Spocks Apgars

Its 2239 and Amanda is having a little Spock. Apparently in the future Obstetricians have been replaced by Asian nail technicians. Obama thought he had it tough, imagine going to a tough inner city school with pointy ears and a love for logic and science. Well at least hes got that Vulcan Nerve Pinch thing he can pull out if things get too hairy. And Dr. Peel, I know she doesn't have oxygen on, there's no fetal monitoring, and Nurse T'Ping isn't wearing appropriate personal protective gear, but its 231 years in the future, they're smarter than us.

The Basics of Photography

From: The Basics Of Photography by Chris Haslego

Photography captures a moment in time. It is a creative process as much as painting or writing and has the power to communicate the meaning of a scene or event. Photography is simple to learn yet at the same time challenging to execute. Learning the finer nuances of photography is based on three key aspects - Light, aesthetics and focus. Understanding these three aspects forms the basis of expressing yourself effectively through photography.

War Stories

You know the coolest thing about Europe? Its the little differences. I mean they got the same shit there we got here, its just there its a little different. Example? in Italy you don't dial 9-1-1, you dial 1-1-9. September 11th would have been January 19th if Al Kaida had attacked Rome.

I didn't come under sniper fire during my service in Northern Italy protecting America from the Bosnian hordes, did have a pretty nasty bike wreck on that mountain in the background, and that's me in the backseat of the hornet, taking pics like a little girl. My colleague at the little tent clinic was a real prick, serving out his last few months till he began a prestigious ER residency. The residency was just a formality, as he already was an expert on everything. Having arrived in Italy a few days before him, I was in charge of the clinic, hard to believe, but that's the way the military does things. Anyway for some reason the clinic had accumulated a large number of mercury thermometers, left by previous units and it was now my job to dispose of them. Using my leadership skills, I delegated the task to my corpsman.(to those of you whose military experience is limited to MASH, corpsmen are the Navy's version of Radar O'riley and Corporal Klinger). Soon enough the gaggle of thermometers was gone, I didn't ask and he didn't tell. He did however, have a marble sized Mercury globule, that he delighted in playing with terminator style. Dr.ER had a cow when he realized that he was practicing in the vicinity of a toxic metal. "Get rid of it!! " he shrieked. In one fluid motion, like Larry Bird dishing off a no-look pass, Radar scooped up the mercury and swallowed it. A hush fell over the room. I'd never seen anyone swallow that much mercury before, what would happen? I mean there's a reason we're getting rid of the thermometers, right? Anyway, Radar didn't die, and is currently working in Northern New Jersey in waste management. When no one was looking I sneaked a peek in the toxicology book. Turns out elemental mercury is non toxic.

Cyanide and Hydrofluoric Acid Free Zone

I was at my local gym today and was just pleased as a pig in slop that it had been declared a 'tobacco free zone'. I thought that this was a capital idea, so I am one-upping them by declaring M.D.O.D. a cyanide and hydrofluoric acid free zone (effective immediately). I have created an administrative post (with pay) that I have nominated myself for and hereby accept. I am asking for the help of Dr. Deborah Peel with authoring a charter and constitution that we will enact in the near future. We are actively seeking administrative staff to administer the administrative paperwork (which will be produced in great volumes). Posters beware, cyanide and hydrofluoric acid will not be tolerated here and may subject you to sanctions which could be quite uncomfortable. Eventually we will involve the United Nations so check yo'self befo' you wreck yo'self.

Monoarticular Pedal Crucifixion

I enjoyed this patient on Easter Sunday. He accidently nailed his tennis shoe to his foot with a nail gun. I thought it would have been more appropriate for a Good Friday patient.

My partner had a successful defibrillation on Easter...so I figured he could claim the true resurrection for the day.

Not Doing Primary Care Is Like Living In Margaritaville

Every day for this guy is like living in a perpetual Jimmy Buffet song. I wake up every day excited about going to my specialty clinic, seeing about 20 interesting patients, finishing my dictations, then heading home by 5:30pm to relax with my wife and kids...or go for a long trail run...or go fly fishing, or get to my kid's after-school events.

Notice, I omitted the several hours at the end of a long clinic day that I used to spend thinking it would be less painful to gouge my eyeballs out than to sign endless prescription refills, notes from specialists who have consulted on my patients, disability forms for people who don't really deserve disability benefits, forms for diabetic shoes, electric scooters, walkers, canes, prior-authorizations for drugs, FMLA forms, and nursing home orders. Of course, most of these forms require rumaging through the patient's chart for a few minutes to confirm diagnoses, last vist dates, current medications, blah, blah, BLAH! When that's all done after seeing 25-30 primary care patients a day (5 of whom typically break down crying in front of you), you get to sit down and call the 10 or so patients who demand your call before you get to head home to your family. When you get home at 7pm - 8pm, you get to answer your pager all night from patients who think they just might die by morning if they don't interrupt your dinner and bedtime with your wife and kids. Then, every two weeks you collect a check which is, in general, the lowest pay in the medical field. This is the life of the primary care provider.

My life went from that described above to...well...I call it Margaritaville.

Three years ago I left my primary care internal medicine job to join an academic specialty clinic. Now I know how Edison felt when the light bulb went on. Wait, you mean I actually get a raise, get to see fewer patients each day, and I don't have to do any primary care grunt work? Is this a joke? Come to office, see patients, go home? Where's the hidden camera? What's the catch? Are you going to make me vote for Hillary? Are you going to force me to be a card-carrying member of the ACLU? I don't get it.

People, please appreciate those that do the grunt work on the front lines all day, every day, for the lowest pay in our wonderful profession. I appreciate the fact that I don't have to do it anymore - and I have the utmost respect for them. I just happen to now thank God every day that I don't have to do it. And, while they are filling out endless forms, refiling prescriptions, and calling patients back from 5 pm to 7 pm every night, I get out my margarita mix and tequila, throw some ice in the blender, put my feet up, and mix up a margarita that Jose Cuervo himself would be proud of (off ivory tower grounds and on my own time, of course)

The whistle blows at my clinic now at 5:30 pm every day...a place I now refer to as 'Margaritaville'.

Uh Grate Pashent

I disguised the title to please the HIPAA Nazi lady. Sorry I've been gone for a while. We were on Spring Break and had no internet access in the mountains of Arkansas.

I came back to town to see a great guy. Mr. Denny Abernathy from 3488 Wilder Road in Missoula, Montana (Social Number 654-90-7743) came to my ER on my first day back from vacation. His complaint was: "yesterday, I was pissin' blood and blood clots".

"Were you having any pain?" I asked. "Naw" he responded.

I asked "How much blood did you have in your urine?" He paused a moment, then reached into his bag and dug out a digital camera. He began to review the photos and proceeded to show me 6 pics of a toilet with dark bloody water and blood clots along the bowl. He had several angles covered. It was very artistic.

"Wow" I exclaimed, "You've got enough photos to start a scrapbook!". He looked thoughtful at this statement. "Have you had any blood in your urine today?" I asked.

"No, it was yaller this mornin'" he informed me.

"Did you get any photos of that for me?" I asked. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't think about it" he replied.

He added helpfully: "I thought I might have one of them kidney stones, and I heard that you're s'posed to strain your piss if that happens. But I didn't know what to use. So I went to the kitchen and found my tea strainer...you want it?"

Before I could even process what he'd said, he reached into his bag and withdrew a tea strainer filled with blood clots wrapped in Saran Wrap!

I looked through the strainer and just found a bunch of clots. Surprisingly, he didn't want it back when I was done. (He said that he'd take his American Express 6576-842099-54311 exp 7/09 and buy a new one).

After a work-up, he had a 12 mm stone completely obstructing his kidney. He got admitted for a stent and a stone removal!

Welcome back from vacation! It's so nice to have the HIPPA bitch on a MDOD stakeout. I hope she chokes on a donut.

Reach-around

Ambulance driver thought he could kick NPR's ass by sending us a bit more traffic than they generated with a simple post on his awesome blog. NPR bumps us by forty or fifty hits... he sent us 500.

So, here's to you Ambulance Driver, let's return the favor and go check him out. He is linked above and on our sidebar. Increasingly, the only people in medicine who take care of deathly-ill patient's are ER docs, ER nurses, and EMS. A fine cocktail your way sir!

I wish I was a vet

We have 5-6 pets in our house, depending on the week. They all go to the vet, and I pay my vet. No HIPPA, no insurance, no medicaid, gimme mine, ain't this free, doc take a look at the drip from my penis. Just a simple transaction of a consumer (me) paying for the service and expertise of another ( the vet). My animals don't exaggerate, are compliant with their medical regimens (they have to be), don't abuse the vet for drugs, don't take their social problems to the vet, (maladjustment, life's unfair, I broke this needle off in my arm, these condylomas on my anus are bleeding, my husband's doinking the babysitter and I can't take it, etc, etc, etc). My animals don't bring their relatives they haven't seen in 5 YEARS to the vet, just to say "He don't look right." They don't take a bucket of random pills to the vet, expecting the vet to identify them. My pets don't vet shop and have several records and CAT scans (get it, CAT scans) at many different vets in town. My vet goes home at 4:30, and has maybe 1 or 2 emergencies per week after hours. End of life pet issues are usually less complicated, although maybe not less heartbreaking (especially if the relative was a drunk, sexually abusive uncle). I could go on, but I just would get more depressed prior to heading in for my 6th shift in a row. Maybe someone will bring in a beagle tonight, or better yet, a monkey. We could use a good shit throwing in the ED.

The Power of NPR

Site traffic day before NPR mention = 598
Site traffic day of NPR mention = 634

KICK ASS!

Hey NPR and Dr. Deborah Peel, I Have This Patient...

I just had to share this patient story with all of you. A patient of mine, John A. Smith, date of birth 1/1/1931, medical record number 123456789 of 123 Main Street here in my hometown, came in the other day for follow-up of his multiple medical problems. See, he has type 2 diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol, and sleep apnea. He is obese, also. By the way, he takes metformin and glyburide for his diabetes and his hemoglobin A1c is 7.3%. I realize this may not be important for my story, but thought I would include the information. So, as we're talking about his hypertension, for which he takes atenolol and lisinopril and occasionally gets a bit dizzy (again, probably not relevant to my story, but trying to be complete), he mentions another problem that he is having. With an impish grin, he says, "Uh, Doc, I'm not sure how to say this, but, uh, the ole' horse ain't leaving the barn like it used to...if you know what I mean. I mean to say, uh, that my rocket ain't firing like it used to. You know what I'm sayin', Doc?" So, of course, I prescribed Viagra for him. Here's to hoping that my patient, John A. Smith, and his lovely wife, Eleanor Marie, have incredible, 75-year old, hot, steamy, raw, animal-like sex tonight at 123 Main Street. I'll sure be rooting for them! Did I include too much info?

By the way, Doctor Debbie has her own.....BLOG! Fucking amazing. Pay her a visit!!

This sentence is false.

Now that the thought-police are closely monitoring this site, I want to make an unequivocal statement: Everything you have read, or will read, on this blog are lies. Fabrications. Falsehoods. Fiction.

The “people” who post on this blog (Etothepi, 911, Cat etc…) are fictional characters who do not represent any one person or people who have or will exist. They are amalgams; ramblings of a single or possibly infinite deranged mind or minds. They are either doctors or not. They may be human or possibly computer-generated artificial intelligence that has become pseudo-conscious and mimics actual humans.

Other facts: “I” (meaning possibly the character Etothepi, or maybe meaning the person or people or intelligent computer(s) typing this, or none of the above) am actually “we” (meaning group(s) of people or group(s) of computers). Also, there is no “i” in “we”, or “team” for that matter. But there is an “i” in “win” and a “we” in “wiener”.

Now, back to the beginning: Everything you have or will read is false, including this. Or not.

Infamous

National Proletariat Radio (NPR) mentioned M.D.O.D in a kinda neutral way today online and on air. Thanks for nothing you freaking douchebag socialists. Just for the record, we all practice slightly over the border in Mexico.

Another douchebag mentioned in the article is Dr. Debra Peel, a psychiatrist and founder of the group Patient Privacy Rights. She says, in a whopper of circular reasoning mental masturbation, "If you are unhappy with the people that you're supposed to be serving and taking care of, you probably need therapy," she says. "You don't need to be venting your frustrations in a public manner like that. That's very inappropriate and unprofessional."

Look "Doctor", you, evidently, have a nice job behind a desk. Just about the only doctors that have managed to escape obligation to see patients in the ER are psychiatrists. How 'bout you come on down here and pull a few shifts with me and my lovely patients. If you want to see who they are check out the video on the post two prior on Dr. Woodcock.

Dr. Peele, you seem unhappy with me and, besides being a doctor, I am also a patient, don't you think that it's inappropriate and unprofessional for you to be "venting your frustrations in a public manner like [this]"? Go get therapy.... freakin' douchebag.

M.D.O.D.'s Official Mascot and Model Patient

M.D.O.D. started as a rant of sorts and we labored in obscurity until... well, I guess we still labor in obscurity. No matter!

One of our first visitors to add a comment was 'radgirl' and we were immediately smitten. Radgirl chose her moniker after having undergone the rigors of thyroid cancer surgery and radiation-therapy (they selectively fried her thyroid with intense doses of radiation over many weeks). She's "radgirl" because some docs irradiated her, nice funny twist on a bad situation. I read more.

Radgirl is a wife and a mom and a triathlete and an all around super gal. I have never met her but in the very small internet world we live in we have discovered that we have a friend in common.

All of us at MDOD spend a lot of time railing against our system, and our patients. A patient who skewers themselves with a barbecue tine while drunk and using gasoline to start the grill is, let's face it, a lot more interesting than the nice patient who has a cold.

So here you are readers, a post about a great patient: a post about the kind of patient we would all treat for free, a post about a patient that makes us happy to be doctors, and happy to help to the extent we can, a post about the kind of attitude that it takes to beat cancer and wake up every morning with a smile. Whether the smile is genuine every day or not that's who radgirl is and, in this respect, she is exactly like my lovely wife.

There's a lot of hard science to what we do, but radgirl exemplifies the intangibles that I believe make ALL the difference when faced with adversity or illness. Radgirl read-up on her disease, found herself some excellent physicians, did the hard stuff with a smile, and a few years later, is in remission with a recent clean bill of health.

Obviously there's a lot more to beating cancer than a positive attitude, but a negative attitude will kill you. An 'external locus of control' attitude, a 'woe is me attitude', an 'ain't no one never done nothin' for me' attitude (really, i do hear that all the time, usually after there has, in fact, been a whole lot done for them) is a ticket to the abyss.

So, Radgirl, all of us here at MDOD are great fans of yours. You are now our official mascot (if you will accept) and number one patient. For those of you in dire circumstances and in need of a 'how to' guide to disease or life in general, go read Radgirl's blog. A fine cocktail to you and yours, ma'am.

Woodcock Named FDA Drug Center Head

FDA names Woodcock to direct drug center. The Wall Street Journal reports, "The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) said former drug-center head Dr. Woodcock will return to that post on a permanent basis." Woodcock was previously a high school physical education director, then was given an honorary degree by JCHAO and made director "of the FDA's Center for Drug Evaluation and Research in 1994." He was then "appointed a deputy commissioner at the FDA, later adding the title of chief medical officer" in 2005. Etc... personally, I think he will kick ass and get their shit together.

And thanks to boredmedstudent for this, a video of our lovely ER clientel immediately prior to calling 911 for PTSD from a leprechaun sighting.

The Politically-Incorrect Hockey Mom

Hi, everyone. I must start by letting you all know how flattered and honored I am to have been asked to contribute to the medical blog destined to someday change the world. Actually, if it only helps me change my boxers every day, it will be worthwhile. 911DOC is right, my little 'issue' I contracted in Vegas years ago is now only a painful, stinging, fluid-filled, vesicular, erythematous memory.


So, what to know about me? I love hockey. Hockey is real. Hockey has somehow remained a game of honor, blood, guts, and refuses to bow down to the politically-correct, granola-chewing, pablum-puking, every-kid-gets-a-participation-trophy-insisting, there-are-no-winners-or-losers-in-youth-sports-or-in-life-eschewing, left-wing jackasses that threaten to ruin youth sports, and, life in general.

Case in point - my 8-year old son has a big mite hockey game against their rivals with whom they practice every week. One kid on the other team is amazing (the next Mormon Wayne Gretzky?). The kids on our team are psyched all week...can't stop talking about the big game. My son has a hard time sleeping on Friday night before the game. I love it. COMPETITION!

Unfortunately, we play great, but lose in the last minute 4-3. As the parents from our team meet the kids coming off the ice, offering hugs and words of encouragement to the disappointed team, our coach's wife sees his son and they have the following conversation:


Coach's son: Mom, guess what? One of their goals was sort of cheap, so it's really a tie!!

Coach's wife: No you didn't, you lost.

Coach's son: No, really. Us kids think we kicked the puck into our own net. That's cheap. It should be a tie.

Coach's wife: Don't do this. They beat you 4 to 3. You played great, but you lost the game.

Coach's son: No, don't you think it's more fair to call it 3 to 3 since we sort of helped them score?

Coach's wife: Fair? No. Fair is giving them credit for beating you. They had 4 goals, you had 3.

Coach's son: But, but, but...

Coach's wife: If you don't stop this crap I am going to make you go into their locker-room and shake each one of their hands and congratulate them for beating you 4 to 3. Are we clear?

Coach's son: Yes, mom.


The rest of the parents stood and watched in awe - full of pride and hope that we as parents CAN help children learn that life will always challenge us with ups, downs, victories, defeats, joy, sorrow, achievement, and disappointment. I learned so many more lessons from losing games and disappointing moments in my childhood than all the 0-0 soccer ties that occur in Seattle every day could possibly accomplish. Let's take back youth sports - let's keep a fucking score. Let's let kids play hard, sweat, cry, ache, smile, laugh, and learn to look the opponent in the eye at the end of the game and congratulate them regardless of who won. We all did and we turned out OK, didn't we? Don't answer that question.


And, please God, let the Detroit Red Wings win the Stanley Cup this year!

Zebra Hunting

A good ER doc is a good Zebra hunter. A 'zebra' is a patient that has a bizarre diagnosis, often dangerous, that masquerades as a run-of-the-mill problem. You can't find zebras if you don't look for them.

A young woman with congenital deafness came in tonight after her sister ran into her at the local Wally World. The sister told me that the patient did not recognize her and was 'acting funny'. Then the step dad chimed in, "You know doc, I think she might have diabetes because she eats a whole lot of cookies, and even eats cookie dough." Hmmm.

The young lady knew the day, date, time, and place but obviously had problems talking so she appeared to be normal to me considering her deafness. The family was right though, they put me in a position where I had to do a big workup including CT of the head and I'm glad they did.

The patient has a brain tumor which is bleeding. She went off to the local tertiary care center by ambulance and the nurses looked at me like I had just derived the theory of relativity with a piece of paper and a pencil. The point of the "boy who cried wolf" story is that one day there's a wolf... or a zebra. The other point is that it's a very expensive sport.

2d Greatest Study

Another stimulating study.

Ladies, Here's to your health!

I don't know how I missed this one. I finally found a medical study in which I can put complete confidence. Greatest Study Ever Done. I make myself available to any women needing to improve their health.

The Horror of Drackman

First of all Chicks dig me, cause I'm a felon, and if any of you Ho-mos got a problem with that, I'll kill ya. Seriously, it was just a little difference of opinion between me and Uncle Sam. I thought it was cool to divert fentanyl for my own use, he didn't. Sammy won, and a stint in a correctional facility straightened me out about all that. Nowadays I don't do anything bad unless I'm absolutely sure I can get away with it, and even then I don't. Where to begin? I was born a poor black white chile not far from where Hank Aaron would break Babe Ruths career homerun record. My father cleverly joined the air force to avoid vietnam and instead we got the joy of living in Nebraska, Wyoming, and both dakotas, country and western. Odd numbered summers we'd return to the southland, where I learned about fire ants and black people. Septembers meant new-kid beatings from a whole different group of thugs. When I was 13 an air force clerical error sent us to southern california, where I was introduced to skateboards, girls, and Vin Scully. South Dakotas bad lands didn't hold a flaming arrow to having Ted Nugent shoot a real flaming arrow at you during Cal Jam 2 at Ontario Motor Speedway. It was skateboardings caveman days, doing Ollies before anyone called them Ollies. Got my first taste for the knife dissecting Sheep hearts in 10th grade Biology. My hot lab partner Celene was impressed with my mad scalpel skills but nevertheless I made a 'C' on the practical, and an 'F' with Celene, the beginning of a long sad relationship with both women and standardized tests. Summer before junior year life dealt me a joker, a venous air embolism into the blood stream of my hedonistic OC life. Instead of retiring next to Disneyland he accepted orders to Alabama. Alabama. South Alabama. The part of Alabama even the klan won't go to because its to racist. My dad was unmoved by my arguments on the superiority of California's weather and public schools, dashing my plans to walk on Rudy-style at UCLA. On a beautiful 68 degree June day we headed east where the story continues

MEDCARD DICSOUNT INCREASED

Folks. See this and do it. The company discount is now $20 for partner code MDOD. Best $ you will spend anytime soon and then I won't write about you here.

Stupidity + Electricity

Like the generally good guy that I am, I was helping my sister move this past weekend. I went to set up her dryer, and was immediately perplexed by the fact that her dryer had a 3 pronged plug and the recepticle had 4 holes.

I figured Home Depot would have some sort of adapter. Alas, there is no such thing. The very enthusiastic assistant (whom I believe suffered from severe hypothyroidism, dysthymia, bradycardia, and Parkinson's) sold me a whole new cord and explained the re-wiring of the dryer. It sounded simple enough.

So, I took my new cord, a screwdriver, a wrench, and a rudimentary understanding of dryer wiring into the laundry room. I wired it up just as he told me and was quite pleased with myself.

I leaned over the dryer to plug it in and the next thing I knew, I was 10 feet away laying on the floor twitching. It was 2 or 3 minutes before I could move my arms or legs.

According to the service man who came to correct my mistake, this wasn't the first time he'd seen the same thing from a novice electrician recieving instructions from the pros at Home Depot. I had wired the hot wire to the ground which subsequently ran 220V through me when I leaned over the dryer and plugged it in.

Fortunately, no permanent damage to either me or the dryer. But don't tell my sister. I still get sympathy by twitching from time to time!

Results of the Medblog Combine and Draft

Esteemed and Not-so-esteemed Readers,

The doors to the MDOD house are now closed. We now have our team fully assembled and plan to challenge for the Medblog Superbowl within a year or two. We will run the spread option offense and employ a nickel package D against all challengers. We may even trot-out the single wing or wishbone in a pinch. I, the coach, reserve the right to employ spitting, eye-gouging, and generally dirty play. Beware challengers, we respect and admire Bill Belichick (our spies are everywhere with high quality digital video)! If we have you at the bottom of the pile you will scream for mercy and after that you will be water-boarded by Dr. X.

Please welcome to our stage two new additions. One you know well, Dr. Frank Drackman. He has won a lot of fans with his comments recently. What you do not know is that he honed his writing skills while in a Turkish prison where he served a few years after being caught with "contraband" at an Ankara airport security check. He came out of that debacle mostly fine with the exception of a somewhat off-kilter appreciaton for the digital rectal exam. Of course I may be confusing this with a movie I saw once but I'm sticking with it. Dr. Drackman will post shortly with his life story and correct any misinformation I may have promulgated here.

Secondly, please welcome to our blog an internal medicine physician and good friend from the days when I was a cabaret dancer with the "Adam's Apple" troupe in Vegas. He has not chosen his moniker yet, but he will post shortly and bring you up to date. Dr. Internist is famous for his being chosen as 'alternate' to the Belize curling team for the 1960 Olympics in Squaw Valley, California. Unfortunately, due to a particularly bad case of gonorrhea, he was unable to make the trip. Much better now though.

Welcome doctors! Post away.

AMA vs. MMA

Yes, the American Medical Association are a bunch of pussies.

You have heard the rants here. Let me summarize: medical professional societies are a waste of freaking time that should shut their mouths, go to Washington and start lobbying for physician salaries. Don’t preach to me about how much you care about needy patients or how physicians should not be involved in executions or how we should all jump on whatever liberal cause du jour (more primary care docs etc, etc…) happens to be trendy.

I do my charity work (hundreds of thousands of $$ a year, seriously). So go screw yourself when you try to preach to me.

But now the AMA has crossed a line. These wusses have always been anti-boxing. (“Whaaa, he has a concussion”). Next in line is mixed martial arts (UFC and the like), and I just can’t accept that.

If we ban sports that hurt people, we would all be watching curling on Sports Center. Football: knees and heads; Hockey: backs and teeth; Running: Hips and feet… the list goes on. When did we get to be such weenies?

Whatever two consenting adults do to each other should be sacred, right? So is it so wrong to put two violent, angry, ‘roided-up cardio machines in a locked cage and have them beat the shit out of each other for my entertainment?

The AMA can go fuck itself.

For Emergency Docs

I have a favor to ask of the ER Docs on this site.

Our hospital is finally firing our Contract Management Group. We're currently negotiating a contract with them and need some information. The hospital wants to make our compensation package competitive with any group in the country.

If you don't mind, could you email me some specifics about the compensation you're currently recieving so that we can present it to our hospital and make the best deal possible?

You can remain anonymous, but I need to know in what part of the country you're working.

Thank you in advance.

Email me at: kylezone12-erdocs@yahoo.com