Somebody just tried to bring a duck onto the psych ward...

Geriatrics...I got a right to sing tha blues...

This month is a month of geriatric psychiatry for me. Frankly, I do not like it. It feels much like an extension of internal medicine, which I've ever-so-affectionately labeled Interminable Medicine, but its in a population that is aging, is in very bad shape, and in general it just saddens me to see people living in such a state. Shoot me please should I ever get like that. Other patients are so angry about their circumstances that they inadvertently get in the way of their own treatment. There's no sunlight where I work with the medical students--and dadgummit I need my Vitamin D!! It's not my cup of tea, and it has made me uncomfortable and feel depressed, and to be honest it's a little boring just sitting around asking people about their mood. I've much preferred consult-liaison work, where I'm constantly busy and working on high-acuity cases.




Also depressing is the situation with a recent foster pup. In July we adopted Freddie, only the best greyhound ever. We wanted two hounds, but they only send first-time adopters home with one at a time, which is fair. We became interested in a second hound, whose story broke my heart. The dog was being kept in a hoarding situation by a whippet breeder in another state, kept outside year-round. It was months before he could be put up for adoption. He came home with us, and the first few days were predictably slow. Then this dog bonded so hard and fast with me that it melted my heart. Unfortunately, the closer he bonded to me, the more hostile he became to others in the house. Given my ever-changing schedule, we cannot have a dog that doesn't respond well to everyone in the home. Which is a real shame because he could be a very sweet hound. So, there's that.


The long and short of it is I'm having a bad week, and I'm kvetching.

Oy...

Read in a nursing note: "Patient's weight today: 220lbs. Yesterday's weight:117 lbs. Patient gaining weight." ...facepalm.