Unpalette-able

I was tired of the chipped and peeling paint on the walls of my house and decided it was time for a refresh. I had planned on doing the work myself, but worried about the house's resale value, I thought I'd be better off with some expert advice from an interior decorator.

When he arrived, his initial smile quickly turned into a frown as he inspected my furniture, eclectic artwork, and collection of cast-iron farm equipment. When I told him I was thinking of white walls, he stared at me in disbelief. The decorator eventually agreed with my paint choice, but only if I was willing to get rid of my ratty couch, which had been handed down from my grandmother.

White it was, but which white? He looked at me with pity. “We have so many whites to choose from, including Crumb Cookie, Oyster, Toasted Almond, and Heavy Cream, just to name a few. You will have to choose one,” he said.

“Can't I just have regular old white?” I wondered, as he stood there shaking his head in dismay and suppressing a shudder. He suggested I sleep on the decision. That night I lay in bed, surrounded by swatches. …

I woke up to my pager going off. I felt disoriented but realized I was in the call room. The nurse was concerned about a patient with a rash. When I asked what it looked like, she responded that it was on his back and had started after antibiotics were infused. She said the rash was Cranberry Splash-colored. What did that mean? I said to stop the vancomycin and I'd see him soon. It was probably a drug rash, but I was worried about vancomycin infusion syndrome (definitely not Cranberry Splash Syndrome!).

The pager beeped again, before I could put my shoes on. It was the intern wondering about antibiotic choice for a patient who had productive sputum. He said it was Split Pea Soup Green, so he was understandably worried about Pseudomonas. He was also worried about liver function, as the patient's conjunctiva were Fresh Lemonade Yellow. Ordering a bilirubin seemed prudent.

Over the next few minutes, I continued to get a series of odd calls. A patient's foot was Purple Grape and cool; it might be arterial compromise. Another had Pumpkin Patch Orange urine; it might be the phenazopyridine she was taking for dysuria. Most disturbing was the text message about a patient with a Bristol-7 stool that was Chocolate Ripple Brown with streaks of Candy Apple Red.

I was startled awake by the phone ringing. I was not in the hospital on call at all, but in my bed at home. Such a strange dream, and I was oddly hungry. It was my designer calling from the paint store and wondering if I had made a decision. I scratched my head and found a paint swatch stuck there. I peeled it off and read the name. “I guess it's going to be Vanilla Milkshake White.”