My GF is an exceptionable human being. She figured out a very reasonable diagnosis for my fuzzy head. The vagus nerve. It’s more like twelve nerves, runs from brain, through cheek down to neck and, I think, the headwaters are in the heart. I don’t know, I didn’t have to study the information, she summarized it for me and then sent it. She apologized for not figuring it out sooner. This nerve(s) can get tweaked when, for instance, a cheek is stressed as in, for instance, when one is pulled aside for dental work.
It’s possible she’s wrong, but it’d be the first time.
I got twenty bucks that says my internist intern doesn’t know that shit, five of which would lie on the line that says he hasn’t heard of the vagus nerve(s). Hmmmm, that sounds mean. I like this intern, personally I like the guy. I don’t think he’s getting a very good education. I don’t mean to suggest that the university is unaware of or skips teaching nerves and I really don’t mean to suggest my intern decided not to study stupid nerves that sound like female business. I think the clinic in general isn’t very good at diagnosis and is even worse at allowing their interns to diagnose.
I had an argument with him almost a year ago. Unlike the smug bastard I argued with on Tuesday who had more hubris than skill, my intern humbly asked at the end of the rant if I wanted a referral elsewhere for some procedure and when I said ‘Why? Don’t you guys do that sort of thing?’ He ducked his head and said ‘Yeah, but you don’t like us.’ I actually put an arm around his shoulder and told him I liked him just fine, just because I didn’t think his office was competent didn’t mean I was looking for greener pastures. Um, I did leave out the bit about ‘Why would I want a referral from an office that screws things up?’
I’m sure y’all have run across this. The best example I can think of is resturants. I hardly ever return anything at a restaurant. One day I had a short lunch hour, ran into a Dennys, they were very slow and when my sandwich came they had grilled it without removing the wax paper that sep[erates their cold cuts and cheese. I demanded a manager. The manager said the meal would be free. I was furious pointing out that I hadn’t been given a meal, I’d been given toxic grilled wax paper. She offered a free meal certificate. I think that’s a common experience.
I pointed out, loudly, in front of other customers who were waiting too long for their food, that I hadn’t the time, energy or constitution for a second grilled wax paper. The longer argument being price isn’t an issue for food if the food is inedible. So they made it right, sort of. It’s not like I was never going to a Dennys again, though I didn’t go to that one for a few years.
The point, if you can call it that, and the one I didn’t make to guy I like though not for his doctoring skills, is What is the value of a referral from shitty doctor? Why would I expect that referrals were the one thing they did right? I’ve kept him, and still keep him as a doctor, and haven’t decided whether to tell him my GF’s diagnosis, but I do feel obligated to help teach him as his teachers seem to be failing. This kid’s intentions and heart are good. I hope they don’t break him.
I have a feeling the U thinks more highly of Tuesdays Intern Hubris than they do of my little buddy the intern. He certainly struts as if he has the permission to do so. The difference is my little buddy might one day heal someone and the other guy is a walking lawsuit assuming he is ever allowed to actually take an action. My guy gets to almost practice internal medicine, the other guy is in the internists who think they are almost shrinks program. He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know, though, on some level, everyone born to date knows that is no job position called internists with fake shrink background.
If he were studying shrinkology, or even undergrad communications, he’d have been told that hubris is trait best hidden when practicing fake shrinkology. Just saying.
God but I’m tired of whining. It’s therapeutic though, not whining, the whiner thinks it’s therapeutic but he (me in this case) is wrong. Typing, writing entries for a social site (um, well, that’s sort of what prosebox is, if it were exactly what it is, it’d be redundant and at least one of us (( you or I)) wouldn’t be here) is therapeutic. My head is to fuzzy to think up interesting content so I’m going with day to day.
One could argue that Prosebox is exactly a social site. Ok. It’s me that’s not very social. It’s like zebra’s are vegetarians, it makes no difference to the lion that’s eating the zebra. Heh. Yes, it’s exactly like that, in that I don’t know what specifically I mean but I’m adamant that I mean it. One could argue that I am social, in fact the last time I typed that I was a misanthrope many people did argue that I was social, but, what the fuck do they know, fucking people always pee-pee-peopling up the joint. I am a misanthrope, I’m just not very good at it. Um, that being said, my incompetent doctors have an incompetent patient, so, things should work out just fine.
There are so many levels of gratitude I have for the GF, the vagus nerve(s) is merely the lesser known of many. Um, she didn’t create it or anything, but, still, it’s not like Einstein invented time, he just had a pretty dang smart take on theoretical properties of time. The man was an Einstein. The GF? She’s like a GF only GF-ier.
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