NPO means NPO!

NPO- "nil per os," Latin for nothing by mouth, meaning the patient is not allowed to eat or drink anything by mouth. -wikipedia or something close.

You will usually see this as an order given by a surgeon to a patient a bit before surgery, so that when they cut open your guts, nothing flies out.

I somehow conveniently forgot what NPO meant today, and as a result, a cardiology fellow felt up my femoral pulse a dozen times unnecessarily. (You can find your own femoral pulse in the shower by putting your fingers the bony point of your hip, then following the crease of your groin towards your privates. Should be around halfway)

It all started when my friend called me up last night, trying to see if I could swing by the cardiac cath lab in the morning to help out with some research. "How much are you paying me?" His reply? A milkshake.

Sold.

The idea was to take some ultrasound and infrared scans of my major arteries, have me drink the fattiest/most creamy shake they could find, and then scan me all over again. You would be able to see my arteries clog up with McDonald's milkshakes in real time!

The only problem was that we had to meet the residents and fellows at 7 am. So my friend and I got some tea to put a little spring in our steps, and soon we were in those hospital gowns that exposure your butt to the world.

The resident casually asked me if I had any breakfast. Not really, I replied. When was the last time you had any food, they asked. I thought hard. Mmmm probably dinner last night. Okay cool, she said, and started to feel for my femoral pulse to scan.

It didn't help I was really ticklish. And that she was moderately attractive.

Hours later during the repeat scan, after the ultrasound showed some cloudy wisps of ah-damn-it there goes the whip cream. Right in my cartoids. I'm never going to McDonald's again.

But during the infrared, she noticed that I my heart beat was a little fast. Huh. That looks like a caffeinated heart, she mused. Then she kind of hit me on my leg, and asked me- did you have coffee this morning? Uhh...crap.

They had to throw everything out. But at least I am an expert in where my femoral pulse is now.



I'm writing this post in the lobby of Rich-Hospital, where a young white collar dad was walking around with his baby girl in his arms for the past half hour. Now they are both exhausted, sitting in the couches in front of me. Dozing off. Cute.

Yaaay summmmerrrrrr!