One of my favorite patients is a 50something gentleman who's very slowly recovering from hepatic encephalopathy. He waxes and wanes, but 99 percent of the time he stares at the ceiling, talks nonsense words to himself, and ignores everyone in the room.
Imagine my surprise when I walk in this morning, he looks right at me, and starts singing "Ain't Love the Sweetest Thing."
'Mr. L! Are you singing to me?'
Right in my eyes. "Yes I am!"
'What are you singing L?'
"My ooooode to yoooouuuu. Doo doo doo doo doo." ::his voice drops down to a whisper:: "shh. . . we're in the locker room."
He spent the rest of our encounter parroting every sound he heard, including his IV pump beeping.
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