Had a funny thing happen at the end of Dr. Fun E. Bone's clown doctor rounds at Salem Hospital this week:
A callback page from a doctor in the ER.
I'd completed my rounds -- usually finishing up in the ICU waiting room -- and had made it all the way back across the hospital campus to check out. A call came in from an ER doctor looking for me, hoping I could come back.
So I made my way back to the ER -- multiple hallways, elevator, skybridge, escalator, and waiting rooms -- and was greeted with "Dr. Fun E. Bone! You're still here! Follow me."
Outside the room was a cart of vials and a faint sound of moaning. I asked the attending nurse the age of the patient so I would have some idea how to approach this. She looked at the chart, looked up, and said "75."
After a little chuckle (since I usually just work with the under-20 folks and families in the ER), I knew right away who it was.
During an earlier pass through the ER waiting room, I'd caught the attention of an older (than I am) woman and had a short playful conversation to put her a little more at ease, finishing up with a red nose transplant. I told her to get a hold of me if she needed any more help.
And she did!
The nurses were having a heck of time finding a good vein, so she was getting more anxious by the minute. A little (actually, a lot) clown doctor playful distraction and compassion was in order. First, I drew her blood (crayon and pad) with no pain or marks. Then, we talked about all kinds of things -- from the Brooklyn Dodgers to ex nuns -- while I held her hand and let her squeeze as much and as hard as she wanted.
Eventually, success. But then, she was faced with a stressful test that afternoon, so I sterilized my personal stress-relieving assistant, a rolling eyeballs pop-out plastic stress reliever toy clownfish, to send with her to help her through the test. But wait; he didn't have a name. So she came up with Oscar. That's it -- Dr. Oscar! (Or maybe Dr. O'Scared.)
The nurse was going to try to get Dr. Oscar back to me next week. If not, he's found a good home.
A callback page from a doctor in the ER.
I'd completed my rounds -- usually finishing up in the ICU waiting room -- and had made it all the way back across the hospital campus to check out. A call came in from an ER doctor looking for me, hoping I could come back.
So I made my way back to the ER -- multiple hallways, elevator, skybridge, escalator, and waiting rooms -- and was greeted with "Dr. Fun E. Bone! You're still here! Follow me."
Outside the room was a cart of vials and a faint sound of moaning. I asked the attending nurse the age of the patient so I would have some idea how to approach this. She looked at the chart, looked up, and said "75."
After a little chuckle (since I usually just work with the under-20 folks and families in the ER), I knew right away who it was.
During an earlier pass through the ER waiting room, I'd caught the attention of an older (than I am) woman and had a short playful conversation to put her a little more at ease, finishing up with a red nose transplant. I told her to get a hold of me if she needed any more help.
And she did!
The nurses were having a heck of time finding a good vein, so she was getting more anxious by the minute. A little (actually, a lot) clown doctor playful distraction and compassion was in order. First, I drew her blood (crayon and pad) with no pain or marks. Then, we talked about all kinds of things -- from the Brooklyn Dodgers to ex nuns -- while I held her hand and let her squeeze as much and as hard as she wanted.
Eventually, success. But then, she was faced with a stressful test that afternoon, so I sterilized my personal stress-relieving assistant, a rolling eyeballs pop-out plastic stress reliever toy clownfish, to send with her to help her through the test. But wait; he didn't have a name. So she came up with Oscar. That's it -- Dr. Oscar! (Or maybe Dr. O'Scared.)
The nurse was going to try to get Dr. Oscar back to me next week. If not, he's found a good home.
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