Insulin for breakfast

I was ambushed in the hallway not ten paces from the door. I had slipped in the ambulance entrance because that’s the most likely way to get into the building and to my office without being seen. Of course, I wasn’t likely to succeed because my office faces the giant glassed-in fish bowl that’s the nurses’ station, but it was still worth a try.As this was going to be my first day seeing patients again, I wanted a slow start. I was, well, nervous. Nervous that I’d forget something important. Nervous that I’d make a mistake. Not confident that I can function in my clinical role, once again, I have not packed lunch.I was supposed to have half an hour to get my bearings, and do a through chart review on the two patients I was to see this morning. I normally do a brief chart review anyway, but I’d been gone so long that who knows what might have happened in my absence. Plus, I simply needed to remember who the hell these people were in the first place. Last week, when I peered ahead at my schedule, some of the names were unfamiliar to me. I called up their records to see their faces and strangers starred back at me from their driver’s license-like mug shots on the computer. Yet below the mug shots were notes, apparently written by me, documenting visit after visit after visit after visit. Clearly these people were my patients and many of them, it appeared, I had worked with for years. But both the visits and the people themselves were missing from my memory. They w...

Source: LifeAfterDx--The Guardian Chronicles - February 13, 2014 Category: Diabetes Authors: Wil Source Type: blogs