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Monday, September 29, 2008

It is possible that my patients are retarded....

I saw a total of 15 patients today in the office (on top of the 33 hospital patients) and I am sure that half of them were suffering from varying degrees of mental retardation....

1. If you have qualified for oxygen and you do not wear it when you exhert yourself or when it is hot and humid out- YOU WILL BE SHORT OF BREATH (and I do not have a magic wand to make you better).

2. If the instruction for your medicine state take four pills each day- I cannot understand how that translates into taking all 36 pills at one time.

3. If you weigh 350 pounds and get short of breath climbing the stairs -chances are you are deconditioned and if you lost weight you would breathe better. No amount of medication is going to make it better.

Seriously, this is the fun I had today. And the doctors just laughed and laughed....

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Lest we should ever forget...

Every one remembers that awful day. I read the posts and continue to cry and it is 7 years later.

I thought I would take a different spin and remember one victim, in particular.

Father Mychal Judge.

At the age of 15, Judge began the formation process to enter the Franciscan community. Upon entering the Order of Friars Minor, he took the religious name of Michael. (He later changed the spelling to Mychal.) In 1957, he graduated from St. Bonaventure University, the Franciscan university near Olean, New York. In 1961, he was ordained a priest and assigned to service at St. Joseph's RC Church in East Rutherford and Sacred Heart in Rochelle Park, both in New Jersey. He then served as assistant to the president at Siena College in Loudonville, New York. Judge was later named pastor of St. Joseph's Church in West Milford, New Jersey before being appointed Chaplain of the Fire Department of New York in 1992.

Upon hearing the news that the World Trade Center had been hit by hijacked jetliners, Judge rushed to the site. He was met by the Mayor of New York, Rudolph Giuliani, who asked Judge to pray for the city and its victims. Judge then rushed to those lying on the streets to administer last rites. Judge then entered the lobby of the World Trade Center north tower, where an emergency services command post was organized. The south tower collapsed and debris filled the north tower lobby, killing many inside, including Judge.

Five individuals took Judge outside in their arms. Upon entering the outside courtyard, they propped his body in a chair they found to carry him down the outside steps. It was then that Reuters photographer Shannon Stapleton snapped one of the most famous images of the attack, of a police officer, two firefighters and an OEM responder carrying out their fallen spiritual leader.

Father Judge's body bag was labeled "Victim 0001," recognized as the first official victim of the September 11, 2001 attacks. Former President Bill Clinton was among the 3,000 people who attended his funeral, held on September 15 at St. Francis of Assisi Church in Manhattan.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

My new name is Gimpy...

We have a varing degree of Respiratory therapists in our office. They range from smart to incredibly stupid, from no personality to too much personality, and from turtle like work speeds to Speed racer. Amy is very sweet, middle of the road intelligence, but she is a flippin' turtle. Remember the turtle that took 20 pages to cross the road in The Grapes of Wrath? That is Amy...

So yesterday, Amy had the doctors and I running 45 minutes behind (this is bad, people- like patients waiting 45 minutes to be checked in and another 45 minutes to be seen, bad). We were not happy but we were coping the best way we could. In order to slow her even more, I made the decision to show my patient how to use the inhaler and walked to the med closet to get the demonstrator. Our office is carpeted, except the bathroom and the med closets. As my cute little heels hit the tile, my heel slipped and I turned my foot completely on its side. And then, I hit the floor. Dee heard the crash, came to help, and found me dry heaving in the closet. This damn ankle is the same one that, a year ago, I tore the ligaments in. I am pretty sure that I did it again.

Today the ankle is still swollen, bruised, and throbbing. To say that it marches to the beat of its own drummer would be an understatement. I am limping my way around in my trusty Asics and hoping it heals quickly. I keep getting pages from Dr L calling me Hop along... I wonder how he would feel if Hop along took some time off??