I looked after a young man about my daughter's age the other day. It took a few minutes to realize he was deaf. He rang the doorbell at the clinic, I thought he saw me coming to the door, but he walked away before I could get there. I opened the door and called out, but he scurried away. I figured he was looking for a specific nurse, and when he saw I wasn't the one, he left. He returned a few minutes later being rerouted by our xray tech at the residence (he had knocked at the residence door) and I let him in. We had the most stilted non-conversation of grunts and groans I have ever had. I gathered he had been in a fight and hit in the jaw. Finally, once in the ER, I could only find a pad of Post It notes, fortunately the size above the little one inch square ones, and it was on them that the whole visit was charted, once I asked him in writing if he was hard of hearing. We wrote back and forth until I had a nice little pile of about 25 Post It notes. In the end I felt his injuries were not serious, and sent him off with some ibuprofen and instructions to return in the AM for the doctor to take a look at him. In return, I received a handshake, a smile, and two thumbs up. And then the nicest of hugs before he disappeared into the day. And that is why I love my job.
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