Dr. Camus is a jerk. The whole hospital loathes him. His patients loathe him. And the hospital's CEO really loathes him. The staff want him to just take the blue pill from The Matrix and wake up to reality--or is it the green pill? He's also not a very good doctor, as he doesn't realize that none of his patients actually have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoniosis, his favorite Wikipedia-inspired diagnosis. But Rosencrantz the CEO can't replace him without immense cost and time; it is cheaper to provide a censor to follow Camus around and cover up his insults than find a new doctor. When Dr. Camus starts sending all of his patients to the Good Hospital up the street, Mr. Rosencrantz the CEO has a brilliant idea--a one-month suspension without pay, and hypnotism by the Amazing Ralph to change Camus's behavior. After Dr. Camus comes back a changed man, he faces all of the same challenges as before. Can he and Rosencrantz together save his humanity and the hospital's bottom line? Probably not, but it's a good time anyway. If you have a sense of humor, or if you don't but would like one, then pick up your copy today!
Dr. Camus is a jerk. The whole hospital loathes him. His patients loathe him. And the hospital's CEO really loathes him. The staff want him to just take the blue pill from The Matrix and wake up to reality--or is it the green pill? He's also not a very good doctor, as he doesn't realize that none of his patients actually have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoniosis, his favorite Wikipedia-inspired diagnosis. But Rosencrantz the CEO can't replace him without immense cost and time; it is cheaper to provide a censor to follow Camus around and cover up his insults than find a new doctor. When Dr. Camus starts sending all of his patients to the Good Hospital up the street, Mr. Rosencrantz the CEO has a brilliant idea--a one-month suspension without pay, and hypnotism by the Amazing Ralph to change Camus's behavior. After Dr. Camus comes back a changed man, he faces all of the same challenges as before. Can he and Rosencrantz together save his humanity and the hospital's bottom line? Probably not, but it's a good time anyway. If you have a sense of humor, or if you don't but would like one, then pick up your copy today!
When Dr. Camus powered down the hallway of The Peloton Forward Crescendo Care Amicus Health Priority Catalyst Wellness Code Blue Memorial Hospital of Her Motherly Excellence (slogan: âWe are a hospitalâ), the tail of his rumpled white doctorâs coat trailed behind him like the cape of an angry nineteenth-century magician. His short statureâno more than five-feet-five, though he claimed at least five-feet-nineâbelied his scorn for humankind, instead of depicting a jolly elf-like demeanor typically expected of those without ample size. His entrance through the hospital lobby only worsened his mood, as the âfancyâ player piano nearly constantly hit the wrong note, seeping further disorder and confusion into his perverse subconscious. Dr. Camus walked not only with a purpose, but with the explicit purpose of humiliating everyone possible in the wake of his ego; he intended to make everyone else pay for his own inadequacy and shortcomings (pun intended). Camus didnât just want you to know how much he despised you. It had to be joined with the absolute certainty that he was better than you in every way, even though he was a man of few genuine talents. He had trolled people for so long about the Monkees being more talented than the Beatles that he now actually believed it, and thus repeated it to anyone who wasnât listening. And, frankly, he also had a terrible haircut.
Dr. Camus didnât have the typical baggage of an egomaniacal archetype. No one abused him as a child. He didnât come from a broken home. No overcompensating to get his fatherâs approval. He wasnât an alcoholic or drug addict. No broken marriages or other emotional traumas. He was simply a jerk. Nobody knew if he was always this way. I guess youâll just have to wait for the prequel.
His face was half-scowl and half-grin, like the scabrous predator that he was. He embodied all that was negative of a supposedly once noble profession, the tradition of which he openly mocked in the way he treated his âcallingâ. He also refused to believe that he was ever actually called to such a vocation, a shocking disclosure to everyone in the old guard. No one even knew how he came to work at The Peloton Forward Care Crescendo Amicus Catalyst Health Priority Wellness Code Blue Memorial Hospital of Her Motherly Excellence; he simply kept showing up after his residency ended. Itâs unlikely that anyone would purposely hire him.
Someone at the nurseâs station down the hall was smiling in anticipation of his arrival. She obviously didnât know him.
âHello Dr. Camus, my nameâs Blanche. Iâm caring for your patients in rooms 404 and 406.â
Blanche was short but big-boned, a squat ball of sweetness and deference. She was fresh out of nursing school, eager to make a good first impression on the notorious Dr. Camus on the first day of her first job. He abruptly halted his squatty gait, as though interrupted by the unexpected sight of a dinosaur.
âBlanche? Your name is Blanche? What kind of [BLEEP] idiot names their kid Blanche?â he said to the poor nurse, who was now shaking in fright. âIt sounds like someone [BLEEP] on the floor with a magic [BLEEP] in their [BLEEP]. Or like someone vomited up their stomach. No, no wait, it sounds more like a truck having a baby, stuck on the side of the road, the back fender creaking and cracking until out bursts a [BLEEP]-sized [BLEEP]. BLANCHE! BLANCHE!â
He made a motion as though he were vomiting, his shoulders rolling forward and head jutting out like a chicken (because evidently that is what a truck giving birth would look like).
âMyâŠmyâŠmother was aâŠaâŠGolden Girls fanâŠâ
She hoped an explanation would calm him down, but he didnât even hear her. That was probably for the best.
The drab fluorescent lighting of the fourth floor of the mid-20th Century built hospital poisoned all reason and fed Camusâs emotions. His personality also did that, but the venomous environment combined with his innermost self to create a positive (negative?) reinforcement loop that made him more monster than man. Blanche had heard he was an angry git (though since she wasnât British, she wasnât exactly sure what that meant) so tried to prepare herself for something quite horrific. She was nevertheless mortified by his completely callous disregard of decorum.
âAnd another thing [BLEEP] Broad Shouldersâmy name is pronounced Cam-US, not Cam-OO. Itâs not French.â
âWhy does everyone think itâs French?â he mumbled to himself.
Everyone else stared, anticipating a great show. One of the nursing aides used to make popcorn for everyone each morning while they watched an inevitable tirade against whoever raised Camusâs ire, but after he burned a bag and the entire floor reeked of scorched earth, he was forced to stop. Not for any patient-safety reason, mind you, but just because it made its way into the administration suite, and they simply would not tolerate such odors. Yet somehow more popcorn appeared instantly. I never quite understood why the staff wore 3D glasses, though.
The only staff afraid of Dr. Camus were the new ones, those who had yet to meet him but had heard stories. The rest found him wholly obnoxious and yet strangely interesting. A few nurses who had worked at the hospital for more than a couple of years actually did an impressive impression of the cantankerous doctor. (It wasnât really that hard, just put together a bunch of BLEEPs in a row. Anyone can do it, really, though I would recommend the use of a censor.) They were still a bit uncomfortable when his indignation was aimed directly at them, but even then they found some perverse pleasure in the display.
The big problem (and also the biggest amusement) was that most of the time you had no idea what Camus was saying. His cursing curled the toes of the roughest sailor and stopped any soldiers in their tracks. His brand of swearing was to blend as many words together as possible, trying to achieve more emphasis out of the quantity of insults than the quality. This certainly seemed to mask the specific meaning of his diatribes, but still strongly emphasized his mindset. His goal was to be as scurrilous as possible to make others as uncomfortable and fearful as he was, though this wasnât a conscious realization to him. Interestingly, he really only pushed the patronizing if someone spoke to him; he was too self-pitying to start the process on his own, and actually preferred avoiding people whenever possible.
âAre my [BLEEP] patients okay or did you screw them up too, like your [BLEEP BLEEP] parents did with your name?â He continued. âThough Iâm sure they were lovely people,â he pinched out sarcastically.
âUmâŠwellâŠtheyâŠuhâŠâ
Blanche was already in the claw of terror and betrayal that everyone new to Dr. Camus entered. His dereliction of decency was deafening and defeated everyone in his path at first impression. (Sorry, alliteration with four words is a bit showy, but I couldnât help myself. After all, I, your humble narrator, am British.) Blanche was also very confused as to why there was a man following Dr. Camus, who blew an air horn every time he cursed.
âWell, what a [BLEEP] coinquidink! My father was a [BLEEP] celibate monk, but that didnât ruin my life! You know, youâre just like every other nurse, lab technician, respiratory therapist, medical assistant, administrator, admissions specialist, secretary, doctor, resident, student, parking attendant, janitor, IT guy, receptionist, advanced practice clinicianâand did I say administrator?âpeon, moron, doltish spawn, and [BLEEP] rat in this place; a complete [BLEEP BLEEP]!â
While it would appear that the Censor was working overtime today with Camus, he had a lot of practice and was quite good at anticipating Camusâs language. Since he astutely negotiated payment for every BLEEP he had to use, he actually took home more income than any of the physicians. The administration figured it was cheaper to employ this guyâwith full benefits as well, mind youâthan to risk offending patients and staff, and thus creating even more lawsuits than Camus already inspired as it was. It is even to discourage you, dear reader, from suing the publisher of this story for excessive swearing. So please cut us some slack hereâthe Censor is very expensive.
Blanche burst into tears from this slanderous rant and ran off. Nobody blamed her, but nobody stood up for her either. Everyone sulked away, disappointed that there werenât more fireworks for the morning. Camusâs behavioral dehiscence had been present for years, a stark contrast with some of the other clinicians on staff who were actually quite polite. He took pride in driving away nearly a dozen nurses and other staff to find employment elsewhere, even though he failed to see how the constant influx of raw hirelings actually made his life worse. He simply had no insight into how his behavior affected him, only how it affected others.
âYouâre doing quite well today, Censor,â Dr. Camus said as an aside to his professional shadow.
The Censor was probably the only person who Camus actually respected, so good was he at his job. Not liked, but respected. He was also one of the few people who saw right through Camusâs veneer to his black soul, finding nothing of substance remaining from his charred humanity. The moral injury of entering medicine was too much for Dr. Camusâs sensitive psyche to handle, with everything he ever cared for crammed into the recesses of his subconscious. Hospital rumor was that he used to be a fairly likable fellow, but no one actually believed it. There is simply no appreciation of irony inside a hospital.
âThanks. Iâve actually been considering shaking it up and using something other than âBLEEPâ,â the Censor mused. âA different sounding horn, maybe? Or I could yell something like âYEETâ. The teenagers would love that one.â
âWhy mess with a [BLEEP] perfect system?â Camus retorted. He hated change. It really is quite uncanny how you can predict my [BLEEP] cursing,â Camus added in a moment of rarely seen sincerity.
âNo, Iâd say itâs pretty canny. Quite canny, in fact,â responded the Censor.
The thing with Dr. Camus (among many other âthingsâ) is that he wasnât that great of a doctor. He assumed he was, but he treated his patients the same way he treated everyone elseâlike a dirty urinal. Camus paid little attention to them and interacted with them as little as possible. He frequently left nothing more than a proverbial (and sometimes literal, come to think of it) urinal cake in their room without speaking to them, aside from an occasional incendiary invective. His diagnostic and treatment thoughts arose from an unknown ether that often had no relation to the patient. This was the major difference between him and any sort of medical television trope; on TV, hospitals tolerated dirt bag physicians because of their incredible intelligence. This confused everyone all the more as to why the administration permitted Camusâs ongoing employment.
âThis lady has pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoniosis.â
She didnât.
Camus yelled this to no one in particular but within earshot of everyone in the corridor, expecting someone to respond. He intended to confuse those not familiar with his favorite diagnosis, as the hospital was nowhere near a lung-damaging volcano. There is some question whether this is actually a diagnosis or simply a really long word to be used to impress people at cocktail parties. (Iâve certainly used it to some acclaim.)
âStart her on the usual treatment,â he shouted to no one and everyone at once.
No one knew if the joke was against the patient, the staff, or himself, but it appeared he was starting to believe in his diagnostic prowess.
âDr. Camus, thatâs the third case this week,â stated Nurse Man. Camus didnât know any of the nursesâ names (other than Blanche), and so made up a nickname for each of them. âAre you sure thatâs whatâs going on? This lady came in with abdominal pain, not anything respiratory.â
Camus had somehow come across this âdiagnosisâ through a Wikipedia rabbit hole, and decided that more people would benefit from carrying that label. It was a process enviable to any millennial. No patient whom he had branded with this malady had similar symptoms to each other, but they tended to improve despite his efforts. He failed to grasp the biggest secret in medicineâ99% of symptoms resolve without medical intervention. Granted, that one percent can be quite deadly (Dr. Camus only recently learned that being human has a 100% mortality rate), but thankfully, his patients were often more resilient than they should be. Perhaps out of necessity.
The staff adopted the notion that it was their job to protect the patients from him, which meant altering his orders or directly contradicting him to the patientâs face. They gave him incomplete information to guide his behavior, hoping to spare the patients the same condescension that he doled out to everyone else. It was easy because the other hospitalists developed order sets for the nurses to use for various ailments in such cases.
But I digress. Everyone fell silent after Nurse Manâs questioning, knowing the wrath immediately to follow from Camus. How dare someone question his authority and knowledge!? His expertise is second to none! (Itâs not, and he knew it on some subconscious level, but would never admit it to anyone, including himself.) Some of those around attempted to leave the area, though not far enough that they couldnât hear what he would say.
âDonât you dare [BLEEP] my amazing [BLEEP] wonder of science, my [BLEEP BLEEP] incredible, phenomenal, and imperturbable way of [BLEEP] songlike [BLEEP] until the pillow rips! Iâve seen a million patients and Iâve rocked them all! Itâs not my fault that there is an emetic of this stupid disease!â
âDonât you mean âepidemicâ?â the Censor quickly added.
Given his incorrect choice of words and astounding cursing pattern, no one knew what he was talking about, but the message was loud and clear. Except Nurse Man only smiled. He wasnât showing any signs of fear. He saw right through Camusâs incompetence and toothless intimidation and met it with a sense of unflappability.
âYouâre such a clichĂ©, Dr. Camus,â said the nurse.
He even pronounced the name Cam-MOO just to raise the doctorâs indignation even further.
âWhat did you say?â
The excitement of the eavesdropping staff was snowballing.
âI said youâre nothing but a clichĂ©. Havenât you ever seen a medical TV show or movie? Thereâs always the big [BLEEP BLEEP]âŠâ
The Censor immediately apologized for assisting the nurse and let him continue.
ââŠwho treats everyone else like garbage, like theyâre some sort of subhuman sausage that gets in the way of your supposed amazing power. Youâre completely absurd, Camus.â
Nurse Man didnât know that we already exposited this a couple of pages ago. Also, Subhuman Sausage is a glorious name for a punk band.
âYou think Iâm a clichĂ©? How many people here have a [BLEEP] podcast?â he asked the crowd. Threefourths raised their hand. âAnd how many of you take an improv class?â
Approximately the same number of arms raised.
âCrap, I gotta get to class!â someone yelled in the back as they ran away.
âI rest my case,â Camus said with a haughty bow.
Though it perplexed him that he had never thought of the name Subhuman Sausage, however.
Nurse Man continued, ignoring the ridiculous people in the crowd, mainly because their idiocy undermined his point: âBut the main difference is that in the shows, the scumbag doctor is tolerated because of his brilliance, but you donât even have that. How are you even employed? The only thing that would make this dumb story even more of a clichĂ© is if it were framed by you explaining the plot and character development to your psychiatrist.â
The listening staff released an audible gasp in unison. Everything Nurse Man said was true, and they all knew it, but no one thought it would come out in such a direct way. And only a few among them realized the repetitive use of the word âclichĂ©â here was in itself a clichĂ©.
âWhat do you [BLEEP] mean? Iâm definitely handsomer than Hugh Laurie!â
He wasnât. He figured that this non sequitur argument might make up for the insults about his inferior doctoring. And no one really understood why he assumed his looks were being attacked; his ugliness was a given. But why did he choose Hugh Laurie from House, MD?
âNo one is more handsome than Laurie, I mean, come on. Maybe Jon Hamm, but youâre far from him, too.â
Everyone around was waiting for one of them to evoke George Clooney from ER, but it was far too obvious for either of them.
âDid Jon Hamm ever play a physician?â Camus couldnât recall any roles.
âAt least once, but not well.â Nurse Man had to focus to get his prior train of thought back on track. âI mean, pneumonoultraâŠwhatever? What even is that? The closest volcano is thousands of miles away and hasnât erupted in decades! Why in the world would we see a rash of such diagnoses in this area? It doesnât make any sense because ITâS A STUPID DIAGNOSIS!â
Phew, the nurse was even making me sweat a little. He surely was enjoying himself.
âAnd last week you diagnosed someone with âmigratory halitosis.â That doesnât even exist! Itâs not a thing!â
âHe smelled everywhere,â countered Camus.
But Nurse Man was not done.
âYouâre like the collar of a polo shirt that peeks over the neck of the sweaterâitâs useless AND pathetic! No, youâre more like an actor at the time of his career when he can only get cheesy roles in terrible family movies, so you delude yourself that you accept these roles purely for the kids! Youâre as useless as the leftover sliver of soap in the shower. Youâre likeâŠlikeâŠlike a ship lost at sea that sinks because itâs a dumb ship! Everyone loathes you, because all you do is insult and curse and harm patients and piss people off for no reason! I mean, how many assassination attempts have you avoided?â
That last line seemed especially harsh, but Camus had to admit that there were more than a few people who would prefer him dead.
âHow out of touch can you really be? You probably think that Sting wrote a song about a stop light named Roxanne!â
âWell, I was recently elected into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.â
Itâs true, Camus really was, despite no actual musical talent. But his petition to the Hall was pretty strong.
âI mean, take the frickinâ blue pill and wake up already!â Yes, Nurse Man really said frickinâ.
Camus was not used to open rebellion and thus didnât know how to respond, but the pill comment confused him.
âDonât you mean the green pill?â he said with scorn and more than a little curiosity.
âIâm pretty sure there wasnât even a green pill offered,â replied an orderly, listening down the hall who now approached the argument. âI thought they were red and blue.â
âNo, Iâm pretty sure it was pink,â answered someone else.
âWhy would it be pink? Whatâs wrong with you?â
The conversation no longer belonged to Camus and the nurse, having been abruptly confiscated by the eavesdropping mass.
âIt was a blue pill, but youâre supposed to take the red one to see reality.â
âWhat are you guys even talking about? Whatâs the deal with the colored pills?â asked yet another onlooker.
âYou know, in Fight Club, when the guy offers the other guy the opportunity to see whatâs really going on or continue on in ignorance?â
No one even recognized this guy, who was probably a patientâs relative or something. No one else in a hospital would wear jeans with a button down and Birkenstock sandals with socks.
âIt wasnât Fight Club, it was The Matrix.â The head nurse, who barely arrived on the scene, knew enough of what was happening to correct the confused intruder, but not enough to avoid confusing everyone else. âKeanu has to decide if heâll accept Samuel L. Jacksonâs offer to leave the matrix.â
Multiple others chimed in on their thoughts of who the actor actually was as the discussion quickly escalated to bigger issues. The group of people were so engrossed that no one even noticed the patient who was on fire run down the hall and jump out the window.
âItâs not Samuel L. Jackson! Itâs Mario van Peebles!â
âvan Peebles hasnât been in anything in decades! And they donât even look alike. How could you possibly think it was him?â
âI could have sworn it was Wesley Snipes. Remember him? That dude was KILLER!â
âNow youâre all just throwing out random black dudes. It was actually Denzel. Youâre all nothing more than a bunch of racists.â
âJust because I donât know which actor did what doesnât make me racist!â
âWell, you didnât bother to find out, did you?â
âIâve never even seen this movie!â
âWhat, you refuse to watch movies with black people in them?â
âIâm so confused,â said more than one person to themselves.
So many people had been blurting out nonsense that no one even knew who said what, but itâs safe to say that what started out as an exposition of Camus in our brief story was now something entirely different. Nurse Man and Camus had said nothing since the pill discussion went off the rails and just watched in an unamused torpor. Only the new medical student who hadnât figured out which doctor he was supposed to work with was still concerned about the accuracy of the pillâs color.
âItâs white! Thatâs the only color that matters! All of these other colors are completely ridiculous! No other colors even make sense. How could you all be so
stupid?â he yelled out in a sudden moment of quiet.
Everyone whipped their heads around and looked at him in confusion, disbelief, and utter silence. They didnât realize that he was still talking about the pillâs color, and he did not know they were talking about skin color. He didnât get why everyone was now looking at him in shock and disdain.
âWhat?â he embarrassingly stated.
He slowly backed away as tears filled his eyes. As he ran away, he mumbled something about how stupid he was because he still got the color wrong. Everyone quickly turned away from him to continue scolding each other.
âHow in the world did this get to be about race?â
âThis chubby moron has no idea that there is more than one black man in Hollywood, and Mister Future Doctor Scumbag, who ran away, is dumb enough to blurt out his own thoughts on skin color.â
This might be a good time to point out that everyone currently engaged in this mess was white; the token African-American employee in this suburban hospital had the day off.
One person knelt on one knee as though the national anthem were playing. Someone else raised a fist in solidarity withâŠsomething. She didnât even know what it meant. It merely felt like something she should do.
âDid you really think that since I got the actor wrong, that means I have no respect for black people? No one has more respect for them than me! My best friend in junior high was black.â
He then dramatically dropped a microphone, which seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He thought his last comment proved without a doubt that his views were pure.
Even Dr. Camus didnât tackle such controversial subjects as race relations. He preferred to discuss abortion.
âOh sure, rain on the race parade! Pretty soon youâre all gonna be ragginâ on gays, too.â It appeared the crowd wanted to step this up a notch. âWhy ainât we
talking about Milk, man, instead of the stupid Keanu movie? Harveyâll show us the way! And besides, why does âWordâ insist on knowing my orientation before I change the page layout?! What if my sexual orientation doesnât fit a specific category, and THEN what? Huh, Bill Gates?! This world is ridiculous!â
âWhy would we talk about the milkman? Besides, my milk âmanâ is a woman, so donât get me started on all of your sexist statements over the years.â
âUm, should we be talking about all of this?â one random guy asked innocuously.
No one heard him as all the comments quickly became unidentifiable as each voice raised to stand out above another.
âDo you wanna go get a beer?â Camus asked Nurse Man quietly under the rising din of the debate all around them.
Nurse Man looked at his watch: 9:10am.
âYeah, sure, why not?â
No one noticed as they discreetly slipped away.
I'm old-school; I love print books; however, I'd make an exception to listen to HOSPITAL! A Medical Satire of Unhealthy Proportions by Kyle Jones. Dr. Camus loved to curse in this dark humor book and frequently let the profanity fly. His mouth was so foul that the administration at The Peloton Forward Crescendo Care Amicus Health Priority Catalyst Wellness Code Blue Memorial Hospital of Her Motherly Excellence hired someone to be on the ready to bleep the doctor. (Yup, that's the hospital's full name. Catchy, right?!) Every time Censor had to sound the horn to cover up the curse words, he made bank. Thanks to Camus's potty mouth, Censor made more than the physicians. By the way, Censor had an actual name, but you won't find out what it is from me.Â
Hospital!: A Medical Satire of Unhealthy Proportions had a narrator who interjected a few times. These moments would be more comical if I listened to the story instead of reading it. The numerous bleeps also would've been funnier in an audiobook. I can try to hear a horn blasting off each time I see the word "BLEEP," but to actually hear one would've had me in stitches.Â
This story did amuse the heck out of me. I never knew what would come out of Camus's mouth. Man, oh man, he was a vile piece of work. After he went to the hypnotist and entered the clinic, I nearly spit my drink out over the stories the patients shared with him on the reasoning behind their visit. The one who did an internet search on their symptoms and rushed to the hospital, demanding numerous tests, was my favorite. Why? Whenever I google my symptoms, it always comes up as cancer as a possible diagnosis. The person in the clinic had a sore toe, and, guess what, the search told them it was? Yup it might be cancer. Cancer is not funny, but it never fails, a top-rated medical site (name withheld on purpose) always has cancer as a possible diagnosis.Â
With or without Camus's sidekick (Censor) nearby, this story made me chuckle. I recommend this book to anyone who needs a good laugh or loves to laugh! It's hilarious from start to finish!Â