All my electronics are misbehaving. First, my pager doesn't seem to be working very reliably. Unfortunate my night on call, though luckily I was carrying two other pagers and a hospital phone on me. Next, my $3 Duane Reade calculator seems to have finally given out. Never again will it perform an insanely simple calculation that I was too lazy to do in my head. (Yes, five multiplied by ten is fifty.) Finally, every single printer on wards seems to be broken or out of toner, and every computer I touch seems to freeze or require some manner of tech support. I would suggest keeping your children far away from me. Especially if your children are ROBOTS.
I was in an extreme state of fatigue all day yesterday, because the dog inexplicably decided to pee on our bed overnight, and I woke up at 1am to a very large wet patch at my feet, soaking through the comforter (that somehow is the grossest part, THROUGH THE COMFORTER) into the mattress. It's a testament to my powers of self-delusion that even though it was totally obvious what had transpired, I kept trying to convince myself that maybe Joe had spilled a glass of water at the foot of the bed prior to going to bed, and didn't tell me because he didn't want to wake me up. And that maybe Joe liked drinking water with urea in it.
I tried to continue sleeping, rearranging my legs so that they straddled the wet patch, but every time I moved, my feet touch it and I would get all annoyed and starting thinking about strategies for mattress cleansing and suchlike. Finally, at 3am, I gave up and moved to the guest room to sleep the remaining hour and a half on a mattress that, you know, wasn't soaking with dog urine. I also decreed the next morning that the dog no longer sleeps with us at night. Her spending the nights with us was never my idea to begin with, because she keeps us up occasionally what with her whining and toenails clacking on the floor and spontaneous growling at mysterious things out the window. I have rhabdomyolysis from her 80-pound bulk sleeping across my legs. And now with the peeing. She's in the dog house. Sometimes she picks up UTIs or chemical urethritis (I speculate) after spending time at the Dog Spa, since they hose down every surface of the place with bleach--but come on now. At least be incontinent on the floor.
So this was not the ideal night's rest to have prior to my call last night. I could barely concentrate on rounds, so I had to ask people to repeat things constantly, and I'm sure that my interns were going to kill me.
The patient was afebrile overnight, taking good POs.
Yes, but did he have a fever? And was he taking good POs?
Nonetheless, despite my bad head-state and pan-electronic malfunction, we had a reasonably good call night. One call down, six more to go.
Currently reading: "Bridget Jones's Diary." I love the British slang.