You Are Not The Boss of Me!

“If you go to a costume party at your boss's house, wouldn't you think a good costume would be to dress up like the boss's wife? Trust me, it's not.”
~ Jack Handey

What's wrong with some people? Ok, more specifically, what the fuck is wrong with a certain medical assistant at the FMO neuro clinic who thinks she needs put herself personally in charge of my medical education?

Ok, let's back this up for a second. I will admit that I am unequivocally NOT excited about neurology clinic - hell I'll even go so far as to say neurology itself blows fucking goats. Seriously, I tried to like it, but it's rediculous. Oh! Look! We've localized a lesion . . . now what? Oh that right! Nothing . . . the patient's brain is goo. And what is it about the patients . . . why is every patient a retard or fucking nuttier than a jar of crunchy Jif? The neuro exam . . . everyone does it differently, and if called upon do do an exam, they will feel it necessary to correct your technique to copy their technique. Hate to tell you geniuses this . . . but if the interosseous muscles are working so's the whole fucking ulnar nerve and you just wasted your time telling the patient to "push". Have you ever seen a single service agonize over some many crazy differentials?

Anyway . . . so, yeah, my motivation is lacking. Shadowing a resident and/or an attending for 8 hours makes me want to kill myself. The excitement level is "off the heezee". Anyway . . . again, anyway . . . I'm trying to show up on time and I'm trying to follow to the best of my ability, but there is no set patern for how a physician in training should find and follow anyone. Furthermore, it seems that spending time with an attending in conversation is a big "no-no" especially in light of the confusing expectations.

Problems first occured on Wednesday. John and myself were happily discussing illegal immigration with an attending physician after lunch, and after that attending left we were unclear as how to procede and while trying to decide how to procede a certain "hall-monitoring" medical assistant waddled up to us and told us that if we did not follow someone she would tell on us and we would not get credit for the rotation. What the fuck? You're NOT the boss of me. You are not my supervisor. And you look like the vomited up version of a horse's ass . . . who let you leave the house looking like that anyway? Your mother should have done the world a favor and smothered you while you slept (probably would have if she would have known how you would end up).

Turns out, she runs to mommy anyway and we all get a stern warning form the course director no less, but then when confusion sets in again on Thursday and some leave early for lecture. Guess who has taken another interest in our education? That's right - fucknuts.

Finally, after the weekend, waiting like a gigantic turd in the wonderful punchbowl that is the end of this stupid fucking year is neuro clinic this monday. And I'll be fucked sideways running backwards if we did not make a real honest effort to be involved in the shit hole commonly referred to as "neurology clinic". Morning went fine. We get back after lunch and once again somewhat confused because the only attending in sight is in workroom and tells us that there is to be an LP, and that if the patient is not crazy (yeah right!) one of us could do the LP. We wait with him. Enter stage left the fucking self-imposed boss of my neurology education - once again threatening my rotation credit.

It's getting really fucking old. We were in clinic - on time - and in good faith and we get attacked again? This woman has taken on her role with such vigor and gusto, I would be suprised if she had time for anything else (and obviously has given up personally rooming for the sake of the endeavor). I'm sure she's just a pathetic excuse for a human being and jumps at any chance to exercise he power since she is impotent everywhere else. Bad armchair psychologist? Maybe, but I think she's fucking pathetic. And I tried to let this go. I really, really, really did, but it is now personal. One more run in and I'm filing a formal harassment complaint. She is not my boss - she is not my supervisor . . .

And she can go fuck herself . . .

(angry rants always make me feel better - fuck her!)