About 2 weeks ago, I got one of those pesky automated emails in my Inbox:

Your mailbox is at 99% capacity. Please delete unwanted messages to free up space for future emails.

So of course I stopped everything immediately to make sure I didn’t miss that email from the producers of Wheel of Fortune inviting me to be a contestant on that show (I’d dominate for reals, yo).

I went back a week, 2 weeks, 3 weeks, 1 month, to see what I could delete. And wouldn’t you know it, but it seems like at least 50% of the “unneeded” emails came from our adoring tolerating public asking rabidly, “When is the next iteration of CMEpalooza Pursuit coming?” I guess people really, really enjoy it. Or maybe they are just greedy. Whatever.

Anyway, we’re happy today to announce the launch of CMEpalooza Pursuit 2019, our annual Sponsor event.

Here is how CMEpalooza Pursuit works:

1. Click here to download the list of questions
2. Click here to download the entry form
3. Use the Sponsor tab of the CMEpalooza website to get links to all of the companies involved in this event. You’ll need to visit the Sponsor sites to get the answers to all of our questions. We promise there is nothing that can’t be found within a click or two.
4. Complete the entry form by coming up with a correct response to one question in each category. That’s six questions/answers in all. Now, we have had some brown nosers who have tried in the past to answer more than the required amount of questions, which is fine. It just won’t help you win.
5. Send your completed entry form to me via email at scott@medcasewriter.com by 11:59 p.m. ET on Friday, April 12.
6. Cross your fingers.

We’ll be giving away $500 in Amazon gift cards this Spring – there will be 5 winners of $100 each.

Here’s a little secret that may convince you to play – there aren’t thousands of people expected to complete CMEpalooza Pursuit. If you play, your chances are reasonably good of winning a prize. Better than my odds of one day calling out vowels and consonants to Pat and Vanna, for instance.

And…go.

 

My son is a freshman in high school and is on the rowing team, which is a new sport for all of us. I think he likes the fact that this is one of the few sports I know nothing about — other than what I read in The Boys in the Boat — and therefore I can’t give him any helpful advice. This may come as a shock to some of you, but he seems not to particularly care for my undoubtedly extremely helpful tips and pointers as to how he can better himself in any number of areas in his life. His loss.

An email recently went around to all parents of the rowers on my son’s team asking for volunteers to “drive a launch” at the upcoming spring regattas. Now, I had no idea what “a launch” is. I thought it was a truck with a trailer that hauls around the boats. So I volunteered. Why not?

It wasn’t until a few days later that I discovered that a launch is actually a mini-catamaran that coaches use during practice and referees/marshals use during the regattas. They use volunteers to zip the referees around on the water during the races. Once I realized that, I was totally in. I had one training session on how to drive the launch (I still have no idea why it’s called that) and then went live last Sunday. I had no idea what I was doing.

Fortunately, despite the frigid temps, the marshal I was responsible for motoring around was very nice, and we had a fun morning out on the lovely Schuylkill (pronounce it with me: “SKOO-kill”) River, yelling at rowers and getting them lined up correctly at the starting area. Here’s a picture of me hard at work along the famous Boathouse Row.

(Here comes the segue.)

Today we, ahem, launch something new at CMEpalooza (did you see what I did there?)

(note from Scott: Unfortunately, I did. We have, ahem, sunk to a new low. Did you see what I did there?)

The people have spoken and you are requesting, nay demanding, a CMEpalooza podcast. And we have heard you and responded. Kind of. There is a CMEpalooza podcast now, but it is basically just an archive of the audio from previous sessions. And for right now, it’s just the audio from the very first CMEpalooza back in 2014 as part of our 5-year anniversary celebration. It’s a work in progress, and we’ll be gradually adding the rest of the sessions over the next few weeks. Like driving the launch on Sunday, I really don’t know what I’m doing, but you’re all nice people and hopefully this will turn out fine, too.

Will we ever turn it into an actual podcast with original content updated on a regular basis? I don’t know. We’ll see. For now, this is what we have. Here are the links if you want to subscribe. Or you can just search for “CMEpalooza” in either Apple or Google podcasts.

Apple podcast (I can’t get the stupid Apple podcast badge to work, so here’s the link)

A few years ago, I tried to talk a few colleagues of mine into presenting a session at a live conference entitled something like “Humor in Medical Writing.” They laughed me off. (Insert rimshot).

“What exactly is funny about medical writing?” they asked. “Wouldn’t this session last like, I dunno, 20 seconds or so?”

Instead of grumbling and arguing, I let those crumbums burst my bubble and shelved the idea. Temporarily.

But dammit, there have been too many funny things happening to me lately professionally to simply let it go forever. And so today, we step aside from our usual veiled promotion for CMEpalooza Spring (it’s coming up in about a month for those of you who care, on Wednesday, April 17) so that we can all share a recent (ha ha) #CMEstory.

There were about 3 or 4 I had to choose from, but this is the one I settled on:

A few months ago, I flew down to Florida to oversee the filming of a series of enduring activities. For one of the broadcasts, our faculty – a pair of rheumatology nurse practitioners – were discussing a case involving a new patient that had recently come to one of their practices. Let’s listen in.

“Today’s case involves a 15-year-old male who presented with joint pain of approximately 1 year’s duration that has recently worsened. He is in good general health overall and had no unusual childhood illnesses to speak of.

During our initial exam, the patient noted about an hour of daily morning stiffness in the fingers, elbows, toes, knees, and back. He specifically emphasized decreasing strength and flexibility in his right wrist that prevented him from enjoying certain activities.”

The case went on for another 10 minutes or so as the faculty discussed the possible diagnosis, how they would approach treatment, and so on. When the discussion ended, I went up to them with just one general comment.

Me: “So you do realize which sorts of ‘certain activities’ this patient was talking about having trouble enjoying due to impaired grip strength in his right wrist, don’t you?”

Pause for a second. Here comes a quizzical look.

Two seconds. Trying to figure out what I’m talking about.

Three seconds. Light bulb goes on.

Four seconds. Blushing begins.

Five seconds. Uproarious laughter.

Them: “Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought of that. But you are absolutely right.”

Put that in your differential diagnosis file, people.

So that’s my recent simple (ha ha) #CMEstory. Add yours in the Comment section below. Everyone could use a laugh.

Participation is recommended but totally optional for everyone but Derek (it’s about time he supported one of my ideas).

As long as it’s not another of his hilarious, “You’ll never guess what happened in last week’s Grant Review Committee meeting” anecdotes. I swear if I have to hear one more story about the multi-hued sweater that Gary the medical director wore, I’ll… well, I won’t be happy.