I love that my job comes with some surprises. Not the least of which involve fluids, and sometimes solids, forcefully erupting, and sometimes, launching like a volatile projectile from some sort of a lumenous or cystic structure. In some cases, the projectile gets Vegas odds. “Two feet,” one of my technicians shouts! “Six inches,” someone else declares. “Green, no grey,” I wager. A needle or simply a poke with a scalpel will determine the winner(s) of this ill-conceived wager.
It’s not just my people who gamble in other’s suffering. Cynicism is what keeps people like us showing up to care for other’s lives. Several years ago I recall an event that had me a bit turned upside down, dysuria and a bit of a burning sensation when I urinated. I thought that I must have a UTI (urinary tract infection). As I drove towards the clinic to self-medicate with some antibiotics my wife urged me to call/see a “real doctor.” You see, to her I’m the same guy she married: an unemployed and overzealous twenty something year old guy who knows nothing about medicine, physiology, or “dysuria,” for that matter. In her mind’s eye, I needed an expert.