Aretha

I remember growing up how much my family revered our family physician. Here was a great learned man who could see through the thick fog of medical symptoms to identify the source of our illness and free us from our disease. It was absolutely amazing. (And a bit supernatural, if you ask me.)

In fact, if you think about it, the historical role of the medicine man has been a position of great reverence and respect throughout history. And yet, here I was, standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for Patient D to get off of her cellphone so that I can check her surgical wound and see how she was doing post-operatively.

Patient D: [Holding up her finger in the "just one minute" position at me, still yapping on the phone] Blah-blah-blah, so blah-blah-blah. Oh, and blah-blah!

I looked at my watch. 5:49pm. I walked in nearly 10 minutes ago. I've been at work since 5am, I've only had 4 saltine crackers and an apple inbetween cases for lunch, there were three other patients to check up on, and I just wanted to go home, start dinner, and enjoy what little of the evening I had left with my wife.

I couldn't wait anymore. So I gave Patient D a scowl to convey my irritation.

Unbelievably, she had the nerve to scowl back at me.

It took a great deal of self-restraint not to smack her with her own damn chart. Instead, I gave her the finger and walked out.

Right.
I wish.
Instead, I just walked out.

Amazing.
You figure if the guy that removed the tumor from your body came in to talk to you, you'd get off the phone to see what he had to say. But I guess this is where our society has digressed to.