Collage 259               H u m o u r N e t                6 MAY 96

Volodya in Germany seems to think that the following mailing list
would be of interest to me:

Enuresis Support and Information Group (ESIG)
(ENURESIS on LISTSERV@SJUVM.STJOHNS.EDU)

"Enuresis is defined as involuntary emission of urine. Bed wetting
is a form of enuresis. ESIG is a growing Internet community of people
connected to each other via enuresis."

(Why does this *not* strike me as a good choice of words?)

"ENURESIS is an open, unmoderated discussion list. Things such as
how to deal with bed wetting, physically as well as psychologically,
are likely to be discussed."

(Ever consider plastic sheets? :-)

Look, if Dan Quayle can make it to the Vice Presidency with this
problem, surely these people can learn to deal with it on their own.
;-)

Of course, at the *other* end of the scale, we have "The Urine
Movement." (Yes, there's a point to this Collage; I just haven't
figured out what it is, yet.) Holla in Massachusetts sends this one:

<Reuter News Wire>

"Urine Advocates Say Drug Firms Better Listen Up"

PANJIM, India, March 20 - Retired Indian Admiral L. Ramdas drinks
his neat. Dr. Ryoichi Nakao of Japan likes to gargle with his each
morning.

They are among millions who say urine has benefits beyond the toilet
bowl.

(So does "Tidy Bowl," but I don't see anyone *drinking* it....)

"I splash some on my face," said Coen van der Kroon of the
Netherlands. "It's a great aftershave."

(Right -- just in case you wanted to *smell* like an ESIG member.
This one, BTW, is excerpted from the not-very-well-known book,
"Coen's Dating Tips" -- a must-read for all you guys who just can't
figure out how to lighten up your social calendars. Works great for
women, too.)

"Urine has tremendous political and economic implications," said
Carmen Thomas, a West German radio journalist who has written three
books on urine therapy. One of them, entitled "A Very Special Juice,"
has sold 750,000 copies.

(Be careful, Carmen: As many of us here in the U.S. have learned,
*some* Juice can kill.)

Some 600 doctors, scientists and therapists gathered recently in
Panjim, capital of the southwestern Indian state of Goa, for the
first World Conference on Auto-Urine Therapy.

(Don't listen to them -- this stuff corrodes gas tanks, too.)

Conference enthusiasts were led by G.K. Thakkar, head of India's
Water of Life Foundation, who says urine cured him of amoebic
dysentery and eczema, and made him a "bold orator overnight."

(Penicillin, Head & Shoulders, and Toastmasters could have done that,
too -- and without that incredible case of halitosis.)

Thakkar calls urine "the nectar medicine" which he claims can heal
most if not all illnesses including AIDS.

(So will suicide, but no one's advocating *that*.)

Tara Eich of Australia said she had been diagnosed with terminal
cancer. She began drinking her urine and recovered.

(Obviously, the urine kills *something*. I'd be very suspicious....)

Claude Jacot of Switzerland put up with 50 years of sinusitis. He
began pouring urine into his nose every day and has not had a
recurrence since.

(Is it my imagination, or is this starting to sound like a Dave Rhodes
chain letter?)

Dr. R.D. Lele of Bombay's Jaslok Hospital says the urine movement
lacks solid scientific proof to back its case. But he concedes there
could be something to it. "When 600 people gather, whether or not you
like it, you are certainly curious," he told the conference.

(Curious? Yes, very curious. Hell, I become curious when six THOUSAND
people gather for a Star Trek conference, but I'm not inclined to
*join them*. (And here I was, thinking *they* were weird.))

Van der Kroon says urine has not always been distasteful.

(We'll take your word for that, Coen.)

In the 18th century, French and German doctors used it to treat
jaundice, rheumatic disorders, gout, sciatica and asthma.
Cannoniers used to keep a bucket of urine nearby. If a hand was
burned during firing, a quick dip soothed the pain.

(No, they only did that to see if they could get the victim to wet
himself. It was a parlor joke, I'm sure.)

British convert J.W. Armstrong treated 40,000 patients between 1925
and 1944 for ailments from cancer to tuberculosis.

(During which time, Hitler rose to power and nearly annihilated
Europe. A coincidence? I think not.)

Today, according to van der Kroon, Eskimo women use urine as a
shampoo.

(Well, I guess we've identified Coen's dating circle.)

Five million Germans indulge in urine therapy, many of them taking
injections, according to Dr. Johann Abele. "It has spread over
Germany like a huge wave," he said.

(Excellent use of simile. This one should have appeared in the "Bad
Metaphor" piece in Collage 258.)

A Dutch firm mixes the urine of nuns with that of pregnant women to
make a potion for sterile couples, van der Kroon said.

(At the very least, it's guaranteed to confuse those Early Pregnancy
Tests: "Well, if I'm reading this correctly, the results say I'm
pregnant and I'm going to Hell for it." And how, exactly, does one
convince a nun to participate in this? "Excuse us, sister; we're from
The van der Kroon Corporation, and we'd like to talk to you about
your urine....")

Some say urine is the medicine of the future for billions of poor
people without access to health care. According to Goan deputy chief
minister Wilfred d'Souza, "It is the cheapest form of medicine and
you don't need doctors."

(You might need them soon, though.)

</Reuter>

And here, I thought that using Tai Chi to cure cancer was weird.
Sadly, there seemed to be no mention in the article of using auto-
urine therapy to cure enuresis. On the up side, though, it *does*
provide an interesting source of humor -- but so does Collage 259,
and without the yucky aftertaste....

Welcome to the long-awaited "Medical Humor Collage."

Karen in Colorado brings us the highly entertaining "Blonde's Medical
Dictionary."

Lauri sends us the true-to-life piece entitled "Be Sure to Count
Those Instruments."

"Calling Dr. Doctor" comes to us from Meghan in Maine.

And "Cutting Costs" is provided by Richard in/around Phoenix.

Many thanks to Karen, Lauri, Meghan, and Richard -- and a special
thanks to Volodya and Holla for the opener fodder.

It's the first all-medical-humor Collage: Just what the doctor
ordered.

- Vince Sabio
  HumourNet Moderator
  HumourNet@telephonet.com
____________________________________________________________________
          Opener (above) Copyright 1996 by Vincent Sabio
  Permission is hereby granted to forward or post this "Collage";
  please observe the guidelines stated at the end of the message.
____________________________________________________________________

SUBJ: The Blonde's Medical Dictionary

ARTERY: The study of painting

BACTERIA: The back door of the cafeteria

BARIUM: What the doctors do when patients die

BOWEL: A letter like A, E, I, O, or U

CAESARIAN SECTION: A neighborhood in Rome

CAT SCAN: Searching for a kitty

CAUTERIZE: Made eye contact with her

COLIC: A sheep dog

D&C: Where Washington is

DILATE: To live long

ENEMA: Not a friend

FESTER: Quicker

GENITAL: Not Jewish

G.I. SERIES: A soldier's ball game

HANGNAIL: A coat hook

IMPOTENT: Distinguished, well known

LABOR PAIN: Getting hurt at work

MEDICAL STAFF: A doctor's cane

MORBID: A higher offer

NITRATES: Cheaper than day rates

NODE: Was aware of

OUTPATIENT: A person who fainted

PAP SMEAR: A fatherhood test

PELVIS: A cousin to Elvis

POST OPERATIVE: A letter carrier

RECOVERY ROOM: A place to do re-upholstery

RECTUM: Dang near killed 'em

SEIZURE: A Roman Emperor

TABLET: A small table

TERMINAL ILLNESS: Getting sick at the airport

TUMOR: More than one

URINE: Opposite of you're out

VARICOSE: Nearby

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Be Sure to Count Those Instruments

I work in the billing department of a major medical facility. The
Surgery Area Manager is in the habit of posting the schedule, along
with informational notes, next to the time clock.

Monday, the message read: "PLEASE remember, it is very important to
count instruments, etc., before closing the patient! Thanks, Kevin."

Tuesday, the message was: "Notice: We seem to be missing some
stethoscopes...."

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: "Calling Dr. Doctor"
(Excerpted from JAMA, 12/2/92)

A few months ago, I read a funny article about people who take
poetic license with their use of the title "Doctor." In his travels
through the phone book, the author found not only a "Pet Doktor" and
a "Bike Doctor," but he also discovered someone who billed himself
as "The Rug Doctor."

After reading this article, I began thinking about the humorous
implications of people's names. For example, although Joseph Heller
created a fictional character named Major Major in his novel
Catch-22, there actually are physicians in this country named Doctor
(18 to be exact). Realizing that this was probably just the tip of
the iceberg, I decided to find out how far this Dr. Doctor thing
might go. So, with pen in hand, I spent a weekend flipping through
the 1990 edition of the American Medical Directory of Physicians in
the United States.

The first thing I learned during my research is that there are a lot
of doctors in this country. Although I did not get page turner's
tendonitis, I did need a stiff drink by the time I reached the Z's.
I also learned that doctors' names often bear an interesting
relationship to what they do for a living.

There are 22 doctors in the United States named Needle, Probe,
Lance, and Ligate. Not to be outdone by such simple procedures,
there are another 20 named Drill, Scope, Bolt, and Pin. I couldn't
find anyone named Cut or Clamp, but there are three doctors named
Drain.

Many doctors have names that are more generic and, I might add,
quite appealing from the patient's point of view. I found 19
physicians named Fix, Cure, or Heal. If any of them formed a group
with those named Brilliant (6), Able (6), or Best (62), there's no
telling how popular their practice might be. It goes without saying
that they would have a clear advantage over the 9 doctors named
Klutz, Croak, Blunt, and Blewitt.

[Editor's Note: Not to mention the dentist in Columbia, MD, named
"Bonebreak." (Seriously!) </vs>]

Doctors' names often say a lot about the type of medicine they
practice. I found a dermatologist named Rash, a rheumatologist
named Knee, and an orthopedic surgeon named Bone. My favorites,
however, were a psychiatrist named Couch and an anesthesiologist
named Gass. Nevertheless, a doctor's name does not always
correspond with his or her specialty. There are 10 doctors named
Blood, but none of them are hematologists. Similarly, of 11 doctors
named Dust, Mold, and Pollen, none are allergists. I also
discovered a handful of doctors named Eye (3), Nose (2), Tongue (2),
Kidney (1), Stool (4), and Surgeon (1), none of whom work in the
area suggested by their name. The best in this category belong to
Drs. Briss (1) and Stream (4), who, I'm sorry to say, are not
urologists.

Sometimes a doctor's initials can be more revealing than his name.
I found an obstetrician with the initials R.O.A., a cardiologist
with the initials E.C.G., and a neurologist with the initials C.N.S.
There is also a surgeon out there who can sign his orders N.P.O. On
the other hand, there are no internists with the initials F.U.O, and
I couldn't find anyone, not even a pathologist, with the initials
Q.N.S.

Some doctors have names that might create a little confusion in the
places where they work. Imagine what people think when an operator
pages Dr. Page (140) or when the ER puts in a stat call for Dr.
Stat (1). How would patients react if they shout "Nurse!" and Dr.
Nurse (3) is the one who shows up as they're fumbling with their
bedpan? Other names that probably raise a few eyebrows from time to
time include the 65 doctors named Flesh, Gore, Ache, and Looney.
Finally, should you develop chest pain in the middle of the night,
whom would you rather meet in the emergency room, Dr. Code (5) or
Dr. Crump (29)?

It was amusing to note what would happen if particular doctors got
together either as co-authors on a paper or as colleagues in an
office. Possible combinations include Vital (2) and Signs (1), and
Brain (1) and Stem (5), as well as the more interesting Laurel and
Hardy (4) and Abbott and Costello (46). I also found 61 doctors
named Marx, though I couldn't determine if any of them are brothers.

The next time you send in a check to cover your escalating
malpractice insurance, consider the irony in this: There are 43
doctors in the United States named Judge or Jury. I couldn't find
any Attorneys.

========================[ H U M O U R N E T ]=======================

SUBJ: Cutting Costs

Three nurses went to heaven, and were awaiting their turn with St.
Peter to plead their case to enter the pearly gates.

The first nurse said, "I worked in an emergency room. We tried our
best to help patients, but occasionally we did lose one. I think I
deserve to go to heaven."

St. Peter looks at her file and admits her to heaven.

The second nurse says, "I worked in an operating room. It's a very
high stress environment and we do our best. Sometimes the patients
are too sick and we lose them, but overall we try very hard."

St. Peter looks at her file and admits her to heaven.

The third nurse says, "I was a case manager for an HMO."

St. Peter looks at her file. He pulls out a calculator and starts
punching away at it furiously, constantly going back to the nurse's
file. After a few minutes St. Peter looks up, smiles, and says,
"Congratulations! You've been admitted to heaven ... for five days."

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</collage259>