“…and so when treating congestive heart failure, you need to include…”
I felt a significant bit of flatus building. Sooner or later I was going to have to let it go. Surrounding me at the conference table were my fellow residents, their eyes focused on the PowerPoint slide presentation projecting onto the wall. Beads of perspiration started on my forehead.
The lecturer for the Thursday afternoon didactic session was an old cardiologist from the community.
But not just any cardiologist.
He was the biggest, most giant prick of all cardiologists and as such, there was no way in hell I would be able to stand up and walk out without inciting his wrath. That would not bode well for the next late night cardiology consult I had to call in.
However, I also knew I could not hold the fart in much longer. Fortunately, my chair was upholstered. If I let it go bit by bit, hopefully the odor would lodge in all of that padding, slowly dissipating at undetectable levels while I got my much needed relief.
So I did it.
By little bit.
“…checking the ejection fraction…”
Until it was all gone.
I shifted slightly at the very end because of the sensation that there was a bit of the gas trapped between my butt cheeks.
Suddenly, my blood ran cold.
What was that sensation? Like KY jelly glopped at the butt crack. (You are not allowed to ask how I know how that felt but suffice it to say that was probably not as erotic or painless as one would like to imagine.)
What he hell happened here?!?!?
And then it came to me. I started taking a weight loss medication a few days prior called orlistat. Several of the female residents were taking it because the drug reps had brought a ton of samples. Residency causes depression and that combined with sleep deprivation had brought a number of unwanted pounds for all of us.
This drug was well known for causing greasy stools. The night before I had eaten pizza. Rather than stop myself from eating that extra two or three pieces of pepperoni pizza, I thought, “Well, no worries! I will just poop all of that fat out…” Apparently I had just had a greasy fart.
Please, God, don’t let it be soaking through my scrubs.
The lecture ended. There was a polite smattering of applause, while we all seethed with deep hate for this man inside. Everyone stood up, shuffling like the zombies we were back to our pod areas to catch up on clinic notes and paperwork. I waited until no one was looking then stood myself (back against the wall) and surreptitiously slid a hand back to brush my backside.
I looked down at the chair.
Well. You know what that upholstery probably looked like…
Fortunately, I had draped my white coat over the back of the chair when I sat down so I threw that back on for cover and ducked past the cardiologist who was chatting genially (prick that he was) with the program director at the doorway. I made a beeline for the bathroom and cleaned as best I could and sat on my foot at my desk the rest of the afternoon to keep from staining more furniture. Fortunately I was post call and had no more patient contact that day.
That, ladies and gents, was THE most embarrassing event of my entire life to that point, excluding the events surrounding my first period which is another story for another time. It was also when I really started hating drug reps…
And now everyone who felt gipped by my Breaking Wind post earlier this week not actually having anything to do with farts can now feel vindicated and hopefully Jane can now giggle herself to sleep tonight at my farting expense!
Photo taken in Lucerne, Switzerland.