ACLS recert

Yesterday and today I've been stuck in class, recertifying for advanced cardiac life support. We broke up into groups of six and practiced using defibrillators on dummies. Everyone in the class of 25 was an RN or student EMT, except me. So right away, people jumped to the wrong conclusion.

M: Hey, who here knows how to charge the machine for a synchronized shock?
T: Ask Dr. L! You must know, right, doc?
Me: Actually, no. I don't know how to do anything with my own hands.
R: But you're a doctor.
Me: Yes, but I'm the kind with no useful skills. That's what you guys are for.
M: So, what do you do, exactly?
Me: I just write stuff in the charts.

The best description I've ever read of what an internist is, goes like this: "Internists are the guys who write very detailed notes in the chart, carefully documenting the patient's downhill course."

There are lots of ways to tell the specialties apart. Here is a classic tip:

Internists know everything and do nothing, whereas surgeons know nothing and do everything. Psychiatrists know nothing and do nothing. Pathologists know everything and do everything, but too late.

Then, there are the orthopedic surgeons. They're great -- all big strapping guys, bluff and personable, ,who played sports in their glory days. The best epigram I've heard about them goes like this: Orthopods -- strong as an ox, and twice as smart.

Surgeons take a lot of cheap shots, mostly well-deserved. "A surgeon is like a stupid child who has learned to tie a very complicated pair of shoes and is really proud of the accomplishment."

Here's my favorite. This is a story about two subspecialties famous for not knowing when to quit.

The oncology team meeting got underway on Monday morning with a discussion of the sickest of their cancer patients. "What about Ms. Brown?" asked the department chair, looking around at her colleagues. "How's she doing with her metastatic cancer of the everything?"

"She died on Friday," answered the onc nurse. "I saw her name in the obits. The viewing was today."

"That's too bad," the chair answered. "Well, let's give her at least one more round of chemo. After all, you never know. Maybe it will do some good."

All the oncologists agreed it was worth a shot. So that night they crept out to the cemetery with picks and shovels and unearthed the woman's coffin. They pried open the lid. But they were shocked at what they saw.

The body was gone and the coffin was empty, except for a yellow post-it note written in the careful hand of the renal physician. It said: "Gone to dialysis."