One night earlier this summer, as I slept soundly post-call, I was awakened by the following, somewhat urgent, crescendo whisper / hiss outside of my bedroom door, "Dr. Hughes ... Dr. Hughes ... Dr. HUGHES ... are you awake?"
I stumbled to the door and opened it. "Yes, Ramona?" I replied, rubbing my face.
"I'm bleeding! Come look!"
I followed her in to the bathroom to find her left knee scraped and dribbling blood, her left elbow, gingerly frozen at a 120-degree angle.
"What happened?" I asked, a bit more awake.
She proceeded to explain that following a huge kickball win, she jumped in the air in celebration and landed on a curb, tumbling off to her side. Nearby skateboarding youth rushed over to assist, but she soon was up and hobbling home but now a bit concerned as to what she should do.
I squinted my eyes at her knee. "Wash it up. I'm sure it'll be fine," I said. "Now bend your elbow ... does it hurt?" I asked, completing the briefest of exams in my stupor. My parting words before crawling back in bed were something along the lines of ice it, rest it, and go to bed.
The next evening, Ramona reported that she did as I said and iced her elbow at work. When her boss, a lawyer and a nurse, walked by and asked what she was doing with the ice, Ramona told her the entire story and that she had already been to see a doctor.
"Really?" her boss asked. "Who did you see?"
"My roommate's a resident ..."
"Well, did she tell you take ibuprofen?"
"No ..."
"Ramona!" she laughed. "Take ibuprofen whenever you have an injury like this ... and next time, call a nurse!"
So, naturally, whenever Ramona has a medical question for me these days, I never forget to remind her of one important aspect of her treatment. And, in fact, it's the first thing I mention ...
"Ramona," I say, "Don't forget your ibuprofen!"
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