Emergency Masala

I've been in the ER this past month and I've realized that I'm not made to be an ER physician. It drives me nuts... all the kids that come in with such minor complaints... I don't understand! It's ironic because it's in my ER month that I'm getting better at diagnosing ear infections. That's not an emergency.

There have been some good things about ER though. I get to do a lot of procedures. I'm getting a heck of a lot better at blood draws and IV's. And then there are lacs. I haven't done laceration repairs since my Surgical ER rotation where we would frequently sew up adults without any supervision. Those skills definitely came in handy during this rotation.

Two nights go, I felt my dislike of the ER come to a climax with one particular patient. These African American parents (I only mention the race because it becomes relevant later) brought their child to the ER for vomiting and diarrhea (we've been seeing so much acute gastroenteritis!) and the kid was truly dehydrated. I was bolusing the child with IV fluids and reassessing him over several hours. Finally at 3 am, I was pretty tired, and this is when they decide to bring in the twin brother who was at home with the aunt. The twin brother is, unlike the first twin, doing great, although he's had a few episodes of vomiting. I was trying to get this second story out of the parents and it was like pulling teeth. They just didn't want to cooperate with my questions, and I was getting very frustrated.

Finally at one point during the interview, the father decides to change the subject altogether. "Do you have any pakoras around here?" I couldnt believe my ears.

"What did you say?"

"Do you have any pakoras for us?" Ok, so I get VERY irritated at this question. I can't really describe in words exactly why this question irritated me. Maybe it's because he was making assumptions about my race by making a really dumb joke. Maybe it's because I felt that his question was too tongue and cheeky. Maybe it's because I just wanted to get the dumb exam over with so I could move on and not speak to him for another second. Maybe I was hungry and mad that I didn't have any pakoras.

"No, we don't have any pakoras here."

"I could use some pakoras right now, man."

And then from out of nowhere, this comes out of me: "How do you know I'm Indian? I could be Hispanic."

"Well, I just know. I'm pretty good at guessing." There he was, the quintessential expert on race, right before my very eyes.

Later I was talking with a friend, who suggested that I should have said, "No we don't have any pakoras. But do you have any fried chicken for me?"

But then maybe I would have gotten fired. Or beat up. Or both.