Mr. Tuesday
"So Mr. Tuesday, what brings you to my ward today?" I asked with Smile #3 on my face - bland and polite, perfect for annoying patients.
Mr. Tuesday (Data Protection Act principles prevent me from using his real name) almost always comes in on a Tuesday afternoon and always when it's slow. "Almost" because he first presented to Accident and Emergency on a Thursday morning with a seven centimeter laceration on the ulnar side of his forearm. That was the first time he inquired if I was free Friday night. It is completely unfair that because Mr. Tuesday and I are both male, the nurses have ignored me every time I note in his chart that I refuse to see him. The nurses say male doctors don't get sexually harassed, and of course a male patient wouldn't be sexually harassing a male doctor. Oddly, their homophobic attitudes only appear when assigning me Mr. Tuesday.
Since his first visit, he's come in every Tuesday when it's slow between noon and midnight with some complaint that's either very vague or requires him to take off his clothing to show me the newest rash or lesion. He's pretty shameless. It took me a while -- six weeks -- before I realized that he is proficient at moulage. I should have noticed earlier, but moulage is designed to be realistic in order to train emergency personnel and health-care workers. The ruler I used to measure his erythema migrans, pathognomonic for Lyme disease, smudging aforementioned rash clued me in.
I really should have guessed earlier when he always presented with textbook-perfect rashes and lesions. No patient shows up in the exam room with the textbook picture and the multiple choice question written in sharpie on his chest. The multiple choice question was two visits after the erythema migrans and choice D was "Clearly patient is being too subtle" while choice E read "Will you go on a date with me?" I wasn't my best at that visit; I left the exam room, grabbed another sharpie and scribbled a big "NO" on his chest before sending him away.
It's not like Mr. Tuesday isn't cute. He is actually my type -- a little bit shorter than me, totally cuddle-able and rather funny. Definitely attracted to me is also a big plus, as is persistence and patience. I have a bad habit of getting absorbed in work and forgetting my non-A&E life, which ended my last two relationships. Sadly, "Thou shalt not date thy patient" is the third commandment at Axtley's Accident and Emergency. It comes after "Thou shalt not say "Bugger" in front of patients" and "Thou shalt not kill thy patients."
"Well, doc," fake-cough, fake-cough, "I got this nasty cough. I think you should auscultate my lungs." And then he took off his shirt. Somehow he makes everything sound like innuendo.
I sighed and took out my stethoscope to listen to his lungs. A&E wasn't busy, so it was either practice lung auscultations or do that supposedly necessary evil pretending to be paperwork. Even if I assisted in teaching the Foundation doctors as the Speciality Registrar in our firm, I'm pretty sure the Senior Consultant is supposed to be putting in the supply requisitions, not me.
"Your lungs are clear to auscultation. If you want a second opinion, I suggest you follow up with Dr. K. She's very good."
"Aw c'mon Doc, another shrink?" That was another odd thing about Mr. Tuesday; not only was he quite fluent in medical jargon, he knew almost every doctor at Axtley Hospital. I'd started suggesting referrals to psych six visits ago, but he'd recognized each name and identified them as "shrinks". He denied previous psychiatric history, and I'd subtly asked the psych department, who also denied having ever had him as a patient.
"Don't my bilateral rales merit Dr. H?" Dr. H was the Clinical Director of Respiratory Medicine.
Before I could respond, Nurse Jones knocked and entered the room. "Huge pile-up on the motorway; we need all hands on deck," she said.
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to wait," I declared with Smile #5 - expressing false sympathy while being obviously happy.
As I left the room, I heard Nurse Jones saying, "All hands Tuesday, get your shirt on."
To my surprise, Mr. Tuesday followed Nurse Jones out of the room while buttoning his shirt. Once his shirt was buttoned, he ran out the entrance, so I pushed this mystery out of my mind in favor of triaging our new arrivals.
Four patients later, I noticed that the EMT inserting an i.v. line into the patient's arm wasn't wearing the navy blue Axtley EMT uniform with lots of pockets and dangling scissors. Instead, the EMT was wearing a light blue button down shirt and khaki pants. Mr. Tuesday was inserting the i.v..
"Hey Doc -- You listening? 'Coz you've been saying "Not a patient" over and over and haven't looked away from my shirt since Charlie started telling you her stats."
I jerked my gaze up from his shirt to his face. I'm sure my blush could have powered a thousand suns. I hastily redirected my attention to EMT Charles. "I'm listening. Can you start again?" I asked, frazzled.
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After the crisis was over and the patients had been stabilized and admitted or discharged as appropriate, I sat to take a breather and found Mr. Tuesday standing over me again.
"Hey Doc, I hear you get off at midnight. What you doing tonight?" he asked with a confident smile. Jones was giggling at the nurse's station with two other junior nurses. They were all watching avidly. It was a bit creepy.
Since Mr. Tuesday wasn't a patient, I took a risk and decided to end four months of the most bizarre courtship I'd ever witnessed. "Well," I took a deep calming breath and continued, "I was thinking of going to the 24-hour diner down the street and eating with this cute EMT. You might know him; he comes and harasses this overworked A&E Speciality Registrar every Tuesday afternoon."
He laughed. "Yeah, if I ever see that lucky bloke, I'll pass the word on." Then he put his hands on the chair's armrests and leaned closer. "But I think I'd rather not tell that other bloke and show up myself instead." And then he leaned in even closer and snogged me to the cheers of the creepy voyeurs, I mean the nursing staff.