I joked often when I was a case manager that I needed some sort of badge that read plainly, "This Person Is Not a Medical Professional." For some reason, people frequently wanted to show me their wounds or scars or ask my opinion about an ailment -- opinions I was not qualified to offer.
One afternoon, I went to see one of my favorites, an elderly widower named Cliff. He always seemed thankful for company and willing to sit and chat for a while. I arrived and he told me how pretty I looked. We sat and began to visit, and I asked about his health. -- At this point, it is important to tell you that Cliff was not wearing a shirt. -- He began reaching over his large pot belly and messing with the elastic waistband of his shorts saying slowly, "Well, I've got something you may want to feel." I sat frozen on the sofa at this point, holding my breath until he stopped at his belly button and added, "I've got a knot come up here, and I don't know what it is."
The man wanted me to stick my finger in his belly button and feel of what was surely a hernia! I informed him that I was not a nurse and that he would have to talk with his doctor about that.
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