E.G. BellIn every field, there is a language used and understood only by members of that group. It is called an argot (ar GO), which Merriam-Webster defines as:
the language used by a particular type or group of people: an often more or less secret vocabulary and idiom peculiar to a particular group
Medical professionals have an argot. When talking to medical professionals, I frequently have to ask them to interpret, especially acronyms. (Ex: AMA = American Medical Association). They also have whole new ways to combine words to the unexpected effect. I learned this on a recent adventure involving two trips to the emergency room, both followed by an invitation to stay. I declined the first invitation. This, in medical-ese is also known as AMA, in this case, “Against Medical Advice”. I accepted the second invitation and got an experience to share.
First visit, I had three jabs for blood. First was a dry well. The second was ‘hemolyzed’, which I learned means the red cells burst. The third attempt got blood and an IV port. I was given a close cousin of Ibuprofen for pain. It worked somewhat. I had a CAT scan and was diagnosed with a partially obstructed bowel. I did not detect urgency in the doctor’s report so I opted to decline the invitation to stay. Probably a mistake. I came back later that day, hat in hand, creased in pain.
In the second visit, I got another blood draw and another IV port installed. This time I was given Dilaudid. Morphine x 10. I did not like it. I’m dumbfounded people use opioids for recreation. Chocolate cake is my recreational drug of choice. It does not come in IV and would have done nothing for pain. Dilaudid made quick work of the pain. The doctor this time impressed upon me the urgency of my condition and the indiscretion of declining the first invitation. I was to be put on “Bowel Rest” (more argot), which means no food. The term was my first laugh of the ordeal.
I had a tube inserted into my stomach (through my nose). I asked if I was to be conscious for the procedure. The doctor said it was a must. The same procedure from the other end (colonoscopy) is a knockout procedure. Inconsistent to a computer programmer. The doctor said I would not like it. He was right. No one loves things being shoved down their throat. The tube was used to decompress my stomach, polite for vacuuming out accumulated stomach content. During tube insertion I had to sip water (through a straw), all while worrying that I was going to be asked to whistle or throw my voice. The tube was in place/use for the next 24 hours.
I got a room and room service, first Jordan, then Jen, and finally Katie, all cleaning up and looking after me. Hospital wives.
I met the Hospitalist. (She told me she was an Internist (Special training in internal medicine. On adults) More Argot). Hospitalist is a new title for a person who fills the old role of admitting-doctors having to visit patients. Probably a good arrangement, though I did suggest to her that her title somehow seemed insufficient to the scope of her position. I recommended that she use MSWord to create a sufficiently official-looking award document with a more grandiose title like “Supreme Deititian Almighty” and send it to her boss for a signature. She rolled her eyes. Turns out, she was the boss of the whole Clarion hospital. Her boss is in Butler.
Katie watched me the longest of the nurses during my stay. All autographed their work with excellence. I wanted for nothing. Except removal of the tube. And chocolate cake.
Lindsay drew more blood. She hit vein on the first poke and also gave me the best laugh (there weren’t many) of the whole visit. She told me that most people thought blood pressure forced blood into the draw tube. Not so. Lindsay said the tubes are prefilled with vacuum. I laughed for awhile about that.
Macey (sp?) pumped my stomach with dye (through the tube) for a powerful xray. Hannah worked with Macey to take the xrays, and both happily answered many and probably silly questions. I ask a lot of questions. The dye was also a high-octane laxative to induce and trace flow path end-to-end. I have my own argot for laxatives. I call them “back medicine” as I have found they frequently help relieve back pain. Macey’s dye was effective. As a dye. As a laxative. As flow inducer. I suggested adding blue coloring to the dye. I have been exhorting 2 generations of babies in my family to make blue poop. I consider blue to be the holy grail of poop. I think it would add a little cheer to an otherwise unpleasant experience. I would buy such dye if it were baby safe. Like baby shampoo, for example.
I was told I would see Dr. Houston, a surgeon. A different doctor arrived. Dr. Houston would see me in the morning. Again another doctor arrived. I asked if Dr. Houston actually existed. I had a theory. It is useful to have a foil to deliver bad news. Perhaps Dr. Houston was a guy who walks the hospital floor in cardigan and stocking feet with a cup of coffee (The Dr. has the cup of coffee, not the feet), loved by all staff. Real, and the source of any bad news, but nestled in love of all by routing hard news through underlings. Turns out he does exist. I made him show me his ID. He drew a caricature of my bowel diagramming things. I’m keeping it with the color photo from my last colonoscopy.
There are not many channels on the hospital TV. I used Benjamin Franklin and Hummingbirds in Costa Rica documentaries for background noise while I slept. One channel had Jerry Springer but the sound was not working. You can make out what is going on on Jerry Springer even without sound. (Jerry! Jerry!) It reminded me that getting Jerry Beads is on my bucket list. Ironic that I was wearing a hospital gown at the time. These days they let you keep your boxers on. I was happy. I am sure Jordan, Jen, Katie, Lindsay, et. al. were also happy. Hospital gowns would be expedient for getting Jerry Beads though.
While waiting for Dr. Houston, the Hospitalist came in with a gaggle of young doctors ala Scrubs/Good Doctor rounds. The best part of this was her taking the tube out of me. I was so happy I told my wife (and her) that I wanted to have her child. I’ve always heard if I could get pregnant I would be rich. I know it would be difficult but I’ve always been willing to work with anyone to make it happen. They are working miracles in medical advances these days. I’m also not greedy so I would share any windfall. I know my wife agreed. She rolls her eyes when she agrees with me.
Hospital visits are the worst time to need the best and brightest. We are just a bit out of a world crisis that saw medical professionals lionized, properly so. That ‘bit out of’ part has delivered many of us to a relaxation of regard for what these people do. What they are. They are as much heroes today as they were in the midst of pandemic. They remain large as we, in many cases, become smaller. More selfish. Less tolerant. No longer on best behavior. In my adventure I believe I was on my best behavior. They were giving me something I desperately needed all while taking time to answer my questions, tolerating my silliness, and cleaning up the worst messes streaming from polar ends during the course of care. I would like to say to those whose orbits I intersected during this late adventure that I’m glad they came to work those days. I hope that my conduct made them glad, also, that they came to work those days.
