The nurses started riding me as soon as the patient’s chart hit the “discharge” rack.

A sweet little old lady was brought in because she had a “coughing fit” in the nursing home. The nursing home said that she was still coughing after a breathing treatment, so they called 911.

For her age, she was pretty healthy. She had osteoarthritis and a little bit of dementia. But her breathing was fine.
“You’re actually discharging a 93 year old whose doctor sent her in by ambulance with shortness of breath? You go, WhiteCoat! Better hope she doesn’t get worse.”

Ahhhhh. Fear of the bad outcome … the bane of an emergency physician’s existence. “She’s fine. We x-rayed her. Her oxygen level is normal. Her breathing is normal. If she gets worse, they’ll send her back.”
Still there was a lingering doubt. What if she did get worse?

Even though the patient was 93, she was still sharp as a tack. She was talking about her favorite football team and told me that she wasn’t sure why the nurses called the ambulance to begin with.
“You can’t get upset with them for being worried about you.”
She smiled and nodded her head.

When I went in to the room to tell her that she could go back to the nursing home, her mood improved.
“You mean I’ll be home by six?” she asked me in an excited voice while staring up at the clock.
“Well, it’s already ten minutes to six, so probably not by six. Maybe by seven.”
“Oh good! I won’t miss dinner.” she said.

A pile of clothing was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. I picked them up and asked “Are these yours?”
“I can’t see,” she said, her head turned toward the other side of the room.
“These here,” I said, waving them a little.
“I can’t see.” She said again.
“Over here,” I said, holding the clothes up next to her bed. Maybe she had arthritis in her neck and couldn’t turn her head or something.
“I … can’t … SEE!” she said. Her voice had the distinct tone of annoyance.
“These!” I said firmly, walking over and holding the clothes in front of her face. I was starting to get annoyed, too. Then I noticed that her name was written on the tag inside of the shirt. “Oh, they’re yours. I see your name written on the tag.” I folded them for her and laid the clothing on the side of the bed next to her.
It was only when the nursing home van came to pick her up that I noticed she had donned dark glasses.
In the evening?
Well, Ethel had advanced macular degeneration.
They kind of missed mentioning that on her past medical history in the transfer records.

At first, I felt bad.
Then it reminded me of this Taxi episode (especially the last minute and a half).
I’m still giggling.

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