Sue daMones, the “911” Operator, and Boxer Shorts

摘要

Interacting with residents, medical students, and other “learners” (the new politically correct, nonperjorative term) affords loads of opportunities. Sure, this responsibility forces providers to maintain a certain level of competency; it reminds us of the fragility of the young ego; it allows us to believe that we are somehow molding the future of medicine. Working with learners also ensures loads of fodder for our story-telling and future comedy routines. Of course, non–health care personnel find none of these tales funny. In fact, most of our nonpediatric hospitalist colleagues find these stories juvenile and immature. But I think it is time we just admit it: pediatric hospitalists appreciate humor, especially humor involving our learners. Sometimes it gets us into trouble. Sometimes the hospital has to change its policies. Sometimes we just shake our heads and think, “Who is going to believe this?”The anonymous features inherent in overhead paging systems and beepers have the ability to draw pediatric residents from the darkness of midwinter depression into the light of midwinter dysthymia. Imagine wandering the halls, not sure which button to push on the elevator to get to the sixth floor, because the numbers all look like Asian characters after hours of sleep deprivation. (You will have difficulty with this imagery if your trained after-duty hours were mandated.) Suddenly, you hear a very earnest hospital operator instruct, “Billy Rubin, please report immediately to the Newborn Nursery. Billy Rubin to the nursery.” And you giggle in an elevator full of internists and psychiatrists until coffee is coming out of your nose. By the time you get to the sixth floor, Dr Laracy, the second-year pediatric resident, is at it again. This time, he requests the operator to recite the following, “Sue daMonas to microbiology. Sue daMonas to micro.” Or “Sal Monella to the …