I mentioned in a previous post the indignities I suffered during my last bout of gastroenteritis. These last few days of The Bug were not quite so bad as the XXXL gown with a ruffle, but did have some really low moments. For one thing, I continued to go to work and to participate in activities of daily living despite three days of abdominal pain, only develop intractable diarrhea at the end of day 3. In 12 hours, I lost 5 pounds. I had to call in sick Monday morning, something I swore I would never do while I was on service (because it puts such a burden on my colleagues). And then I made an appointment to see my doctor, who wanted a stool sample.
It should have been easy. I had gone to the bathroom every 15 minutes for 12 straight hours, but when called to perform in the doctor’s office, stage fright ensued. I tried to force the issue by gulping down an entire bottle of water, but no dice. It was not going to happen. So, the lab ladies gave me a little cup, a label, a plastic bag, and two gloves, and told me to try it at home. The problem was that home was 20 minutes away, and after 30 seconds in the car, I was in an emergent situation. I screeched into a spot outside of Bruegger’s Bagels, ran into the bathroom, snapped on the gloves, held the cup in place, and prayed my positioning wasn’t too far off. After it was done, I tucked the still-warm plastic cup (encased in a biohazard bag) in my coat pocket and drove it back to the doctor’s office. Embarrassing, gross, and weird, I know, and the sort of thing that would make a person want to give up Bruegger’s Bagels (or at least their bathrooms) for life. It was one of the low points of my week, for sure.
But not the lowest point. There’s nothing like a stomach flu to make a single lesbian realize how alone she is in the world. That moment, at 3 AM, when you’re in pain, sick, and at your ugliest, is exactly when you realize that no matter how supportive your friends, they can't match having a partner who can see you at your ugliest and sickest and still love you. At that moment, it wouldn’t even matter if it happened to be the same partner had betrayed your trust and/or broken your heart. You just wish she was there, holding a damp cloth to your head, and telling you it’s going to be OK. (I apologize for my stylistically incorrect use of the “generalized you” in this paragraph. It just seemed to work.)
In other relevant news, I got this email this week:
“Dear Colleague,
We are writing to inform you that the Board of Regents of the American College of Surgeons met on Sunday, April 17, to consider the continued status of Lazar J. Greenfield, M.D., FACS, as an officer of the College. Dr. Greenfield recently authored an editorial in Surgery News that some members of the surgical community found offensive. The College received numerous communications from the surgical community about the editorial.
Dr. Greenfield addressed the Board and expressed his deep regret that individuals had been offended by the article. After reaffirming his long-standing support for women in surgery, Dr. Greenfield resigned from his position as an officer of the College.
The contributions Dr. Greenfield has made to the field of surgery, including the invention of the Greenfield Filter, can not be overstated. We wish to honor Dr. Greenfield and celebrate his inestimable contributions to the College and the surgical community. We also know that at this critical juncture for surgery and health care in America, it is important that the American College of Surgeons not be distracted by any issues that would diminish its focus on improving care of the surgical patient.
Sincerely,
Carlos A. Pellegrini, MD, FACS, Chair, Board of Regents L. D. Britt, MD, FACS, President David B. Hoyt, MD, FACS, Executive Director American College of Surgeons”
So what is this about? Apparently, Dr. Greenfield, the famous and accomplished inventor of the Greenfield Filter, made a stunningly bad decision by writing an editorial about the antidepressant effects of semen. His most quoted line: “So there’s a deeper bond between men and women than St. Valentine would have suspected, and now we know there’s a better gift for that day than chocolates.” I mean, what was he thinking? He might actually be quite supportive of women surgeons, but he wrecked any chance that it mattered by publishing this article that sounds like a conversation between Don and Roger on Mad Men. Oh, Dr. Greenfield, I know this is surprise, but it’s not 1959 anymore.
This episode of Grey’s opens in the locker room, to the endless chatter of Meredith’s colleagues. Clearly, the gossip mill has honed in on the Grey-McDreamy breakup:
“She got what she deserved, dating an attending.”
The scene quickly transitions to McDreamy and Addison in couples therapy:
 |
| Couples therapy. A great way to spend your 12 hours off. (Sadly, practically every married resident does it at some point.) |
McD: “I need her to move to Seattle.”
A: “I need him to stop talking to Meredith.”
McD: “I work with Meredith.”
A: “You want me to move here? Fine. I want him to give up his girlfriend.”
McD: “I did give up my girlfriend. You want me to take you back? Fine, I’ll take you back. Here in Seattle.”
A: “It’s all about what you want.’”
McD: “I am not the same person I was in Manhattan.”
A: “I know! You’re a flannel-wearing, wood-chopping fisherman!”
Therapist: “OK, we have to stop. Good progress!”
Yeah, that’s why couples therapy sucks. But, by the end of the episode, these two are holding hands in the therapist’s office and talking about their bright future together in Seattle.
In the meantime, to make Meredith feel better, Yang and Izzie have a special surprise for Meredith: a pregnant man. Or so it seems. Of course, there have been actual pregnant men, although all of these men were born women, transitioned into being men, and then were able to get pregnant because they kept their female reproductive organs in case they ever needed them. The man in this episode is in a different situation: he’s a bio-guy who actually has a kind of tumor called a teratoma.
The medical plausibility of this scenario is near zero for the following reason: teratomas occur in men, but are most often testicular or mediastinal (in the chest). I was able to find one described case of mesenteric teratoma in a man, so it is theoretically possible, but very, very rare.
The medical plausibility of this scenario is near zero for the following reason: teratomas occur in men, but are most often testicular or mediastinal (in the chest). I was able to find one described case of mesenteric teratoma in a man, so it is theoretically possible, but very, very rare.
George is caring for a woman who is demanding and horrible to her husband. She needs open heart surgery, then, during her surgery, her heart catches fire (an outcome that is consistent with the unbelievably bad cardiac surgery outcomes at Seattle Grace). Somehow, she survives, prompting her husband to leave her before she even is discharged from the PACU.
“Her heart caught on fire in the middle of her fifth open heart operation and she survived! She’s like a mythical monster. She’s never going to die!”
Cristina has a terrible episode after telling a nurse, “We’ll call you if we need a bedpan.” This dismissive comment leads the nurses to spend their day trying to make Cristina’s life hell. They give her stacks of charts and vomiting patients and all-around load her down with scut. This is a common theme in medical shows, and has been done well in the past, especially on ER. Still, it’s a great theme, because it’s true.
 |
| Nurses can save your ass or ruin your life. So go ahead, be rude to them. See what happens. |
There are lots of really bad jobs in the hospital and nurses can make interns’ lives as easy or as terrible as they choose to make them. It’s funny, because I keep telling my interns this, and about half of them believe me. And the half that don’t? Well, those are the interns who don’t bother being nice to the nurses. They are the interns whose pagers go off nonstop, every other minute, all day long. They are the interns getting paged with reports from nurses on borderline lab values, patients in need of emergent manual fecal disimpaction, and emesis that is “strange-looking” and therefore needs an intern to examine it for evidence of blood.
 |
In other news, Bailey is trying to protect Meredith from McDreamy’s douchiness:
Bailey to McD who is walking towards Meredith: “Turn around. Walk away from my intern. You don’t have the right. Not anymore."
McD: "I just want to find out if she’s OK."
Bailey: “She’s not! She’s a human traffic accident and everyone is slowing down to look at the wreckage. She’s doing the best she can with what she has left. Look, I know you can’t see this but you can’t help her now! You’re making it worse. Walk away! Go on!”
Thank you, Dr. Bailey.
