Just a few of the stories I hear about are things like the night one of his attendings, suddenly speaking in a German accent, requested each person check out to him in a different accent (I'm pretty sure they all ended up being assortments of terrible Cockney accents...even the one trying to pull off a West-Texas accent), or the huge male radiology tech with (reportedly) gigantic arms who jokingly slams Nich against the walls of the hallway as he passes by (Nich's a pretty built guy himself) and thinks Nich is kidding when he whinces slightly in pain (fake strong-man competition between these two), or when a co-worker comes in late blaming "runner's runs" and everyone laughingly races to Wiki it to see if it's a real thing (diarrhea after running, and, yes, it's a real thing. And yes it was Nich), or a patient arriving at the emergency department because their feet became numb after sitting on the toilet too long.
Most of what I hear are these fun, light-hearted stories, but a few times a week I hear things that I don't know how he, and other doctors, handle. I liken emergency doctors to "first responders." While they don't do what firefighters and police officers do (also don't know how they do what they do), they are exposed to the gross, dark, and most painful sides of human life. You could't pay me enough to do what my husband does. Like the stories of him having to perform what I consider "icky" procedures on people (think disempacting poop), or trying to deal with psychotic people (like actually psychotic in the psychological way), he also has to deal with absolute heartbreak. He often is the person who has to tell a pregnant woman she has miscarried. Or tell someone they really need to go in for more testing because the current tests all point to a growth, possibly cancer. Or call CPS for finding semen in a toddler's urine. Somehow I always thought of emergency docs as going around heroically trying to save lives from crazy accidents and gunshots and heart attacks and a slow day would be broken arms, stitches and diagnosing appendicitis. From the ER shows I've watched on TV, I knew he would have to tell scared and hopeful families that their loved one died, and somehow I thought that would be the worst thing. It might still be the worst thing, but I didn't even think about the other tragedy my sweet, goofy husband has to deal with. I don't know how he, or other first-responders, keeps all that separate and can still come home happy, silly, and positive.
It takes a unique person to do that, day in and day out, to still absolutely LOVE their job, and still see more positive than negative in the world. As I have come to this realization in the past few weeks, I find 1. I only want to hear the funny stuff since I'm not able to compartmentalize like he can, 2. I see why there is such a comradery at his work and am absolutely greatful for that, and 3. I respect him even more...which I didn't know I could.
