Out from under the rock to fuss about healthcare

I, the medical transcriptionist extraordinaire, wish to fuss.

This is the 5th nerve conduction test I've typed up this week for patients who are all 80 or older. The ages are 80, 80, 85, 86, and 90. These patients, all but one, insist they're too old to have surgery, but the one 80-year-old patient's parents both lived until their mid 90s and her only medicines are as needed for arthritis. She wants to have carpal tunnel releases done so she can keep knitting and crocheting. That, to me, is a perfectly valid reason. I'd go crazy without my crafting after two months.

For the others, however, who are not going to have surgery: All of the four had very distinct symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome. In other words, they need to shake out their hands if they sleep on them wrong. All had thenar wasting. All had decreased sensation in the median nerve distribution. All had the thumb, index finger, and middle finger affected. Hello, carpal tunnel syndrome.

Again, they insisted that they did not want anything done for the condition.

So, why did their physicians get the testing done?

Not only did they have nerve conduction testing done, but they also went with the extra step of an EMG, looking for evidence of cord compression, radiculopathy, etc.

Hello...if they weren't going to have carpal tunnel releases done, a relatively common and safe procedure, why waste the extra money for another more extensive surgery that they're not going to have done, either?

I tried to do a quick check about the cost of nerve testing and EMG testing, one side or both. Minimum figure for the nerve testing alone, both sides, was $800. Add it up, just for this week. This is a very regular occurrence.

If all the physical exam findings are there, for goodness' sake, just give the patients the wrist splints and send them home! If all this crap is just for documentation purposes...

Makes me want to scream.

This is how you chap my hide...

Make me relisten to a doctor stumble over a sentence for the 10th time, only to realize the doctor is saying, "He talks in somewhat of a mumble."

...and the crater on my desk from where my forehead has smacked it so often is now deep enough to serve salsa.

My son reviews "The Claw"

No, it's not a budget butcher B-movie. We're speaking of this:


My mom's reward for having her second shoulder surgery is a disgruntled, very vocal surgeon who insists that she doesn't do yard work. It's spring, it's been wet, and she's getting antsy. She sent over some peonies that were to die for. I asked Boo, and she said she planted them before surgery.

Nothing like making hay while the sun shines. It might explain why Doc W thought the surgery would take less time - she did her planting in between the last office visit and the surgery itself, apparently.

She recruited Tiger's Eye, for valid reasons. He's approaching 6' and has lots of muscle. No fat, all muscle, and if he takes his shirt off, I think of BBQ sauce from all the ribs I can count. The boy needs doughnuts, cookies, cake, and peanut butter. We all should be so lucky.

Anyway...

He came home, complete with grass stains, smelling like a mix of grass, wild onions, and sweat.

"You know the claw thing?" he asked.

"The Garden Claw?" I responded.

"Yeah, the one where the commercial has the 60-year-old lady turning the thing without any problems."

"Yeah?"

"She makes the ground just turn up, you know? It's hard! I'm tired!"

Maybe he just wanted Grandma to do it. Never know with that boy.

* * *

In case you haven't figured it out, I type for doctors. This is a real gem:

Her weight is obviously not 378, as it is recorded. This was not caught until after she left. I'm sure she'll be happy to see herself lose that much weight when she comes back the next time.

Fun stuff, no?

Is this kind of a "why is the sky blue" question?

So...

ManCub can't hear his own alarm. KitKat can't hear her own alarm. By golly, though, wouldn't you know...she complains that his is too loud, and he wakes up by her alarm. I've been up all night and I can't Aesop this one out. I'm going to let it go.

Five chapters edited. Cover letter written. Synopsis form...still sitting where I left it in the front room Sunday while I watched football, cooked, did dishes, yada yada ad nauseum in patheticum deo. I have no idea if that means anything other than my dementia is all I have left to offer after a night of typing for a colorectal surgeon, one Arab rheumatologist, one Indian rheumatologist who speaks her version of the Queen's English with some American accents (I love typing for her - she's awesome), one plastic surgeon (no 750-cc Mentor silicone implants tonight, darnit--I love laughing at those chicks), and lots and lots of colonoscopies with poor bowel prep. Doc S has so many ways of saying they didn't take their GoLYTELY seriously. ::shudder::

Yeah, that just fell under the TMI category, didn't it?

For more of my dementia, please visit sapphiretigress.com. It gets weirder than this, folks. I guarantee it.

A little bit of irony...

Actual transcription:
Mr. Smith works for a steel company and was attending a safety meeting. Upon leaving that safety meeting, he accidentally stepped into a hole and twisted his right ankle.

Job hazard! It gave the doctor the giggles. Obviously, it gave me the giggles, too, or I wouldn't be posting this gem.

Maybe Democrats oughtta put in their platform "life hazard pay for all." I wonder if it would be taxable or a tax break?