Polite Dissent

It was just after one in the morning and I finally got my first break of the day. I had been on the go non-stop since four the previous morning. The day itself had been busy, but really no busier than any other day on my VA surgery rotation. Overnight call started at five and we immediately were called for an emergency gallbladder surgery. No sooner had we gotten out of that operation when we were called to another one. This one was more serious and lasted over six hours before we were finally finished. Grabbing a quick dinner from a convenient hallway vending machine (thank you Little Debbie), I trudged through the back hallways of the hospital to the service elevator. I rode it up to the top floor of the hospital. As usual, it was deserted and quiet. I turned down the hallway where the medical student call rooms were located and walked down the threadbare carpet to my room. As usual, it was drafty and freezing cold. I wrapped myself in the blanket from the bed and took a minute to eat my nutritious dinner. I read a few chapters of a Melanie Rawn book then about 1:30 I finally turned out the light and tried to get some sleep.

An hour later, the phone rang. It was Randy, the surgical intern on call with me. Frankly, Randy was rarely a pleasant person to be around. He was arrogant, rude and bossy. I figured it was because — except for the medical students — he was the lowest man on the totem pole. So whenever he got stressed or upset he took out his frustration on us.

“Hello?” I said sleepily.

“Scott,” he said. “How would you like to draw some blood on Mr. Hollis on five?”

It was early, I was tired, and I naively decided that honesty would be the best policy.

‘Thanks for the opportunity but it’s been a long day and I’d rather just try and grab some sleep.”

“Umm…OK,” he said and hung up.

Even in my sleep-addled state I should have realized that however it was phrased, it wasn’t a question at all — more of an order really.

I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep. The phone rang again almost immediately.

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” Randy spat out when I answered. “You will go down and draw blood on Mr. Hollis.”

“No problem,” I replied. “I’ll go take care of it.”

I pulled my lab coat on over my scrubs, pulled on my shoes, and trudged downstairs to the fifth floor. I drew the labs and waited for the results. They were all normal, so I called Randy and reported the results to him. He grunted.

I crawled upstairs again and managed to catch an hour’s worth of sleep before having to get downstairs for pre-rounds. As we were going over the patients’ vital signs, Randy pulled me aside.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about our trouble last night.”

“There wasn’t any trouble,” I replied. “You asked me a question and I answered it honestly. If there was something that you wanted me to do, you should have just told me to do it. Don’t pretend it’s optional and then get upset when I decline.”

Randy walked off without saying another word and I finished pre-rounding on the patients. We got along without incident for the rest of the rotation, even on call nights, but it was never what you would call a cordial relationship. This episode led me to devise Scott’s Third Law: Before answering, make sure you know the real question.

The next year, I happened to end up on a rotation with Randy again. This time we got along splendidly and worked well together with no trace of acrimony. I think it was because we both had matured; he was no longer the stressed-out intern and I was no longer the clueless third-year medical student.