June 28, 2001

• Contagiosum Idiosum

  
  Some of the fondest memories of my career in the medical field have involved the couple of years I worked in a local emergency room. Our town has about a half million (a million, if you count the surrounding areas), so the hospitals have a broad range of humanity from which to draw. I worked the “graveyard” shift (11 p.m. to 7 a.m.), and it’s my educated opinion that that’s when the best of the worst come in.
  

  Late one evening, a young couple (early 20s) came in. The woman was had excruciating pain in her abdomen, and was diagnosed and treated. The boyfriend came over to the desk. (Sidebar: Keep in mind that in this hospital (as in most), everyone wears the same color scrubs in the ER. Unless you look closely at a badge, it’s not possible to tell a doctor from an x-ray technician, or a nurse from a desk clerk.)

  
  So in this case, the boyfriend happened upon the desk clerk, a young man who happened to have already put in his two weeks’ notice, and was serving out his last day of employment at the hospital. His name was Keefe, and one of his most interesting traits was that he only possessed one facial expression… a blank stare. He could get happy, sad, mad, or entertained, but always, he had that same blank look.

  
  “Excuse me,” the boyfriend said to Keefe, in hushed tones. “My girlfriend was just diagnosed with ovarian cysts.” Keefe nodeed understandingly. “What I need to know,” he continued, “is if I can catch those from her.”

  
  Keefe leaned over, with his Look intact, and calmly explained: “The only way you can catch them from her, my friend, is if you’re doing it doggy style, and your ovaries rub up against hers.”

  The man politely thanked Keefe and left. Keefe went back to work, and the rest of us spasmed about in peals of laughter.

  I really liked Keefe.

  • 3:28 pm
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