Last night we finished a series at Flatiron’s Community Church entitled “Flatirons Ink: Marked.” Essentially it was the story of Jonah and the whale, and the overall theme was that we have all been “marked” by the things that have happened to us in our lives. The analogy used was that we have been” inked” or “tattooed” by those experiences, and despite what “tattoos” someone has, it is not our place to judge them. Those of you who know me personally, know that I am not short of tattoos. I don’t know when or where , but somewhere along the way I lost count, and now some of my tattoos have started to merge with others. For me the tattoos are my story. Each one represents something.
Despite the take-away from this series of “not judging,” in the medical field you sometimes use previous experience to, for lack of a better term, “judge” your patients. So was the case last night. A 41 year-old male presents to the ER for the fourth time this week with multiple complaints. He has reportedly fallen multiple times, has debilitating back pain, and can’t “think straight.” When I arrive at his bed side to obtain a history before his cat scan, I almost immediately categorize him as a drug seeker. He is has a glassy eyes, is somewhat unkept, and before I have a chance to introduce myself, he begins complaining about his pain. He is unable to give me an accurate history, but I start rolling him down the hall towards cat scan. There is a small bump where the vinyl flooring of the ER meets the carpet of the hallway that leads to Medical Imaging. As I push the gurney across this threshold, the patient is jolted ever so slightly, and begins “writhing in pain.” 
It takes me about 15 minutes to get the patient onto the CT table because: 1) He is not alert and oriented, 2) is complaining about all his pain, and 3) is over-dramatically wincing and flinching with each minor movement. This patient is well-built and is sporting what appear to be “prison tats”, and I can’t help but think, “Dude, you are being such a douchebag for someone who at least looks like he should be tough.” I keep my comments to myself. I finish the exam and return him to his room in the ER…
Fast-forward an hour or so…
I get a call requesting that I come to the ER to help control a combative patient in the ER. As I walk through the double doors of the ER, I see security standing outside of the room of my friend the douchebag. Security tells me that the patient is mad because he wants to leave, but is loaded up on narcotics and we won’t let him drive home. He has a ride on the way. About two minutes pass, and my patient (who an hour ago would barely move for me) jumps up out of his stretcher, and announces angrily, “My ride is here.” He proceeds to strut down the hall at a rapid pace with no signs of pain or impairment. Security and I follow the man to the parking lot where his “friend/1st ex-wife that he is still ‘close’ with” are waiting in a rusty 1990’s Ford Taurus. The patient, unable to open the passenger door, and in true Joe Dirt fashion, easily jumps up and slides feet first into the vehicle through the open passenger side window. They leave skid marks as they peel out of the Emergency Room parking lot…
I wish this story had ended with the patient actually having a real problem, and me learning a lesson about being judgemental. It doesn’t always work out that way. So in the words of Kanye West “Let’s have a toast for the douchebags.”
Check out Flatirons Community Church…last night’s opening “hymn” was ACDC “Thunderstruck.” I kid you not…Check it out… http://www.flatironschurch.com/
Rammin' the Clam... 