The Wild Boar did part of his residency training in an inner city hospital. Before he chose obstetrics and gynecology as his specialty, most of his patient’s were handcuffed to the bed in the ER under police watch. Nice huh?
His patient’s would beg him to remove the cuffs, claiming that it was just too uncomfortable to be chained to a hospital bed while enduring their gunshot wounds or stabbing injuries.
But the Wild Boar never judged these people, he was there to care for them and sew up their bloody wounds.
However, he did always make it a point to ask his patient’s how such horrific injuries befell them.
Of course their response was ALWAYS, “I was just walking down the street, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, someone jumped out and shot me or put a knife in my back.”
Ummm, yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened. I am far more judgmental when it comes to that kind of crapola.
Anyways, times spent at county hospital were daily observations into the worse, the bad and the ugly of life in the inner city. When WB did finally do his rotation in obstetrics, it consisted of delivering baby after baby in hospital hallways, one right after another. Sometimes, like seventy in one day! Weird huh?
Private practice was a much happier medium. Mostly joyful with sprinkles of sadness mixed in. Still, I would have to say that obstetrics is one of the most demanding specialties as far as after hours work is required. Babies and emergency surgery seem to happen only in the middle of the night.
However, what I have gained from all of this is a complete and utter desensitization of all things gross and disgusting. I swear I can hear a conversation about anything without being made the slightest bit uncomfortable. I can. Try me. Okay don’t, but I am able to discuss things while eating that would make most people squirm in their seats. And that is the true test. Grossness during eating. If you can handle that, you can handle anything.
I have no problem spouting off words like discharge and leaky breast fluid. Things that make lots of people get up and run. Especially men.
If you knew how many dinners I have endured where the Wild Boar has been on call, fielding question after question about horribly nauseating things, you too would feel as I do. He used to leave the table during these exchanges but then he would have missed almost every dinner we ever had. So I invited him to stay (at the table) during these gynecological brew-ha-ha’s and I would learn to live with it. Gulp.
So the WB would chit-chat away as I cut into my rare steak and listened to one-sided conversations about bloody stool. Yep, I just said BLOODY STOOL! You read it right, don’t freak out. If you are going to continue to read this blog you are going to have to toughen up and get used to words like that.
So, I can hear or say BLOODY STOOL and continue to cut into a bleeding piece of meat like its nothing. Being the wife of a gynecologist is not for the SILLY PEOPLE. It takes guts to stand by your man during ramblings like these. It really does!
Over the years I found myself working at the Wild Boar’s office doing management type of stuff and all of the other total crapola that goes along with running a medical practice. It’s not pretty people; it’s a thankless-hellish job. By proximity I was often privy (if you consider that privileged) to the goings-on of the daily office hilarity that seems to go hand in hand with this type of medical specialty.
The nurses that worked there always wanted to shock me with things that happened during their daily grind, especially if it involved the Wild Boar. They could not believe that he could be so non-judgmental and so completely un-fazed by certain exams gone awry; that he could have such a poker face. But he did. Nothing shocked him to the point of a reaction. The nurses knew however that they could always get me to raise an eyebrow or cackle to the point of tears. That’s how I am, completely irreverent about most things. I do not posses the non-judgmental gene. I most definitely pass judgment.
So one day while doing my thankless office activities, one of the nurses shared with me the following story. She knew I would be amused or annoyed. Or probably a little of both.
The Wild Boar had a patient who was a “Stripper”, oh excuse me an, “Exotic Dancer,” I don’t want to offend anyone in the biz.
Well, the “Pole Princess” came in for an appointment because something was wrong with her that was affecting her, AHEM, career.
She had an odor.
An odor that was worse than the stench of yellow, matter, custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye. Koo-koo-ka-choo.
AN ODOR that was coming from her womanly area. I could see how this could affect her money-making abilities.
So the Wild Boar did an exam and discovered what was causing this most unusual STANK!
He could see something up there…up there in the depths of her depthi-tude.
He got out his forceps, reached inside and pulled out ANDREW JACKSON, the seventh President of the UNITED STATES!
Yep, that’s right people, you heard it here first; a $20 bill was extracted right out of her bank-vault! It was up there rotting away for god knows how long. Yuck!
When he told little Miss Thang’ what it was, she had a Stripper A-HA Moment and was like, “Yeah, I remember that lap dance.” Good God! Double yuck!
Geez, was she laying there thinking, “Oh, I thought he only left me a $20 but he really left me $40 and all this time my self-esteem has been ruined by that, but really none of that is true at all. Yippee! I don’t need Prozac after all.”
I could have thrown up when I heard this. The nurses had a field day with this. You know they did.
The Wild Boar in all of his non-judgmental self laid down a paper towel on the counter and informed Miss Money Bags that he would just place the $20 on the counter for her to retrieve.
I guess he saw too many things in the inner city to have something this uneventful even register as a big deal.
However, I have NEVER forgotten about it. I mean it these shenanigans that are paying for the food on my families table, the vacations we take, the home we live in…EVERYTHING! It’s like I’m living in BIZARRO WORLD or I’m on Candid Camera!
And it makes me wonder if she paid cash that day for her visit. And even worse, did I take the deposit to the bank? Eewww!
I don’t even want to think about it. I’m going to get the hand-sanitizer, and the Lysol, and the Clorox Wipes, and the 409…