10 Days of Reprieve

It is unusually quiet in the office today, especially for a Friday. Busy still, yes, but with less commotion, actually a lot less commotion. I wonder, why does today seem so much more chill? The atmosphere doesn’t seem as abrasive or high-strung. So I ask myself, what makes today different than every other Friday (or day for that matter)? What has contributed to this sudden switch???

Switch…

Wait! That’s just it!! Switch is not here. Today marks the beginning of her 10 day vacation. Bless her heart, she needed it, and so did we (and I am not exactly sure who needed it more).  I am long overdue for a vacation myself, and although I am not technically the one going on a formal vacation, I feel like I am getting a vacation also, since I am getting a 10 day reprieve from Switch; from her dramatic mood-swings, her anal retentiveness, her sudden outbursts, her narcissistic tendencies, her bouts of random hyperness, her impatient requests-a reprieve from all her Switchy-ness. I know I must come across as a total “B” but I say this all in the fondest way I can, because although Switch gets on my nerves from time to time, I have grown quite tolerant of her, and all my wacky coworkers for that matter. Actually she has become a permanent staple in my day-to-day professional life, it would be weird if she were no longer there to annoy me, we have become one big dysfunctional family.

But, on that note…

 Bon Voyage Switch! You take a break from this place and don’t contact us now (no seriously, please do not call us-stay away from this place). And don’t worry about us, this place will still be standing, unscathed by fire, unfortunately so. 

No patients, No patience!

Did I ever mention how much I HATE Wednesdays? For me Wednesdays are like the equivalent of getting dental surgery. While it is two days after Monday, it’s also two days away from the weekend (aka: freedom), so what good is it really but to serve as the middle-man? At my workplace Wednesdays are notoriously known for walk-ins galore and for excruciatingly long (and annoying) individual progress meetings. Most Wednesdays I’m running around so much my butt doesn’t stay seated long enough to warm my seat, and lunch-HA!-let’s just say I don’t get to have lunch until 2 pm (if at all).

I love my job, but I do not love how crazy it can make me or how Wednesdays’ tend to use up what little amount of patience I do have, and drain all my energy. By the time I get to my two o’clock clinic coverage I dream of putting a sign on my door that reads:

“Sorry NO patients, NO patience. Come back tomorrow  next year.”

Then I could lay my head down on my desk and steal a few moments of peace and quiet along with a few Z’s. Unfortunately for me, there is no time for reprieve by way of napping, so maybe I need to rethink this whole scheme, approach it from a different angle.

Hmmm…

Well there’s always the bathroom, seems like it’s the only place to steal a few moments of peace these days. I could use the excuse that I have I.B.S for my cover story as to why I spend so much time in the bathroom??? That just may work…never-mind how pitiful. 

I. Am. Ridiculous.

Crotch Scratcher

“Well hello there ladies.”

Georgia and I looked up from our mound of work and to our dismay were staring at two weird men: an angry VA patient and his unlikely sidekick-a young redneck/thug/player (wanna-be). Mr. Angry showed up unannounced at our clinic to raise hell, typical day, typical VA patient, while Mr. Wanna-Be decided to capitalize on the fact that two young women where in the same room as him and lay his “charm” on thick. He wore his charm like his cologne: cheap, strong and over-the-top. Georgia and I are both married, but like most desperate men, that didn’t discourage Mr. Wanna-Be, unfortunately it just made him try all the harder.

 It was one outrageous claim after another: he could get us an iPhone plan from his Arab (his words not mine) friend for under $30/month, he just broke off his engagement because she was jealous he had a lot of girls hit on him, he had a new girlfriend but he wouldn’t mind playing around on the side with a pretty gal, he liked my shoes, loved the color of Georgia’s skin, said we were old hags since we were already married and younger than 30; on and on the ridiculous list went. 

Most unfortunately for Mr. Wanna-Be he had already determined his unlucky fate as soon as he entered through our clinic door with his hands down his pants, clearly adjusting his junk, scratching his crotch in a public place with no ounce of shame. At least try to be discreet about it! He never stood a chance anyways, especially after those ridiculous claims, but once the crotch incident unfolded before our scarred eyes his fate was already doomed before he opened his mouth and his chances shot as far down south as one could go-hell. 

Dead Wake-Up Call

Georgia, my fellow front desk warrior, had the day off so I was fighting the war at the front desk all by my lonesome today. The hardest battle I had to fight was the phone ringing constantly. I swear it took all the discipline in me not to chunk it across the office and walk out. In the midst of all the day’s hustle I remembered I needed to go check our mailbox. Fine by me I needed a moment to step away from the front desk even if the mailbox is only right down the hall. At that point I would take anything I could get. So I grab the key and steal a moment to pickup the mail (and a little sanity). Our office is located in the bowels of the hospital in the basement, and was pretty deserted so I was just walking with my head down in the middle of the hallway not paying any attention. All of a sudden I run into someone. I quickly apologize before realizing I had just ran straight into a dead body. About that, I work down the hall from the morgue so we periodically see bodies being wheeled to the morgue.Normally I am not creeped out but actually running into a dead body being transported was a little creepy. It was then I realized that my day could always get worse. I could be dead, stretched on a gurney, covered with a tarp and have some clumsy- alive person run into me.

Drag Queen Goodness

Meet an aspiring drag queen-check! I can rest easy knowing I can check that off my bucket list. Which is obviously second to my top to-do:

I know, I watch too much cable television. It’s a guilty pleasure of mine.

Maybe one day I will get to check off acting out an episode of “24” on my bucket list, but for now I will remain happy knowing I met a drag queen (wanna be, but let’s not split hairs here). It was nothing short of a fabulous encounter.

Picture this:

It was a slow, rainy day. I was in clinic trying to catch up on the paperwork piled up to my eyeballs.

In saunters this gentleman whom (I swear) looks like a gay version of Rascal Flatts’ lead singer Gary Levox:

We will just call this new friend of mine Gary. Now Gary made a grand entrance with a full-throttled introduction. There was no time for niceties for Gary was on a mission. Just what was Gary’s mission you say?

“Oh good there you are. Hey listen I am looking for a bra for one of my shows. I mean look at these things, I gotta keep myself together ya know.” All this said in a Big-Bang-Theory-Sheldon-voice with a country twang and accompanying grand hand gestures .

I believe my face looked a little something like this:

Gary must have sensed my feeling of disbelief by being taken off-guard with such a request. He quickly added “Oh, I am just kidding. Having a little fun with ya. But on a serious note have you ever watched ‘Rupaul’s Drag Race’ ? I mean to tell ya, you have got to watch that show, it is just fabulous! Man, those drag queens know how to bring the drama. Maybe one day I will be on there in my full drag, well you know one can always hope.”

And as quick as that he was gone. In a flashy-flash. Pun intended.

My job may be hectic and disorganized at times but one thing it is not is boring. Every new work day I never know what I am in-store for. I am just waiting for the day I walk in the clinic to see Chuck Norris standing in our waiting room, because you know it’s Chuck Freakin’ Norris and he is too awesome to sit down! 

Conversation Repeat

Learned another valuable lesson today, courtesy of one of our patients: don’t do drugs (and stay in school).

Doug the Druggie (in a slurring tone): “I am calling to see how much I need to pay to order my brace .”

Georgia: “The balance on you order is $120.”

Doug the Druggie: “Okay, can I go ahead and pay that now over the phone with my credit card?”

Georgia: “Sure. Go ahead and read you card number off to me. And I can process that payment for you right now.”

Doug the Druggie slurs out his card information to Georgia and she proceeds with processing the payment. Georgia then tells Doug that his payment went through and she will order his brace.

Doug the Druggie: “I am calling to pay my balance to order my brace.”

Wait I just had déjà vu.

Georgia: ” Um sir, I already took your payment remember?”

Doug the Druggie: “Oh, what’s the payment for again?”

And here the conversation comes full circle only to begin again. This poor guy must have pancakes for brains, courtesy of the drugs no doubt.

A priest and a rabbi

There was a junkie, a drug dealer and a homeless person. Kind of sounds like the priest and the rabbi joke, but there is no joke to be found here, this was our waiting room this morning. I have always said that our hospital is like the Walmart of all hospitals-it attracts all the weird people and difficult cases. It adds an element of surprise to my work (if nothing else) because I never know what or who is going to walk through our doors. Come to think of it, I should be scared for my life, with all the craziness going on and all the weirdos wandering around the planet (of which I am positive there is a highly concentrated population of around me). We have a running joke around the office that one day we are going to get a patient who finally snaps (most likely a VA patient) and is going to hold us all hostage at gunpoint until he gets his shoes. The more I think about it, the less funny it becomes because the probability of that actually occurring climbs higher with each full moon. The one thing I am certain of is I do not want to die in this hell-hole-dungeon they call our office. Please God, keep us safe to see the craziness that tomorrow is sure to bring and keep our perspectives in check so we can appreciate the humor in the day.

Tummy Ache

It still amazes me how men can be such babies (you think I would be used to it by now). They get a runny nose and they expect the whole world to stop for them, we women get the flu and are expected to still keep up with the Kardashians. It is such a double-standard!

Most times when I witness them complaining about some minor issue I just grit my teeth and keep my mouth shut. Notice I said MOST TIMES. That is unless their senseless complaining happens to fall on that “special-week” of mine, then all bets are off. I cannot be held responsible for anything I say and I surely cannot promise that someone will not lose a limb! 

Eeyore (who is the company’s whiner) has a tendency to push my buttons in this area. I have NEVER in my entire life met a man who is such a baby! It is always something with him; whether he stubs his toe or has the slightest headache, he will make it known. What’s really embarrassing is the way he will mope around the office telling everyone his plight of how his tummy hurts or how he is feeling woozy. I think to myself, you just wait mister, one day you are going to complain to me on the wrong day and this is the response you are going to get from me: 

I don’t wanna grow up!

You know what they say, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. I can’t shake the crazy off, it’s all around me. I have come to terms with my fate. I do not recall saying I wanted to be the queen of custom compression garments when I grow up, but hey, clearly I haven’t grown up yet, so it’s all good. 

One size fits all

One-size-fits-all can be a misnomer when dealing with the human body. And being an orthotist can sometimes suck, especially when a patient walks through the door with a prescription for a scrotal support brace. Doesn’t that create the most lovely mental image for ya? Yuck! You are probably wondering, “is it as bad as it sounds?” and the answer is YES!  All us female orthotists try and conveniently keep busy or nonchalantly slip back to the lab to hide when we see that a walk-in has appeared for a scrotal support brace. Most times we get lucky and dodge the bullet, but not always…

Georgia: “Hello sir, how are you today? Did you have an appointment?”

Mr. Ballz: “Actually I do not have an appointment but the doctor just sent me down here with this prescription.”

Georgia: “Okay, not a problem, we will get someone to see you shortly. You can have a seat.”

Mr. Ballz hands Georgia the prescription and takes a seat in the lobby. Georgia looks down and sees “Scrotal support brace for hernia” scribbled on the prescription and her eyes look as if they are about to pop out of their sockets. She then proceeds to the practitioner station to find the unlucky individual available to be doomed to the unfortunate task. And wadda know, there is no male practitioner in the office! Thinking on our feet, Carmen, Switch and I tell Georgia what to go tell the patient. I mean let’s be logical here, we did not have the time nor the stomach to be measuring some dude’s balls. 

Georgia: “Mr. Ballz, the brace the doctor ordered for you is actually a one-size-fits-all. That being said, all we need to do today is get all your information in the system, we will then process the order and call you when the brace comes in. You will not need to be seen today.”

Mr. Ballz: “Well are you sure about that? I mean, you may wanna just make sure. Trust me.”

Oh we trust you alright buddy. Don’t worry we already know that your wrinkled boys are sagging down to your knees, looking like a slingshot with two stones. We have already taken that into consideration, no need for formalities here-just go with it. Let’s just spare us all the humiliation.