No, really, back off!

Me: frantically trying to figure out the mismatch between a patient and a case booking last weekend. Same patient name, just reversed, same birthday.

You: standing very very close to my left shoulder pointing out the obvious ‘This is not our patient’

Me: on phone with ED, trying to solve the problem ‘I’m working on it’

You:  who knows NOTHING about how to schedule cases or where to find patients in the computer ‘Why is this wrong?’

Me: ‘I’m working on it’

You: leaning closer, pointing your finger at the top of the screen. ‘look the sex is even wrong’

Me: leaning away from you, still frantically typing, aware of the patient, their mom, their dad, the anesthesiologist, the trainee nurse all staring at the confrontation ‘I’m working on it’

Me: what I didn’t say, at this company we do not point out what seems to be obvious differences in sex listing in the computer, didn’t you pay attention to the lgbtq presentations that have been going on for the last six months. Maybe they are in transition and don’t need to have it pointed out to a room of strangers. Oh, that’s right, you’re a bigot.

You: edging closer yet. ‘Is it fixed yet?’

Me: turning my head and whispering, sotto voce, ‘Please back away. I would like room to work.’

Me: looking at anesthesiologist, ‘Dr, I’m afraid I’ve had to repost the case and you have to re do your pre-op note.’

You: tsking ‘You’re always so disrespectful. You always have been.’ Loudly, so the family and the patient and the rest of the whole room can hear.

Me: hunching my shoulders, finally getting the case reposted and beginning the pre-op checklist.

You: FINALLY backing away so I can work. Sorting out the lines so you can whisk the patient away to the operating room. Without waiting for me to tell you that I have completed the check list and they are ready to go back.

You: Finally acknowledging the patient and doing the time out without me.

Me: what I do not say, ‘My God, really! In front of the patients and the rest of the staff.’

You: taking the patient through to the OR.

Me: smiling at the mom and telling her to come with me.

I walk her to the waiting room, explain the phones on the desk, explain that she will need to answer the phone when it rings, explain that we will take excellent care of her child and to expect a call soon. I explain to her, briefly, that the problem with the computer was that the case had been booked under another patient, who had a very similar name but that our focus was on her child and fixing the problem so the child could go home.

Me: not speaking to the CRNA for the rest of the night.

Me: rejoicing that the CRNA’s last day in my OR will be ten days from now. I can do anything for ten days.

Me: mentally planning the Ding Dong, Thank God She’s Gone party I will be throwing after her last day.