Mullets unite!

Buenos dias, amigos. In their infinite awesomeness, Social Security decided to only schedule me on Saturday s in May…which makes no sense, especially since I literally have nothing to do now that the medical school is out for the summer. What that means for you, dear readers, is that I’ll probably only be posting once a week. So make sure you keep an eye on the Disillusioned Doctor Facebook group, for that’s where I’ll post new entries. Onwards!

Things seem to come in clumps in disability land. One day it’ll be depression, another day COPD. This morning it’s been anxiety…and mullets. I’m not aware of a condition that combines the two…maybe I’ll call it Mulletosis Nervosa. Anyway, anxiety patients are always…challenging. They usually want to keep the exam room door open, have a problem with me taking their blood pressure, and some of them even refuse the physical exam because they’re so nervous. Well, the anxiety patients this morning have all fit the bill. One in particular, however, has risen above the others in my mind, and not only because his mullet would make MacGyver cry with envy.

He walked into the office, his hair a dyed jet black, and in true mullet fashion, party end hanging to his backside, business end cut short and plastered with gel. He was a dichotomy of eras – the rocker 80’s mating with the Emo 90’s. His life was truly, as one of my friends from medical school would say, muffins…muffins and pain. I called his name after glancing over his disability form; the main complaint read “chest wall stuck in/heart murmurs.” He and his equally Emo girlfriend walked into the exam room (leaving the door open, of course), and sat down in front of my desk.
“So, tell me about your heart condition.” I asked.
“I dunno, it’s like always been there…I guess.” He replied.
“Have you seen a cardiologist?”
“No, well, I did when I was a kid…but not since then…that’s been like a few years ago.”
“So does your heart bother you now?”
“Only if I do things like run eight miles.”
“…what does it do if you run eight miles?”
“It beats really fast, like it’s trying to really pump my blood fast.”
“Yes.” Woohoo normal physiology.
At this point, the girlfriend leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He immediately said “and my chest is really caved in!”

Ok, so Pectus Excavatum. A relatively normal variant in which the sternum or breast bone is “caved in.” This condition can cause problems if the concavity is large enough, but usually those patients receive surgery at an early age… this dude didn’t. He lifted up his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a monkey eating an apple (?) and a very, very mild Pectus.
“Should I get surgery on this?” He asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t, but I’m not a Thoracic surgeon.” I replied.
“Oooooh, ok, because like, I thought I was going to get surgery for this.”
I think I audibly sighed. “No sir, this is a disability exam…nothing more.”
The remainder of the physical exam was normal, and as he walked out, he said, “it’s a good thing I didn’t get surgery today, I have stuff to do.”
“I’m sure you do.” Idiot.

And now for the disability quote of the day:

Lady: “My cat can ‘matrix walk,’ and it knocked me over. That’s how I got a head injury.”
Me: “Did you take any medication after that?”
Lady: “Just some pills.”
Me: “Were they…red or blue pills?”
Lady: “Huh? I think they were white.”
Me: “Ok, just checking.”

Free your mind,
-DD