What would you have done in Ken’s plastic shoes? Move the patient or call for professional help?
I tend to push off bedtime. The other end of bedtime is waking up screaming.
Yes, you can have cancer right in the omentum and you can bet it’s having a lovely time gorging itself.
Akathisia reactions are so rare that doctors don’t worry about them. I’ll bet that one of my docs two decades ago is still worrying about these reactions, however: I nearly committed suicide on a half dose of Prozac he had prescribed for pain.
When one considers the level of stress in our society, its effect on the adrenals and thus on the endocrine system, and the plethora of people sick with mysterious “auto-immune disorders”, is it really so crazy for a patient to inquire after the state of those endocrine organs?
Forget about trotting your malfeasant software into the Manufacturer’s office, or even into a medical fix-it shop. You’ll be as popular as a misfiring printer at a computer store.
It seems as if the entire society’s auto-immune system is falling down on the job. Perhaps I had just been handed another assignment as a canary in the mine. Here, strange bird: tweet this.
I turn and run out of the labyrinth, the walls shouting at me, “Take a look at platelet counts, the white blood cells! Any spleno-hepatomegaly (enlarged spleen and liver)! Radiation exposure! Copper deficiency!”
Probably my gimpy left knee was acting up from a long-ago accident which had broken the left leg at the ankle, torn up my back, crushed a shoulder and knocked me out. Who would notice a bunged-up knee in such a mess?
Okay: one, two…three! With a cry, I step out of the grave. “I am Zombie. Hear me moan. The blood I want must be my own!”