Your girl-receptionist loves you. Your receptionist marched right into Stanford Lab and said "Camille was here! Where is the report!" And the woman at the desk, with rolls all along the side of her body that looked liked they were swimming, picked up the requisition form on the fax machine and said "She's right here," And I wanted to say "I knew it!" with my finger pointed up firmly or something but I didn't I just said "oh good." She said it would be done in 2 hours. Then two hours later on the dot the fax machine rang, and I knew it was coming, and I stood there, and then the fax machine said "error. Fax failed." I knew it was Stanford Lab and that they messed-up. The phone rang. I watched the fax machine hoping they would resend it. But they did not. It was 4 o'clock. The woman on the phone was telling me about her period that came midmonth. "What color is it?" I asked. Then Camille comes in the office looking queesy, "is it here?" She had left a message on the machine but all day I was talking to women about their periods. Just about all our patients were bleeding, at mid month or end month. "How is your flo?" I investigate. Camille is standing here now. I tell her "It's on the way!" (go home, I'm thinking, and Let the girl receptionist do her job.) No more impatience! This is a one-girl receptionist job. No more Mrs. Nice girl Receptionist.
Where is that Stat? I'll get that stat!
See girl receptionist work the fax-stanford lab-antiobiotic-kidney-lauden pharmacy- lisence #ND76, the e-coli or not to e-coli traffic jam.
I called them at another hospital in Stanford where Camille's urine had found its way. "Send it again!" I clarified. The report flew in, it was right there, those Squamous cells. Haho, and twentyfive minutes later the antiobiotics were ordered (500 mg 2x day.
As girl-receptionist, let me testify! I am emboldened by the brave things we girls must do to keep our body parts in check, (the burning, the cramping and all the world up there!)
My dear Whoa-mans sing "The Uterus, the Cervix, the Urethra, Oh My!).
The days we count--we get to 28 and we have to start over, or the things we have to stick-up there to clean house, or the times we have to pee in a cup (my dear Camille), and sometimes we have to smell our panties to check our Myrrh.
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3 comments:
its so hard to be trusting when the angry iron drivers are pounding railroad spikes into your tender, vulnerable back bits. when the flaming vertebrae are refusing to stack up in a tidy column because of the explosions that are happening in the neighborhood, when every one seems to be say no, or later, or be patient, or, i have no idea what you are talking about, or standing in between me and my fucking antibiotics with their big stinking humvees.
so thank you for putting up with my pesky questions and hovering presence in the waiting room and being the great one-girl-receptionista, with the flying arms and the finger on redial, and for finding my pee and calling in everything! I am grateful, for all the things that were going on out of my ken and all the heroic hunting, fighting, redtape waving miracles. you are an amazing and calm an oasis in this crazy american beaurocraticchthonic pergatory.
ok, friends, I have to comment. I was reading camille's blog and I can only say that between M*ster and C*ster I am laughing so stinking hard right now. Your eloquence and description is like dessert after today's bland meal. Really, not to minimize the pain, but I almost peed myself. I held back as not to be insensitive to your situation Camille. Really, I do understand. I had a bit of ecoli just last June. And go figure, my doc says, "now that's strange...this is something that girls usually get..." scratching his head while tilting it slightly... I am posting here, cause Camille must grant me access or something, I cannot post on 327 for some reason...is it because i neglected to link you to me???? It is true, I am sorry and now turn from my wickedness and hopefully I can comment one day on 327. Molly, help me out will you?
ecoli do not differentiate, they just like to attack, the pirates! Thank you for laughing at the shleew of events!
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