11 November 2009

We've been passing around recipes at work faster than a two dollar hooker passes around the clap (nice image!), and last night I made "40 Cloves and a Chicken." You cut up a whole chicken, (which is a nightmare for me because it sounds like an episiotomy. Or an episiotomy sounds like cutting up chicken...whatever, it's foul. Heh. Foul. Heh.), then you bake it in the oven with thyme, olive oil and 40 cloves of unmolested garlic. If you hassle the garlic, it releases the essential oils and becomes strong enough to lift a car off a baby, but it you gently peel it and then roast it, it is delightful. I wasn't really hungry last night, so I didn't want any of the chicken or anything else I made for the boys, but I did eat 38 cloves of roasted garlic. I will never have a cholesterol problem again.

Got a phone call from a patient who said she was contracting and her cervix felt different, "like I can get a finger in it, where before I couldn't." What the hell? I told her to lay down, drink some water, and keep her fingers out of her vagina...she's gonna cause problems. Then she informed me that her husband first noticed it while they were having sex...la,la,la,la,la,la,la......keep HIS fingers out of your vagina then; I don't need these kinds of phone calls! And where the hell was my charge nurse; she's supposed to field this crap! It's one of the reasons I don't do that damn job anymore. Like the phone call in the middle of the night that started, "Hi, I just got off my husband..." Really, lady, stop. I don't think I want want to hear anymore. But she went on and then I was sure I didn't want to hear anymore.

Had a patient in triage today with a maternity shirt that read, "Maybe NOW he'll marry me." Huh. Well, honey,....huh.

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