "No! No! No! No! Zhis ist all wrong!"
I found his curious movements cute, but the loud tone of his voice coupled with the furious anger eminating from his body alarmed me.
"You dictate zhis wrong!!! Do not say 'specimen #1 labeled...'! Give name of specimen zhen description!!!! Vhy vith diarrhea of zhe mouth?! You stink like skunk vith needless vorts!"
I looked around the cramped grossing room for a scapegoat. Under normal circumstances Ron, the pathology tech, would suffice, but with Ron currently quietly working at his station uncomfortably next to mine, I reconsidered the possibility of starting a war on two fronts. Where was one of those pesky derm residents when I needed one? My right hand lightly grasped the handle to my scalpel, and I turned ever so slightly positioning my back to the door as experience rotating through the psych ward guided my caution-borne actions.
Donner towered over me, his brute power evident at even his advanced age, but, speedwise, I held the edge. My eyes set in motion scanning my workstation for a distraction--something to throw in his eyes perhaps? Yes! Always try to blind them even if using your own free flowing blood! No such drastic actions would be necessary, as I settled on a very suitable large pitcher of formalin for this ploy, should the need arise, and then initiated a more political approach.
"Dr. Donner, don't worry about it! The secretaries will fix what I say, hell, they rarely type out what I dictate anyway! If you..."
"No! No! NO! NO!! If you dictate 'FART! FART! FART! FART! FART!' zhe secretaries vill type 'FART! FART! FART! FART! FART!'"
Immediately, I knew him to be wrong. He gave the secretaries far too much credit. Days previously, I read through some old dictation shocked at secretaries' collective butchering of my words. Somehow "hydrops fetalis" had magically transformed into "hydrous callous" in addition to many other such transmutations which would have awed even the greatest alchemists of old. I merely laughed it off, whereas Dr. Donner allowed it to eat away at him over the years until it festered into an unholy crusade.
Then the questions swarmed my mind as I pondered my current condition. What had I done to deserve this? Why did Dr. Donner place such trust in me? He rarely let any other residents gross or dictate for him. Was my Germanic last name the culprit?? Had I somehow fooled him into thinking I was brilliant? Would proper “manipulation” of a few surgical specimens and dictations erode his trust in me changing my role back to that of a comfortable observer?
When I focused from within back to my surroundings, Dr. Donner sat at his station peacefully grossing in a breast specimen as if the last heated encounter had never transpired. With a cautious eye focused on his back, I pressed my foot on the record pedal, and said, "Specimen #1 left thyroid lobe period…"
"Very goot, very goot..." crooned Dr. Donner in approval as he bent over his work. Before resuming my efforts, I stood there for a few moments watching him and wondering what creatures stirred in the dark depths of his mind...

It's late and I'm tired....

2007-09-23T19:03:00.000-07:00

Ah, nothing like hanging out at the hospital waiting for a patient's SECOND four hour plasma exchange for the day about to end. I stay because I've been charged with the duty by my commanding officer. Should something terrible happen, I doubt I'd be able to help much anyway. For starters, I'm a pathologist and have a better chance at beating Kasparov at a game of chess than properly running a code. Anyway, its not like I wait by the bedside ready to jump to attention at the slightest sign of trouble. Instead, I hide behind my keyboard complaining about the situation. Regardless, I refuse to abandon my post!

Its kinda sad, but yesterday the thought passed through my head that if this patient died, I could have the weekend to myself. Of course, I really didn't want the patient to die... In fact, there are many instances where I don't want the patient to die. Take autopsies for example--everytime I wish the cadaver would walk off the table and out of my life sparing me hours of dissection and paperwork. Often I'll fantasize about balling my hand into a fist and powerfully slamming it into the deceased's chest reviving them in a sort of barbaric CPR type of way. But, I restrain myself not so much because of the fear of failure (who am I going to hurt anyway?) but the fear of how my coworkers might react.

You see, I'm the wierd one around here. They call me "the young Doctor Donner".

Dr. Donner. Dr. "Thunder" if you will. He's a crazed, old Czech pathologist apt to suddenly disrupt a quiet signout session looking at slides by loudly singing from deep within his barrel chest questionable Soviet songs that conjure images of the once powerful Red army. One moment he may expound on the merits of molecular techniques for studying sarcomas only to break his chain of thoughts to loudly proclaim "dueling is a wonderous, mysteeerious thing!" His eyes, wide and bright with the excitement of two grown men battling over a maiden or traded insults.

That's Dr. Donner. I've done him little justice in this post, but my first entry has served its purpose as I've introduced the man. Now that Dr. Donner has entered stage, I shall leave and make sure no one has died. I hate autopsies.

The Donner Chronicles

My 2nd post!!

It's late and I'm tired....