Dr. Cranquis' Mumbled Gripes

I'm an American physician who works in an Urgent Care clinic. I see lots of stupid or funny things that people do with-and-to their health. I cope by mumbling under my breath (and then posting about it on this pseudonymous blog). Thought you might be interested.

(Disclaimer: Questions related to medical topics will be answered to the best of Dr. Cranquis' (and Google's) knowledge, but the internet-delivered wisdom on this blog CAN NOT AND SHOULD NOT SUBSTITUTE for your Real-Life Doctor's personal attention + examination, and your own common sense too! If you think you're having a medical emergency, hang up and go email 911. The author of this blog takes no responsibility for any medical, relationship, scholastic, financial, or other decisions you may make based on information found in this blog.)

Blogs I Follow

Dr. House? Dr. House, can you hear me?

It’s me. Uh, I mean, I’m Dr. Cranquis. Your friend Dr. Wilson called me in to consult on your case. I know you can’t talk, with the tube down your throat and all, but if you can hear me, squeeze my hand twice.

Ok, great! So, uh, “1 squeeze NO, 2 squeeze YES” ok, Greg? Do you mind if I call you Greg?

OUCH. Ok, sorry.

Listen, Dr. House, I’m sure you know the situation here. Your condition has deteriorated severely in the past few days. Although, I guess things have been leading up to this point for a while now. Of course, your behavior has always been erratic, which in my opinion contributed greatly to your charm and intrigue — but lately, you’ve become increasingly self-destructive. I know that the relationship with Dr. Cuddy didn’t —

OUCH.

Ok, ok, sorry. I won’t talk about her. To be honest, I haven’t kept up with events since right around the time you and she got together, so who am I to comment? Let’s just say, the overall tone of your actions and motivations has been spiraling for a while. Not to mention the behaviors of those around you. Over the past couple years, there’s been an air of desperation filtering through your entire team at Princeton-Plainsboro. Everyone has become so dramatic, so bizarre, yet so stereotypical. Each attempt at injecting “new life” into the team has only lead to further hematomas of diluted characters and unrelatable problems.

And that, Dr. House, is why you’re dying. You have always been the Grinchy heart of this hospital, but the blood that pumps through you is stagnant. I guess you’d know a particular obscure term for that condition, right?

Two squeezes. Huh. Well, damn, I guess we’ll never know.

But that really doesn’t matter, now. House, the team has got a white-board list a mile long, full of bizarre interventions that they think will save you. Dr. Wilson, on the other hand, feels that the kindest thing to do is to discontinue life-sustaining measures. “Pull the plug.” They couldn’t agree, and they asked for my outsider’s opinion. They think that I’m grizzled and world-weary enough to not be swayed by personal emotion. They think I’m like you, able to be a cold and ruthless scientist and “feelings be damned.”

But they’re wrong. About both of us. I do care, and I do feel sad. Sad to see you whither away on this bed, surrounded by ever-more complex machinery. Sad to remember the way you used to make me howl with laughter and pump my fist at the screen as you would verbally destroy doctors, patients, families, medical boards, administrators — ANYONE who stood in the way of making a diagnosis and curing a condition. You said all the things I wanted to say, House, and I loved you for it. I still do.

So now, I hope that I’ll be saying what you wish you could say. It’s time to end this. It’s time for you to get some rest.

2 squeezes.

I’ll, uh, I’m gonna step outside. Wilson’s been pacing back and forth in the hallway. I’ll tell him.