- Joined
- Aug 21, 2007
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I had a bad experience the other day. I will spare you no detail.
Before I get into my penitence, I gotta say this:
"Hey; hospitals - there is ZERO reason for your food to be this bad."
6am shift the other day. How I got scheduled for a 6am shift is a mystery to even the man that wrote the schedule. At my shop, we have four shifts:
6am-2pm (Morning shift)
10am-8pm (Second shift, or "second base [2B]", if you will)
2pm-10pm (Shortstop [SS]; 90% of our docs are baseball guys, so we have the "middle infield" of 2B/SS)
9pm-6am (Night shift)
(For those readers who don't speak baseball, second basemen and shortstops are often interchangeable, and play very similar roles. Often, the only discerning attribute is "who can throw to first base faster". The faster man goes to SS, and the tankier man goes to 2B.)
Here are the house rules.
"Old Men" work the morning shift. We have three docs that are 60+. One is the former director. They like these shifts because they're easy. They get them. These hours are procedure-poor, and its not unusual to have an Old Man sign-off that 9:12 am patient who might need a reduction or a central line to the 2B.
"Young Men" play 2B/SS interchangeably. I am one of these 2B/SS types, both at work, and on the diamond (I am the archetypal nimble second baseman who will dive for ground-balls because "I'll bounce in the right direction, generally". Dad played third base by trade. He was one of those "suicidal" third baseman that kept walking towards the plate.... because...
"Night-rangers" work the nightshifts, and we need ONE more night-ranger. Because we don't have one more night-ranger, the 2B/SS men all take a piece of the nights.
Through some perversion of scheduling, I found myself working an Old Man shift late last week.
5:15 AM - "Buzz. Buzz. Buzz." Alarm rings. Pretty sure I got four, maybe five hours of sleep because the thought of: "Oh $hit, I have to wake up early, so I better go to sleep early and be a good boy" led to me getting under a sheet at 9:45 and then turning over every :38 minutes until 1:14 AM, at which time I pooped, and took two benadryl.
5:22 AM - "My freaking knees hurt. I'll just sit down in the shower and let the hot water hiiit theemmm....zzz....."
5:38 AM - "Whoaaa! How long have I been asleep for?!"
5:39 AM - "Brush my teeth, hop in scrubs, remember to.. do the ...thing, with the, stuff."
5:58 AM - "Good morning, offgoing NightRanger; what impossible dispositions have you left me?"
6:55 AM - "I'm starving. When does the cafeteria open?... 9 AM? ... Okay."
8:56 AM - *BANG BANG BANG BANG* - "Open the freaking door, amigo! - Everything is ready and out. Don't ACT like you can't SEE me here!"
So, I got three strips of bacon; I took an English Muffin and split it down the middle to make room for two sausages. I would add cheese, if the cheese available were any good (no; yellow American cheese from SYSCO is NOT good). Oh, and I saw a whole two patients from 6-9 AM. One was a senior that fell out of bed. The other was... like, itchy, and stuff.
The bacon, if you could call it that, was a gram of grease and a whistle of gristle per bite. I held a strip up to the light. I could see thru it, yet it was heavy enough to keep it's shape and not crackle near my grip.
Nevermind. OHM. Nom. nom.
Grabbed the sandwich next. The grease-to-protein ratio was improved, but on two distinct and separate occasions, I spat out (politely, into my napkin'd fingers) a small stone and looked carefully at it to determine whether it was simply cartilage, or part of an old dental filling (I have awful molars; and my dad was a dentist).
I finished what I could, and got back to work.
WHEEEE-wooo-WHEEE-wooo.
Freaking county EMS decided to bring me ALL the septic patients that "woke up with a fever" at 9:12 AM. In their defense: they got it right...they all met criteria, and 2 of them were "sick".
I central line'd the sicker grandma tout-suite, the other one actually HAD a peripheral before she lost it because she is the crypt keeper, and "has no veins".
Charge Nurse: "HEeey (sic); Dr. SecondBaseman is going to be a few minutes late because more reasons and I like granola and here's a picture of my daughter."
Not knowing how 'late' the 2B would be, I lugged my Sonosite to the other room and plugged another IJ in OtherGrandmaWhoNeedstoDie.
I wasn't mad when Dr. 2B got there. Traffic is hell around my neck of this city because they're putting in a new overpass. He was like, :18 minutes late because they had to drive a freaking crane across the highway to erect highway signs. I get it.
Dr. Secondbase says: "Dude; don't pick up a single patient. I got this."
Radio: "Medic Eleventeen to GulfPalmGeneral; Cardiac Arrest - 5 minutes out."
"I got that, homey."
"Aye-aye, amigo" - was my response.
Fires burned.
Fires were put out.
After all the true emergencies were cared for, Dr. 2B and I high-fived. I had to jump to give him a high-five, because I am a short man (5'6'', 5'7'' with my shoes on).
"Dude... you don't look good. You.. okay?"
I felt that rumble. I felt the water brash. I smelled the smell.
I booked it for the staff bathroom and plugged in the code "5-1-5-0!" as fast as I could.
Retch.
Retch.
REEEEETCH.
Plop.
There, in the toilet, was a bizarre sun-diagram. Orange bits about the perimeter of a central region of clearing, measuring approximately 4-5cm in maximal diameter (this is how I chart my laceration repairs). In the center, was the immistakable double-glop of... oil. Grease. Fat. Whatever. The perimeter was thin (maybe 2-3mm at maximal diameter), but the center was GLOP-glop-GLop (the third globule had broken off).
I retched twice more with identical results.
...
...
...
ATTENTION ADMINISTRATORS:
Eat in the cafeteria.
Every day.
Yes, I'm talking to you, Mister CEO, CFO, COO, CXO, XCXO, XOXOX, whatever.
If you need to walk away and order something else...
then you have a problem to fix.
Time to forego that Q3 bonus, amigo.
Before I get into my penitence, I gotta say this:
"Hey; hospitals - there is ZERO reason for your food to be this bad."
6am shift the other day. How I got scheduled for a 6am shift is a mystery to even the man that wrote the schedule. At my shop, we have four shifts:
6am-2pm (Morning shift)
10am-8pm (Second shift, or "second base [2B]", if you will)
2pm-10pm (Shortstop [SS]; 90% of our docs are baseball guys, so we have the "middle infield" of 2B/SS)
9pm-6am (Night shift)
(For those readers who don't speak baseball, second basemen and shortstops are often interchangeable, and play very similar roles. Often, the only discerning attribute is "who can throw to first base faster". The faster man goes to SS, and the tankier man goes to 2B.)
Here are the house rules.
"Old Men" work the morning shift. We have three docs that are 60+. One is the former director. They like these shifts because they're easy. They get them. These hours are procedure-poor, and its not unusual to have an Old Man sign-off that 9:12 am patient who might need a reduction or a central line to the 2B.
"Young Men" play 2B/SS interchangeably. I am one of these 2B/SS types, both at work, and on the diamond (I am the archetypal nimble second baseman who will dive for ground-balls because "I'll bounce in the right direction, generally". Dad played third base by trade. He was one of those "suicidal" third baseman that kept walking towards the plate.... because...
"Night-rangers" work the nightshifts, and we need ONE more night-ranger. Because we don't have one more night-ranger, the 2B/SS men all take a piece of the nights.
Through some perversion of scheduling, I found myself working an Old Man shift late last week.
5:15 AM - "Buzz. Buzz. Buzz." Alarm rings. Pretty sure I got four, maybe five hours of sleep because the thought of: "Oh $hit, I have to wake up early, so I better go to sleep early and be a good boy" led to me getting under a sheet at 9:45 and then turning over every :38 minutes until 1:14 AM, at which time I pooped, and took two benadryl.
5:22 AM - "My freaking knees hurt. I'll just sit down in the shower and let the hot water hiiit theemmm....zzz....."
5:38 AM - "Whoaaa! How long have I been asleep for?!"
5:39 AM - "Brush my teeth, hop in scrubs, remember to.. do the ...thing, with the, stuff."
5:58 AM - "Good morning, offgoing NightRanger; what impossible dispositions have you left me?"
6:55 AM - "I'm starving. When does the cafeteria open?... 9 AM? ... Okay."
8:56 AM - *BANG BANG BANG BANG* - "Open the freaking door, amigo! - Everything is ready and out. Don't ACT like you can't SEE me here!"
So, I got three strips of bacon; I took an English Muffin and split it down the middle to make room for two sausages. I would add cheese, if the cheese available were any good (no; yellow American cheese from SYSCO is NOT good). Oh, and I saw a whole two patients from 6-9 AM. One was a senior that fell out of bed. The other was... like, itchy, and stuff.
The bacon, if you could call it that, was a gram of grease and a whistle of gristle per bite. I held a strip up to the light. I could see thru it, yet it was heavy enough to keep it's shape and not crackle near my grip.
Nevermind. OHM. Nom. nom.
Grabbed the sandwich next. The grease-to-protein ratio was improved, but on two distinct and separate occasions, I spat out (politely, into my napkin'd fingers) a small stone and looked carefully at it to determine whether it was simply cartilage, or part of an old dental filling (I have awful molars; and my dad was a dentist).
I finished what I could, and got back to work.
WHEEEE-wooo-WHEEE-wooo.
Freaking county EMS decided to bring me ALL the septic patients that "woke up with a fever" at 9:12 AM. In their defense: they got it right...they all met criteria, and 2 of them were "sick".
I central line'd the sicker grandma tout-suite, the other one actually HAD a peripheral before she lost it because she is the crypt keeper, and "has no veins".
Charge Nurse: "HEeey (sic); Dr. SecondBaseman is going to be a few minutes late because more reasons and I like granola and here's a picture of my daughter."
Not knowing how 'late' the 2B would be, I lugged my Sonosite to the other room and plugged another IJ in OtherGrandmaWhoNeedstoDie.
I wasn't mad when Dr. 2B got there. Traffic is hell around my neck of this city because they're putting in a new overpass. He was like, :18 minutes late because they had to drive a freaking crane across the highway to erect highway signs. I get it.
Dr. Secondbase says: "Dude; don't pick up a single patient. I got this."
Radio: "Medic Eleventeen to GulfPalmGeneral; Cardiac Arrest - 5 minutes out."
"I got that, homey."
"Aye-aye, amigo" - was my response.
Fires burned.
Fires were put out.
After all the true emergencies were cared for, Dr. 2B and I high-fived. I had to jump to give him a high-five, because I am a short man (5'6'', 5'7'' with my shoes on).
"Dude... you don't look good. You.. okay?"
I felt that rumble. I felt the water brash. I smelled the smell.
I booked it for the staff bathroom and plugged in the code "5-1-5-0!" as fast as I could.
Retch.
Retch.
REEEEETCH.
Plop.
There, in the toilet, was a bizarre sun-diagram. Orange bits about the perimeter of a central region of clearing, measuring approximately 4-5cm in maximal diameter (this is how I chart my laceration repairs). In the center, was the immistakable double-glop of... oil. Grease. Fat. Whatever. The perimeter was thin (maybe 2-3mm at maximal diameter), but the center was GLOP-glop-GLop (the third globule had broken off).
I retched twice more with identical results.
...
...
...
ATTENTION ADMINISTRATORS:
Eat in the cafeteria.
Every day.
Yes, I'm talking to you, Mister CEO, CFO, COO, CXO, XCXO, XOXOX, whatever.
If you need to walk away and order something else...
then you have a problem to fix.
Time to forego that Q3 bonus, amigo.
