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.)

And since people seem to be a bit confused about this: any "real-sounding" patients names are just horrible puns, and not HIPAA violations.

Blogs I Follow

Behind the Medic: Before her lilies bloom.

I spent over 20 minutes talking with an Urgent Care patient today.

This isn’t exactly strange, since sometimes patients (and their medical conditions) are complicated, requiring more than the unofficially-alloted “goal” of 4-8 minutes per patient visit. But this patient’s visit wasn’t complicated; she just needed something for a rash.

I just… couldn’t pull myself away from her. From everything she is.

She’s 70-something, and looks 90. It’s the cancer in her body which makes her look so worn-out, so frail, so cachectic. She’s 70-something, looks 90… and behaves like a plucky college graduate with a golden future and limitless potential, her quick smile and bubbling laugh making the minutes of our visit flash by.

I couldn’t pull myself away.

I just sat there, listening to her prattle on, looking at photos on the cherished iPad that she totes around with her — photos of her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and a black-and-white shot of her and her (now deceased) husband on their wedding day. Every moment I spent in her presence made me feel happier, younger, more real, more grateful for my life’s blessings big and small.

Her most-recent oncologist’s note indicates a level of metastatic cancer which will likely kill her in the next few weeks.

She kept talking about her plans for next spring: the new flower garden she wants to put along the south end of her property, the yearly Spring Break trip with her children and grandchildren. I bit back any comments, smiled, listened. I managed to smile the whole time.

Nobody with that much positive attitude, cheer and downright grit could possibly die before her lilies bloom… could she?