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Each of my editors from various journals knows that it is wise to give me a deadline a few days before they actually need my work in their ink-stained hands, as I invariably put off writing until the literal last minute or, more often, soon thereafter. But this time it was going to be different! I sat down at my computer last Monday an actual 8 hours before this piece was due to knock off a commentary on the pitfalls of peer review of research submissions, something with which I am intimately familiar. But as I sat in bed staring at the screen, a strange irritation began to flare in the center my abdomen, a vague achy feeling not quite like heartburn and more constant and nagging than the proverbial “gas” pain we are all familiar with.
Each of my editors from various journals knows that it is wise to give me a deadline a few days before they actually need my work in their ink-stained hands, as I invariably put off writing until the literal last minute or, more often, soon thereafter. But this time it was going to be different! I sat down at my computer last Monday an actual 8 hours before this piece was due to knock off a commentary on the pitfalls of peer review of research submissions, something with which I am intimately familiar. But as I sat in bed staring at the screen, a strange irritation began to flare in the center my abdomen, a vague achy feeling not quite like heartburn and more constant and nagging than the proverbial “gas” pain we are all familiar with.
Each of my editors from various journals knows that it is wise to give me a deadline a few days before they actually need my work in their ink-stained hands, as I invariably put off writing until the literal last minute or, more often, soon thereafter. But this time it was going to be different! I sat down at my computer last Monday an actual 8 hours before this piece was due to knock off a commentary on the pitfalls of peer review of research submissions, something with which I am intimately familiar. But as I sat in bed staring at the screen, a strange irritation began to flare in the center my abdomen, a vague achy feeling not quite like heartburn and more constant and nagging than the proverbial “gas” pain we are all familiar with.
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BACKTALK
Quit Your Bellyaching
Bill Benda, MD, Associate Editor
ach of my editors from various journals knows that
it is wise to give me a deadline a few days before they actually need my work in their ink-stained hands, as I invariably put off writing until the literal last minute or, more often, soon thereafter. But this time it was going to be different! I sat down at my computer last Monday an actual 8 hours before this piece was due to knock off a commentary on the pitfalls of peer review of research submissions, something with which I am intimately familiar. But as I sat in bed staring at the screen, a strange irritation began to flare in the center my abdomen, a vague achy feeling not quite like heartburn and more constant and nagging than the proverbial gas pain we are all familiar with. I put down my MacBook and crawled under the covers, waiting for this nuisance to pass so I could get back to work. But it didnt subsideit grew slowly into a unique, throbbing sensation we males recognize from slipping forward off a bicycle seat and landing on the crossbar (I think the word exquisite may apply here). And then, after about an hour or two, it began to migrate down toward my right lower quadrant. Well, you all know what that means. But I stayed in denialbesides this deadline I had a night shift starting at 7 PM as well as a closing on my first house the following day. However, time, and appendicitis, wait for no one, and I finally dragged myself into my truck and headed for the nearest emergency department. My own hospital was too far to drive in such discomfort, and, besides, we always torture each other with talk of urinary catheters and rectal exams if we should end up in our own ER as a patient. As I lay curled up in a fetal ball on the waiting room floor, watching weenies with chest complaints led to the triage area before me (hint: If you want to be seen in an ER immediately, clutch the front of your shirt and state it feels like an elephant sitting on my chest), I pondered the ridiculous irony of the situation. Even more so when the young woman doctor who finally saw me, and works part-time in my own department, took a call during our interview asking if she could cover my shift that night. 88
Integrative Medicine Vol. 14, No. 5 October 2015
Anyway, I decided that I would at least use the
experience to research what my patients must go through. First the exam (yes, none of us do much of an exam as the story is far more informative). Next, experimentation with the same pain medications I give out by the gallon (4 mg of morphine just takes the edge off, and 1 mg of Dilaudid does about the same. No real high, at least not for this child of the 60s). And of course the ubiquitous lab testsno elevated white blood cell count, but white and red cells in the urine with no bacteriaclassic for early appendicitis. Then, the CT scan (did you all know that radiation actually feels warm inside?). Finally, the gurney ride down the hall to the OR and the chat with the anesthesiologist and surgeon (Hi, Im an ER doctor. Did I mention I was an ER doctor? No catheter for me, please!). Ive had 2 experiences with anesthesia before, once for a colonoscopy and another for repair of a rotator cuff tear. Two idiosyncrasies Ive discovered about myself and these pharmaceuticals: the first being retrograde amnesia where I never even remember the medications being pushed, and the other that I become extremely flirtatious when just going under or just coming out. Thank goodness I can never remember how badly I embarrass myself. Anyway, all went well, with the exceptions of awakening a little too soon when the endotracheal tube was being pulled, and a visit from our friend Mr Ileus, where the bowel is paralyzed from pain and narcotics but the gazillion bacteria living there continue to give off more useless gas than political pundits on Sunday morning talk shows. But as they say, this too shall pass, and I confess that I am happy to be alive to jot down my experience and equally happy that I have something easy to write about instead of that complex peer-review thing. So the next time you are in an emergency room, do notice how long you have to wait, and how you are treated, and ponder deeply the meaning of life and death. And remember, should all else fail and you begin to feel ignored: elephant
Efficacy of Extract of Pelargonium Sidoides in Children With Acute Non-Group A Beta-Hemolytic Streptococcus Tonsillopharyngitis: A Randomized, Double-Blind, Placebo-Controlled Trial