Doctor's Orders

43. Healthy Choices

She shook her head, her eyes wide with alarm. "Be. Prepared. Must be something about the weather, with those insane, late-season thunderstorms we had, but people are ca-razy today!" 

She was right. It had been unseasonably warm since November started, with temperatures well into the 60's and 70's. When people were usually pulling out their driving gloves and parkas, it was still warm enough to go without a jacket. The past two days had also been unbearably humid, which made the perfect combination for strong to severe thunderstorms. 

"Yes!" I gasped. "There were tornado warnings in the west part of the state, from what I heard. The world has gone mad." Those kinds of storms this late in the year were a rarity. Maybe people thought the world was really coming to an end this time.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head with what looked like fear in her eyes. "But you wouldn't believe the patients I had last night."

"I can only imagine," I said, patting her back. "Go home and get some sleep."

As always, I was shoved mercilessly into the Emergency Department rush. I already had ten patients assigned to me, and more were coming in. Patients, parked on gurneys as temporary beds, lined the hallways since all the rooms were taken. I already knew that at least half of these people would probably go home with nothing more than the doctors' orders to "rest and drink plenty of fluids." We live in a world of hypochondriacs, thanks to the internet's helpful, and often inaccurate, information. But by law, we can't turn anyone away until they've been examined.

My first patient, Susan, had just arrived, so I started her intake. "What brings you in today, Susan?" My standard greeting for every patient, unless someone has an obvious injury like a bone poking out of their body. 

She seemed completely calm and lucid, saying, "I think I have Dragon Pox."

I laughed kindly and said, "I never got into Harry Potter much, but I know what those are." She just looked at me with a seriousness in her eyes that threw me off. "So, can you tell me what's going on?" 

"Look at this!" She said, thrusting her arm out towards me. "I'm sure it's Dragon Pox."

"Okay, well, let me make a few notes in the computer and then I'll have a closer look, all right?" She was still regarding me with a serious face. "First, can you please verify your first and last name for me?"

"Susan Denise Atkins," she said, sharpening her gaze. Great, I thought. She thinks she's a serial killer.

"All right, Susan, and your date of birth?" 

"September 29, the year 840 AD."

I closed my eyes, trying not to lose my patience. I knew it wasn't her fault, but it was frustrating to try to play detective with a schizophrenic. "Do you have any ID?" I asked calmly.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I gave it to Harry for safe keeping."

"Harry?" I questioned, confused for just a moment.

"Harry Potter, of course. Aren't you paying attention?"

Oh, right.

I pulled on my exam gloves and had a closer look at the rash, which was most prevalent in the creases of her elbows, under her armpits, and around her neck. Heat rash. I was sure of it, but of course, I couldn't make the diagnosis. "It's been pretty warm lately," I commented. "Have you been staying cool enough?" 

"Oh, heavens no," she said with a look of fright. "I keep the temperature set at 85 degrees, year-round."

"That's too warm, hon."