What’s Your Name?

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another not-so-bright fellow One particular detail about my recent hospital visit fascinate me though. It goes like this:

Whenever health professional A hands over a patient to health professional B (which, as it turned out, happened quite a lot), they need to go through a ceremonial dance to confirm that A brings the correct patient, that the correct wristband is still attached to said patient, and that B then obtains the correct patient.

It seems a little over the top, but I am sure the ramifications of cutting off the wrong part of the wrong patient could be unpleasant. So, OK, I go along with it. Not that I have a choice anyhow, but you’d wonder with all that scrutiny applied, at least they could try to do it right? You wish:

Sir, are you Mr so-and-so?


Sir, are you born on the such-and-such of year so-and-so?


Sir, do you live in this-and-that street?


There were times when they could have asked whether I am the Queen of Sheba and I’d have said yes. Everyone who ever read a mystery novel knows not to ask suggestive questions. How hard is it to ask

What’s your name, sir?


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