A young lady comes in and wants to be evaluated for sexually transmitted diseases. That’s what she says in triage, at least.
She gets back to the room and she’s swearing like a truck driver.
Her boyfriend left his cell phone at home before he went to work and she started looking through his texts.
“He’s texting nastiness to at least 8 other women and they all sound like skanks.” Then she starts going through the content of the texts … including where some women reportedly asked to have bodily fluids deposited and other women who want cocaine sprinkled on other areas and then licked off. Oh, and then there are the women who boast about how large … oh nevermind. You get the idea.
The patient was being overly loud and descriptive when discussing the texts and repeatedly had to be told that the content of the texts really didn’t make a difference in her medical care. Then she got angry. She wanted her description of the text messages written verbatim into the medical records.
Nope, not happening.
She demanded to speak to the administrator.
The administrator shows up and finally asks “Why is it so important that the text messages are included in your medical records?”
Wrong question. The patient yells out “Because I drove all the way across town to come to this hospital because my boyfriend works here as a surgical and I want anyone who looks at my chart to know that JIM SMITH IS A F**KING SCUZZBAG! THAT’S why!”
Somehow I don’t think that “outing a scuzzbag” is a codeable diagnosis, but I’m sure the ladies in the cafeteria now know your problems after your little outburst, though.
And if Jim is anywhere in the building, he’s likely now sneaking out the back door.
This and all posts about patients may be fictional, may be my experiences, may be submitted by readers for publication here, or may be any combination of the above. Factual statements may or may not be accurate. If you would like to have a patient story published on DrWhitecoat.com, please e-mail me.