As many of you know, I moved to a fairly rural college town about a year ago. And with that rural town comes a rural hospital with interns from rural medical schools at rural colleges.
First off, let me say, my care at this hospital, ESPECIALLY considering I am medically complex, has been phenomenal. And I am not, in any way, shading on interns. Becoming a doctor and rounding to rotate in the ER, even a low volume one like mine, is probably one of the hardest Into the Frying Pan jobs there is.
So, when I have flare ups that I can't get under control, I have to go to the ER. No arguing, no "maybe it'll clear up on its own." I HAVE to.
So the intern I get is obviously Very Nervous. And the primary nurse with him looks like she's been working there since before I was born. This is relevant. The nurses all get me hooked up to the monitors and EKG and and IV.
The intern comes in to check all the readings and says, I quote "brb." And drags the first nurse out. And leaves the door open.
Small hospital, not many places to go out of earshot. This was their conversation:
Her: "Check the vitals and call in orders after talking to your attending."
Him: "Yeah, I know, but this lady (me) is sat-ing Jesus over Grave Dirt, and has like ten chronic-"
Him: "is on a million medications-"
Her: "-five medications-"
*pause that you can hear the mom face in.*
Her: "Okay, so her BP is terrible, her heart isn't beating right, and she's dehydrated and slightly out of it. Should she be that way?"
Her: "Okay, great. How about we go in there in fix that?"
Him: *sounding suddenly pumped* "Bet."
The nurse putting in my IV: "Gen Z, you know?" *starts laughing and has to stop poking me for a minute.*
Me: "Well, at least he admitted he didn't know what to do and had a panic attack outside."
IV nurse: "He's been doing good. Probably won't send you to Jesus via Grave Dirt."