Doctor Grumpy in the House

Dr. Grumpy "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Mrs. Insomnia: "Hi, my husband sees Dr. Cortex for epilepsy."

Dr. Grumpy: "Is he having a seizure?"

Mrs. Insomnia: "Oh, no. He's fine. He takes Felbacetam."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, so why are you calling? Is he out?"

Mrs. Insomnia: "No, we have about 3 weeks left. But it requires an annual authorization from the insurance company to continue, and Dr. Cortex's nurse put the request in last week. Do you know if they've heard anything back yet?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No. Why don't you call his office when they open in the morning and ask?"

Mrs. Insomnia: "That's a good idea. Thank you, doctor. Have a great night."

Karen writes in:

"Dr. Grumpy, I've worked at different doctor's offices for over 20 years. But was still surprised when an infusion pharmacy rep came by recently and left his card and company information."




I'm going to have to agree with you, Karen. That's a TERRIBLE name for a pharmacy. Or pretty much any business (I wouldn't have dinner at DikPizza). Unless it's a sex shop.

According to the website, Dik is the owner's last name. And I respect that. Putting your name on a business is pretty universal. It's his name, and he's proud of it. But still, I think you have to take meanings into account, too. If your last name is Shithole or Fukme, you wouldn't want that on your cards. I think, in this case, going with your initials, or first name, or pretty much anything else, would sound better.

It also kind of distracts you from what the business does. I see "DikDrug" and I immediately assume they specialize in Viagra, Cialis, and Levitra "Here's a sample, why don't you see if it works? There's some magazines in the lobby bathroom."

Even more chilling (at least for a guy) is that DikDrug is an INFUSION pharmacy. This brings to mind painful images of Caverject and long needles being stuck in my winkie... I better cross my legs and end the post here.

Thank you, Karen!

"I'm less aware of forgetting what I can't remember."

Last night I was watching a live CME presentation online. The discussion was about ways to measure stroke recovery by using a hand-grip dynamometer.

At one point the speaker said:


"The affected arm will be tested using a grip dynamometer for hand-jobs. Uh, I mean hand strength."


This led to a brief delay while the online panel composed themselves.

Nurse: "I thought you were leaving AMA?"

Ms. Eword: "I am. You people here don't treat me right. I'm suffering, and in horrible pain, and you won't give me any Dilaudid. I'm never coming back to this dump."

Nurse: "So... why are you still here?"

Ms. Eword: "I want to finish my coffee."

Annie: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Annie."

Mrs. Feather: "I've been trying to reach you people all week. Why don't you return my calls?"

Annie: "It... looks like I've called you back 4 times. There was no answer, but I left messages each time."

Mrs. Feather: "I haven't gotten any of them. What number did you call?"

Annie: "The one you wrote on your info sheet, 867-5309."

Mrs. Feather: "That's my home number. I never answer that or check the messages. I only use that for outgoing calls."

Annie: "Well, it's the contact info you gave us. Is there a better number to reach you at?"

Mrs. Feather: "I use my cell phone for incoming calls. It's the only one I answer. It's the number my family tries to reach me on, but I don't give it out because I know you people sell phone numbers to telemarketers."

Annie: "No, ma'am, we don't sell or give out your personal information. So what's the cell phone number, so I can reach you next time?"

Mrs. Feather: "I'm not giving that out. It's only for family to reach me on, and no one else."

Annie: "Okay, but then how am I supposed to return your calls?"

Mrs. Feather: "You can call my home number."

Annie: "But you just told me you never answer that line."

Mrs. Feather: "Yes, but you can leave a message."

All right, we're heading to visit family on the west coast, and hopefully warmer weather, for the holidays. I'll be back in 2 weeks.

Whatever you celebrate, have a good one. If you don't celebrate anything, at least call your mother once in a while. She says it wouldn't kill you to pick up a phone. She's worried you aren't eating properly, and needs to tell you something about your cousin Max, Naomi's boy. You met him once at a birthday party in 1972, remember? He was the one with braces.

Dear Mrs. Nosybich,

Sorry about our little dispute at the school last week. Normally I don't take the kids in the morning, but Mrs. Grumpy had an early meeting that day.

It must be nice having a child that is naturally compliant with your orders. Frank, however, is not like your daughter, and will fight us to the death about wearing a jacket. Getting him to wear a sweatshirt over his clothes took an act of Congress and delicate negotiations. While it's not perfect, it was a halfway compromise.

So far he hasn't frozen to death or caught pneumonia/swine flu/AIDS/cooties/halitosis, or any of the other disorders that you seem to think are floating through the air specifically targeting unjacketed children.

But I'm glad you were concerned enough about someone else's kid to take time out of your busy day, walk over to me, and make a scene in front of all the other parents about how you've been watching the "horrible neglect" practiced by my wife and I. I appreciate you running down a list of communicable airborne illnesses that you got from Google, and closing your argument by threatening to report us to Child Protective Services if you ever see my kid without a jacket again.

I think it's great that you want to pay such close attention to the failings of us lesser parents. Reminded me of the Charlie Brown cartoon where Lucy took it upon herself to write New Year's resolution lists for everyone else.

I really like the way you punctuated your tirade by slamming your daughter's car door, HARD, to make sure we were all paying attention. We definitely all were (except your daughter, who looked too terrified to speak) because me, 3 teachers, and 20 other parents immediately began trying to tell you that you'd just slammed one of her backpack straps in the door. But you were clearly more concerned with my crappy parenting skills to notice.

Fortunately, your child had the presence of mind to let go of the other strap after she'd been pulled down and dragged about 3 feet as your drove away. And I have to admire the teacher who boldly leaped in front of your car to make you slammed on the brakes, at the risk of her own health.

Your kid will be okay, I swear. She has a small cut on one hand, and a tear in her jacket where it got dragged (maybe you should get her a new one).

I felt so awful about it too. You made me feel very guilty when, after you checked your kid and released the backpack strap from the car door, you turned to me and yelled, "Now look what you made me do!" before getting in your car and driving away.

Happy holidays.

"I'm allergic to arsenic."

Do you miss your old Polaroid camera? The thrill of waiting for the wet picture to come out, watching it develop as you flapped it up and down only to find out it was a horribly overexposed shot of your foot?

Me, neither.

I also don't want anyone taking my picture in the bathroom.

BUT if for some reason you're nostalgic for the first, and find the second appealing, here's a perfect idea: The Polaroll!

This cleverly designed toilet paper dispenser provides the best of both worlds. The paper rolls out where the snapshots used to, and you can imagine your life is actually interesting enough for someone to want to spy on you in the bathroom.

Unlike the original Polaroid films, I DO NOT recommend shaking the TP around after use.

I love Wikipedia. Every year I donate to Wikipedia (I recommend you do, too).

Why? Because I love learning stuff. Granted, Wikipedia is far from perfect, but nothing is. And for someone who likes trivia, it's awesome. In quiet moments I can click the "random article" feature repeatedly and learn all kinds of new stuff.

But.

There are some things I'm sorry I've learned. Things I likely could go to my grave perfectly happy without knowing about.

For example:

The Hulaburger. In 1963 McDonalds (briefly) test marketed this bizarre creation, hoping it would sell with Catholics on Fridays. It consisted of a bun, cheese, ketchup, pickles, onions- and a thick slice of pineapple. It was invented by Chairman Ray Kroc, and I can only assume it got as far as it did because no one dared tell him it was insane.

The Ethel Merman Disco Album. In 1979 the legendary Ethel Merman felt the need to record some of her biggest Broadway hits as disco numbers.

The Bud Bowl scores. Of course I remember the odd "Bud Bowl" advertising campaign of the 1990's, featuring football playing beer bottles. It only aired during the SuperBowl, and some years was more exciting than the game itself. And I'm not surprised the ad campaign has a wiki page. But what frightens me is that someone actually tracked the final scores of each of Bud Bowl and put them in the article.

The ingredients in a McRib sandwich. I personally have never eaten a McRib, nor do I plan to. And if I ever had the slightest thought of such, learning that the faux-rib-shaped patty is made of pork shoulder and "restructured meat products such as tripe, heart,and stomach" would drive it out of my brain FAST.

As a child of the Atari 2600 age, I figured I'd played all of the titles for it. Even the shitty Atari Pac-Man, which I saved money for, raced home with, and was absolutely horrified to discover bore absolutely no fucking resemblance whatsoever to the arcade game. But I digress. Anyway, I was shocked to find out that there was actually an Atari game based on the rock group Journey.

I suppose nothing should surprise me where pornography is concerned, but learning that there's a porn flick based on the "Mario Brothers" video game franchise still did.

I am not a "high 5" person. I have never been, and will never be, a high-5 person. I have one patient who feels the need to give me high-5s multiple times at each appointment, and it drives me nuts. So I was especially horrified to learn that there is actually a national high-5 day.

These, and many less-strange facts (and a few more so) can all be found at Wikipedia. Expand your mind!