One of Those Days
Every once in a while I am on my "A" game and can recall distant facts and functions of muscles and innervations that I learned way back in anatomy class as well as what my mother taught me growing up. Then there is today. I knocked on the door, introduced myself and immediately called the patient by the wrong name. I mumbled an apology about how I try and keep Smith and Jones separated in my head but she was not convinced.
While pushing the wheelchair toward the door, I proceeded to knock over a full pitcher of water. Mrs. Somethingoranother looked back at the racket I was making and said, "You're going to clean that up, aren't you?" As I "Yes ma'amed" out of the room to get some towels I could feel the penetrating gaze going through my premature bald spot. I flashed back to third grade where the teacher would give you the look and have you stick your hand out so it can be slapped by a ruler. (Yes, corporal punishment was legal back then and I received my share of it at McGogney Elementary School in Washington, DC).
After cleaning up my mess, we strolled over to the rehab gym with the patient telling me that I was going too fast and I seemed to find every bump on the linoleum floor. Then the "why" questions began. Usually I like answering questions but I am sweating and feeling uncomfortable because someone decided to crank up the heat in the gym to a toasty 78 degrees and these questions are grating on my nerves. Then I forget what that big muscle is called on the front of your leg. Heck, I think I simply forgot anatomy class altogether. I couldn't tell you the difference between a triceratops and a triceps at this point in my treatment. I was doomed.
After fumbling more with muscle names and reasons why we do certain exercises, I finally got the patient back to her room and she actually thanked me for such an enjoyable time. I stepped out of her room and immediately "Tebowed."