A typical day of my internship goes something like this. Elena, get in touch with social work. We need to get that wound vac for Mr. Smith to go home with. Simple enough, right? So I call social work, page social work, hang missing person flyers and run nurses station laps looking for social work until I locate this man in a Mr. Rogers vest named Sall, who supposedly is the one in charge of getting me said wound vac for patient to go home with. Sall says absolutely we'll have that this afternoon, the patient can certainly be discharged today.
That day and the next day and the next tick by before Sall actually orders said wound vac. On this third day of discharge planning Sall states he's contacted a man named Billy, who is most definitely on his way from Hoboken, New Jersey with our treasure. I walk in early that morning to tell 94 year old Mr. Smith the great news. You'll be going home today. Isn't that wonderful? Oh, doc. He says, with those coke bottle black lenses and the wound vac awkwardly suctioning the top of his 12 cm squamous cell excised scalp. You aren't from the boroughs are you? That Billy's got to cross the Cross Bronx bridge. That'll take him til tonight. I'm thinking, yes it will. I know that bridge well. As i've accidentally taken it to New Jersey thrice since moving here. And also, he explains. Even if this Billy gets in here tonight. My son can't pick me up tonight. He's gotta be at the Yanks. The Yanks, sir? The Red Sox. The Yanks. Tonight. I mean where the hell are you from anyhow? Far far away sir. Far far away.
