Hope springs eternal

It puts the patients in the rooms. It sets up office procedures and it schedules surgeries. It stocks the rooms and orders supplies. It is punctual, polite, neat and tidy. It does not steal my prescription pad or get caught humping anyone in the lab after hours.

I will learn it's name and begin making eye contact with it after it has perfect attendance for three to four days.

Then she'll gain my trust, steal the money, sell the drugs and run off with Dr. Ginger. Or maybe Dr. P.A; that'd at least save me having to get her a wedding gift.

Stupid Valentine's Day

Or Valentimes, as Mr. Bunker calls it; even the kids find this annoying. This year he managed to barf up another dress for me by my favorite granny knitwear designer. He got the size right this time, now I just have to wait about 50 years while my dowager hump fills out.

Now for the bad news. My long-term life plan has been cruelly kicked in the nether regions by the ridiculous Dr. P.A. , all as part of some stupid Valentines stunt. ENGAGED!! She's become engaged. fool.

She might have been drunk I guess, but still! I guess she envies my connubial bliss, but who wouldn't, really?

I was counting on her to be my crazy cat lady life partner after Mr. Bunker gets the boot. I figured we would grow old together in our outdated designer clothing and ratty fur coats. We'd drink whiskey & smoke camels all day long. But nooo, she's running off with some tool she's only known for 7 years! Sure he seems like a decent enough guy and he did come up with an acceptable Christmas present, but why rush in to something like this? Who even knows what he could be hiding? He may have a whole secret storage unit full of dead bodies or worse, broken lamps, random items from the clearance table and a giant collection of pez dispensers. This is madness! Marry in haste, repent in leisure, that's what I always say (as I leisurely repent).

She's even already been married once, and I'm of the mind that if one wishes for some new china and towels, one ought just to boost some money from of the kid's college fund, no need for all the pageantry.

The first marriage was quite brief, and the wedding was probably fairly inexpensive, it usually is if nobody is of drinking age. If you're thinking "shotgun" well you're just all wrong because they are not shotgun people at all. I'm guessing that they're more likely large caliber handgun or rifle type folks. So even though that coupling wasn't without its flaws, isn't once enough? She got a superb child out of the deal and.....wait a minute. Maybe it's happened again! One in the oven?? Never considered that angle.

Anyway Dr. P.A., since you liked the understated elegance of this gown when I posted a picture of it some time ago, I guess you can wear it. I was thinking I was going to wear it to the auto show, but it's all yours. See, even when I'm crushed I'm thinking about the happiness of others. I can't help it, that's just the way I am.

Back to the GD inbox

That's a picture of my lovely child looking angelic during her turn as Mary in the Christmas pagent. I had to put her picture up first because the rest of this post is going to be a bit of a tirade. So take a moment, gaze upon the unsullied beauty of this sweet countenance and know that she is a normal, well adjusted child (even if her short story was entitled "The Throw-up"), and know that she likes me. For now, anyway.
Moving onward to the things that are irking me today:
That gentleman is NOT sitting on the commode in my office. Granted my office is not perfect, but it's not a complete dump; we do have indoor heat and plumbing, a splendid location, and we are somewhat flexible with the staff (they do whatever they want) who all manage to work well together. So, WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I FIND A MEDICAL ASSISTANT?? The pay is competitive, the facility is too small but decent nonetheless, and I'm losing track of the "seemingly perfect" MA's that don't manage to actually show up for work. This is annoying, and Dr. Ginger is going to be licensed pretty soon which means he won't want to tolerate being called "Mr. Bitch" or "cupcake" by me & Dr. P.A. forever.

Our last offer proffered proceeded to the point of acceptance by the candidate. A start date was agreed upon, then before that date arrived she called the office to let us know exactly which of the duties outlined during the interview she would not be able to perform. Do I need a new hire coming in telling me what she won't do? Oh, nay hussy. Seems that she answers to a higher calling which would prevent her from doing anything but direct patient care, aka, no paperwork; she is after all working on her nursing degree and we all know they don't have to do any paperwork, right?

I din't have the time or inclination to explain to her that there really is no ladder to climb to success, but rather a mountain of paperwork to scale. So she's busted back to her crappy $11.00/hour job where she can focus on patient care.

This exhausts our pool our pool of applicants about whom we have solid references, now it's time to turn to the nearly 300 resumes kicked into my in-box from our online ad. This means basically that my inbox is stuffed with resumes from more psychology and criminal justice majors than you could shake a stick at. Dang.

blog note: I fixed the comment thing so you can get back to your catty comments, P.A./anon

Big Nights Out on the Town

Dalliance #1:

My very HOT construction-worker patient is an avid triathlete. He kept bugging me to go for a run with him after his surgical recovery was complete, and I waffled and whined & he kept bugging me.

Finally (because I'm such a dignified mature adult) I told him that if he'd wear a fluffy pink skirt & high heels into the office that I would acquiesce.

I think his wife was more annoyed about him wrecking her shoes than his determination to get me out for a run; seemed like a bit of harmless fun (unless he fell on his surgical site, then the fucker'd probably sue me) so I went, had a few fleeting dirty thoughts, but I don't think I'll go to hell for it.

Dalliance #2:

My Gouty Romeo. EVERY YEAR for the past 8 or so the horny old goat tells me that he's probably going to die soon, this could be his last birthday and all he wants is for me to dine with him, so he can treat me like the divine goddess that I am. OK, I made the last bit up, but you get the picture. Old men and little boys are always trying to play on your sympathies to cop free feels.

Fortunately there is a restaurant on the first floor of my office building, so I can say "OK Mr. G, we can have a quick birthday drink & a snack, but Mr. Bunker is a very jealous man, so I must not do anything outrageous like put on Lycra tights and run along the lakefront with you."

I had the obligatory birthday drink, tried to make a clean escape, then he insisted that we share a cab and then tried to lay one on me in the cab. Ewwww. I don't want him to die or anything, but I think I've celebrated enough birthdays with Mr. G.

And the Really Big Night Out:

A dinner/lecture on proper coding for durable medical equipment!! Even though I was in the electrifying company of Drs. P.A. and Ginger, I still almost crashed face first into my salad. Even though our esteemed speaker has discovered some kind of soul soothing peace through proper dispensing and coding of various compression garments, his enthusiasm was not contagious enough to keep me upright & alert.

In the midst of my scandalous behavior, we have managed to hire a (seemingly perfect) medical assistant and almost commit to our new office space, about which I'm so completely excited that prolonged discussion may cause bouts of incontinence. THRILLED!