Monday morning in the ER – something to avoid, for patients and doctors alike. Studies have actually documented an increased incidence of deaths from heart attacks and strokes on Monday morning. And, no, it’s not the quality of treatment provided by hungover medical practitioners on Monday mornings! To me it seems perfectly obvious that the symbolic significance of Monday mornings and the physical and psychological demands of returning to work at the beginning of the week are to blame. No one has really proved exactly why Monday is a bad day for hearts, but it is. All I know is if it’s a bad day for hearts, it means it’s a bad day for ER’s, and you should try to avoid Monday morning in the ER at all costs.
Unfortunately, people don’t realize this… I’ve noticed the Monday morning phenomenon of well-appearing patients showing up with minor complaints and wanting work notes. They couldn’t be bothered to come during the weekend and now suddenly on Monday morning (when I’m trying to take care of all the heart-attacks and strokes mentioned above) it’s an "emergency." Then they complain when they have to wait for hours! Then there is the other Monday morning phenomenon of somewhat sick patients who were planning to go see their regular doctor first thing Monday morning, but they wake up Monday and call and can’t get an appointment, so instead they come at the ER.
Trust me, you really don’t want to come to the ER on Monday morning unless you are getting paid to do so. This past Monday I was right smack in the middle of the chaos earning every last cent of my salary. I think someone commented at one point, "Wow, I’ve never seen the chart rack BULGING like that." Turns out with enough charts in it, a metal chart rack will actually flex and bulge. Great. That’s really freakin’ amusing when you’re the physician responsible for all the patients in that rack. It was just one of those Mondays. When I finally dragged my weary ass into the house around dinnertime, I was completely wiped out from dealing with so much shit.
As I came through the door, I looked down and there was Cole waiting to greet me. In his little hand was a plunger that he had retrieved from our bathroom, as he sometimes likes to do. He looked up at me and smiled and began repeatedly thrusting the plunger in my direction as I took off my white coat. Nothing could make me forget the crap at work like this sight of my little man, ready to conquer all the shit in the world for his Mama.
Genius, Cole. Positive "plunger sign"! The mark of a truly shitty day.
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