Geri Invasion

I have a soft spot in my heart for little old folks. Perhaps they remind me of my own grandmothers. Perhaps they remind me of the fragility of the human body and the need to care for one's elders. Maybe I like them because, even though I have to yell sometimes or repeat things like "CAN I LISTEN TO YOUR HEART, MR. ALBERTSON?" multiple times, the elderly folks I meet in the hospital are nice to me. They are polite. I feel like I can squeeze their hands in an attempt at reassurance, and they may actually be reassured. I can chat with them about their pretty pink nail polish. Sometimes I can trick them into thinking that i know something. They often call me doctor.

I admitted a guy a few days ago who, when I asked him whether or not he drinks alochol, launched into a detailed acount of leaving Germany in the 1930's to escape the Nazi's. The Nazi's! This man lived through all of that, and now I am talking to him in his adjustable hospital bed, surrounded by IV lines and beeping monitors, in this modern, hectic hospital. Medicine usually doesn't have time for stories about Nazi's. I think my team was frustrated with me for not interrupting and getting a quick answer to my question. But seriously. He's lived through so much; the least I can do is listen to his stories for 2 minutes before scurrying away with my clipboard and list of orders.

My team has been indundated recently by a wave of geriatric patients. A "geri invasion" as my resident said. In general old folks are more complicated, more medicated, and much more work, but they are fun to work with. Most of them.

But working with the elderly means confronting death, or atleast the thought of it, on a daily basis. I have been a part of 2 conversations in the past 2 days with patients who have an estimated 6 to 12 months of life remaining. And both were content, satisfied with their lives, excited about the thought of joining loved ones. I know it could never be that easy for me.

Question for the day: part 1: When will it stop raining? part 2: Why did that lady crash into my brake light with her car? And why did I only tell her it would cost me $20 to fix? I should have gone for atleast $25.