Case in point...
Sunday morning, while Doc H is in the shower, his cell phone rings and eventually quiets going unanswered. However, that noise is shortly followed by the piercing beep of his pager. He jumps out of the bathroom.
He returns the page using his cell phone (God forbid anyone from the hospital captures our home number) with his usual greeting, "This is Doc H. Someone paged me?"
I can barely make out a young woman's voice muted by the cell phone case. She quickly reports of what she knows of the patient and the situation at hand. She sounded confident, competent.
Then Doc H began his line of questioning to gather information needed for further evaluation. She unraveled, stopping the conversation to go ask others for answers, all while Doc H stood half dressed in our bedroom.
From my end, the calm, but rapid fire conversation went something like this..
What size stent? No, that's the needle size. What's the stent size?
What the patient's INR? We need to know that. Was ultrasound guidance used? You don't know that either? Who's the attending? Okay, we'll have to put this case under review. I'll be by to see the patient.
And I cringed. During the conversation, I was cheering that young lady on, c'mon you can do it! Because if it were me, my voice may have cracked a time or two during the phone conversation. My nerves may have worn me down.
But all I can make out from the other end, is a weak little, "Ok, thank you."
When Doc H hung up, I asked, "Was that a resident?"
"No, an intern! They shouldn't have an intern calling. They shouldn't be put in that position!"
I was so happy to hear him say that.
I sincerely hope that intern is not crying in the ladies room as I type this. Because, I'm pretty sure I would be.
Let's all take a moment and feel sorry for the interns, shall we?
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