Kleptomania- the language our patients speak.
Sunday evening in the ED. The nurses and I wheeze around in a brownian motion, distributing Haldol here, Fentanyl there, turkey sandwiches everywhere. The CNA brings me an EKG to sign. Unremarkable. In our world, that’s a good thing. “Whose is it?” I ask “Room 5. Chest pain.” Born in 1950. Ripe age for a …