Eggs-cellent CH Hospital tech retires after 39 years

Posted 10/7/16

Jim Frazier, 63, a technician who retired recently after 39 years at Chestnut Hill Hospital, holds up a humorous shirt a co-worker presented to him on his last day at work. Flourtown “foodie” …

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Eggs-cellent CH Hospital tech retires after 39 years

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Jim Frazier, 63, a technician who retired recently after 39 years at Chestnut Hill Hospital, holds up a humorous shirt a co-worker presented to him on his last day at work. Flourtown “foodie” Barbara Sherf was the last patient to receive a batch of “glowing eggs” from him. (Photo by Barbara Sherf)  Jim Frazier, 63, a technician who retired recently after 39 years at Chestnut Hill Hospital, holds up a humorous shirt a co-worker presented to him on his last day at work. Flourtown “foodie” Barbara Sherf was the last patient to receive a batch of “glowing eggs” from him. (Photo by Barbara Sherf)[/caption]

by Barbara Sherf

What does a self-described “foodie” do when the thought of eating is simply revolting? She adapts and turns to find the humor and irony in her predicament.

This medical mystery started in mid-May following a trip in our travel trailer to the pristine Assateague Island, a 37-mile long barrier island off the coast of Maryland, observing the wild horses roam while delighting in the wide-open beaches, kayaking in the bay and pedaling on long bike rides.

About halfway through the trip, while dining with fellow campers, I simply ordered tea due to a persistent sour stomach. One of our dining companions thought the symptoms sounded like H.Pylori, a bacterium responsible for most ulcers and many cases of chronic gastritis or inflammation of the stomach. “While we drink bottled water on our trips, my doctor suspected that I could have picked up the H.Pylori by not properly sterilizing our eating utensils in the water provided,” said Eileen Huettl of Mays Landing, New Jersey, a frequent visitor to the island when not volunteering at an animal shelter near her home. “I now place all of our utensils in boiled water and let them soak before cleaning them.”

The theory seemed to have merit, so upon returning to Flourtown, I had two tests done for H.Pylori. One came back positive and one negative. The journey into medical testing began. An endoscopy was performed, and nothing unusual was found.

Yet anytime I ate or drank anything, large or small, gluten-free or not, the food or drink would just sit in my gurgling, bloated and painful stomach as nausea set in. If you’ve ever experienced GI issues, you can relate to how food-oriented our society is. “Lunch? Dinner? Drinks?” friends would offer.

“Sorry, I’m abstaining right now, but thanks,” came the prompt reply.

Following an ultrasound that showed nothing unusual, my gastroenterologist then ordered a stomach-emptying test in which you eat radium-laced eggs while images are taken every hour over a four-hour period to see if the stomach is emptying properly.

Once registered at Chestnut Hill Hospital by the effervescent Sue Landers, I was escorted to a room where a very funny technician by the name of Jim Frazier shared with me that it was his last day of work following 39 years at the hospital. As Jim served me the “glowing eggs,” I asked for a side of sausage, and he replied, “Sorry, fresh out of sausage; this will have to do,” while placing the Styrofoam bowl of scrambled eggs in front of me.

As an aside, everyone in my family knows that I have never liked the texture or taste of eggs. While waiting for the eggs to cool, I employed a procrastination technique used in childhood; small talk.

“Why not stick it out 40 years and the gold watch?” I asked Jim.

“Don’t like round numbers; now eat while it’s hot,” he directed, like a parent coaxing a child to eat her veggies. “Here, you can have some salt and pepper,” he offered, and I doused the eggs with the contents of both packets.

As I was halfway through eating the concoction, Jim, 63, continued to chat, telling me of his plans to continue to flip homes in retirement. As he talked my stomach was doing some flipping of its own.

“Now the key to this test is to keep the eggs down. If they come back up, we’ll have to reschedule. Plus if you have anything to eat or drink over the next four hours, it will mess up the test,” Frazier said, as if I was secretly planning to run up to Chestnut Hill Coffee for a cappuccino and strudel. After finally downing the now lukewarm eggs, Jim directed me “to step up to the bar” for my first scan.

With the first scan behind me, Jim escorted me to a smaller waiting area in the hallway that ironically was right next to the snack and drink station. With the eggs sitting in my stomach, I had no desire for graham crackers or juice, but I did keep my eyes on the plastic lined-trash can just in case there was need of a repository.

Jim would bop back and forth, saying his goodbyes to colleagues throughout the morning. A volunteer coordinator even gave him a fun T-shirt mocked up to say “Get your care elsewhere! I’m retired. Celebrate, Remember, Fight back, Retire!” The employee, who did not want to be named, even offered Jim a bag of goodies given to all the new volunteers, which he graciously declined.

“No thanks, I won’t be needing that. I’m outta here,” said Frazier, who has been commuting at least an hour each way from his home in Mantua, New Jersey.

After the second study was taken an hour later, I asked if I could sit outside and just get some fresh air. “Sure, no problem. Just no food or drink and be back on time,” Frazier warned.

While the stomach-emptying study came back negative, the only bright spot was that Jim Frazier made what could have been a miserable four hours rather fun. Jim’s supervisor, Jerry St. Clair, R.T., Director of Medical Imaging and Rehabilitation, cited Jim as “the model for reliability, dedication and attention to detail.”

Even Chief of Staff, Dr. John Scanlon, made his way to the nuclear medicine area to wish Jim well.

“Jim has certainly made his mark. His technical proficiency, professionalism and caring attitude will be greatly missed,” said Scanlon.

In the ensuing weeks, several more tests were performed, and eventually the doctor diagnosed me with a form of Irritable Bowl Syndrome (IBS) and put me on the FODMAP diet. The what? I later learned that FODMAP refers to foods that contain certain short-chain carbohydrates, and stands for Fermentable Oligo-, Di- and Monosaccharides and Polyols. The FODMAP theory suggests that when individuals who suffer from IBS consume high levels of FODMAPs there is an increase in intestinal distension that contributes to digestive symptoms.

As I sat at my computer looking over the list of foods to avoid, eggs, unfortunately, were not among them. In the months of testing before getting a diagnosis, I never encountered another soul in the medical profession who smiled, made me laugh out loud and kept me amused like Jim Frazier.

When not eating glowing scrambled eggs, Barb Sherf tells the stories of individuals and businesses. She can be reached at Barb@CommunicationsPro.com or 215-990-9317.

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