14th of February

Apologies for being offline for awhile, but the Banana is back! I've been away on the Gold Coast, flirting unsuccessfully with Korean girls, then back through Sydney flirting with the idea of flirting, then back right down to earth (earth being Sunshine hospital ED).
***

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone who is single today! To the rest of you in relationships, if you didn't already hear it today, then...

...maybe you should try being single. Muhaha. Apparently the Koreans have a "Black" day in April where the singles from Valentine's Day commiserate by getting together and having black bean noodles (Jajangmyeon). Slightly morbid, but black is more hip than the extreme reds and whites of this Hallmark holiday ;)

Other noteworthy 14th February anniversaries -

1) St Valentine's Day Massacre of the Bugs Moran's henchmen by Al Capone's goons
2) Iranian leader Ruhollah Khomeini issues a fatwa encouraging Muslims to kill Salman Rushdie, the author of The Satanic Verses.
3) Discovery of Lawrencium, element 103

...hmm...

I guess none of those are really very noteworthy. I'm just hiding from Valentine's Day. I do want to thank the two sweet friends who sent thoughtful platonic messages to me today though, big hugs ;)

***
The first printing of FALLING STARS NEED PARACHUTES rolled off the press today, and my Mum immediately picked up a glaring grammatical error (sigh). Remember kids - if it's a contraction it's I-T-APOSTROPHE-S, but if it's possessive it's just I-T-S. Download a low-res copy of the pdf (grammatical error corrected) here.

The colors were problematic. I had finished most of the book when I was advised to warm up the colours a bit, which I achieved on the original page by tinting some blues with green. Subsequently the transition from page to digital through a scanner robbed the pages of any subtlety in colour, and in particular, those greens I tried to get in there. So the pages you see in the pdf are a little too red and a little too blue. I tried to adjust the colours in Photoshop but it just looks odd, so I've left it for the moment.

I showed the book to my brother Tim, and being the enterprising chap he is, immediately seized on the idea of mass production. It could be, with the proper marketing, my ticket out of medicine! In the works already are a Star action figure with Kung-Fu grip and automatic parachute. For diversification Tim and I decided that in the next installment Saburo gets a car *and* a beach house and that way we'll have cornered the entire merchandising market. JK Rowling and Barbie hold on to your riches, we're coming after YOU!

Wicked Wango Wednesday

Immersed myself in "Pan's Labyrinth" tonight at the cinema - my first great film of 2007. It tells the story of a little girl's escape into a fantasy realm admist the chaos of the Spanish Civil War. It is genuinely sad and moving, imaginative and in many parts intensely uncomfortable - not just for the fantasy aspects of it, but for the horror that is conjured up in real life.

Speaking of interesting images:



Me and my beautiful sister.

Sup Amie!

Polaroids are fun.


















Painting on FALLING STARS NEED PARACHUTES continues...

Will be out of town from Australia Day - heading to Lakes Entrance for some camping, then up to the Gold Coast for some Sun and then down through Sydney for my ritual feed and greet. Back to work 5th Feb.

***

Oh - and thanks to all who have contributed comments in the last month - we've never had the boards this animated before, and there have been some insightful discussions!

Cool. :)

"So...basically you just trace?"

I don't know what you guys think, but I think the technical pen isn't horrible. (compare to previous post)

Anyone want to play "spot the paraphrased Kevin Smith quote in the post's title?"

now in colour

Here's another test page from FALLING STARS NEED PARACHUTES, before I ruin it by seeing if black technical pen will mesh well with the watercolours. I'm still having trouble with the idea of more than two tones of colour.

My brain seems to work best in monochrome.

(Image has been slightly darkened and contrast increased)

David Mack I hate you

Still mucking around in the kiddie sandpen of watercolour artists. Have a look - you can tell I'm painting like my brain thinks I've got oils. Not happy with the colours. The yellow star creates such a clash - figuring out how to do him will be a neat puzzle.

Dug out Jared's copy of Kabuki: Dreams for some inspiration. David Mack, the artist, is God. I sit there boggled at his technique.

David Mack, I hate you.

Diving in

Bought some watercolours for the picture book today. I've never used the medium before. Hello Learning Curve ;) Did this today while experimenting with brushes and colour. I dedicate it to Kugs. It's titled Hair. Alternately it might be Spoon. He knows what I'm talking about. Hot diggity.

The Smackdown: Round 3

Some admin issues:

Buddha: (whoever you are, I haven't figured it out yet): I can assure you I did not delete your comment. Whenever/wherever/whatever it was. As far as I know, only the author of the comment and the administrator of the blog (i.e. me) can delete comments. So if I didn't do it, and you didn't, then I can only assume it's been lost to the ether. So please feel free to re-post.

Blogger has been upgrading recently and I think there are still a few bugs in it. Some of the old comments now come up as "anonymous", so it wouldn't surprise me if some comments went astray.

My apologies.

The Smackdown: round 2

Some people have told me my post/rebuttal of my friend's comments in a previous post was harsh, and only serving to highlight a conflict. I have been asked to remove the comment. (edit: and strangely, by people not the author of the comment)

I feel strongly about not moderating that post. I honestly don't have terrifically thought out reasons, aside to say that while it's handy to have a delete button for blogs/comments on the internet, there's no such thing in real life. The damage was done. Mistakes happen, and it's important to remember and learn from mistakes. Depending on your point of view you might not think it's all that bad.

Ultimately, (and thanks to Carmen for helping me realise this sentiment), I'm not about to mess with free speech.

The only benefit from deleting the comment now is to protect my friend from being viewed as an ass.

This, however, is how I will protect him. This is free speech.

We spoke about the incident. I know he only did it out of frustration for my predicament and as a reflex action to protect me. Part of me actually wants to leave the comment there because it stands as a reminder that I have people in my corner. I love him for that. I also love him for the fact that he was big enough to apologize to the girl in question, without me asking him to.

He is a good guy. One of the best. If anyone - ANYONE - tries to take him down I will tear strips off you.

Period.

***

Feel free to comment on this round of commenting on commenting. That's what it's here for. Intelligent discussion.

Falling stars need parachutes

A muse bit me recently.

I was asked to create a picture book by a friend of mine a few months after she gave birth to a lovely baby girl. I accepted, but mulled over it for many months before the story fell into my head. Honestly, I think it happened on the toilet. (Anyone else see that 'epiphany toilet' episode of Scrubs?)

I did this sketch today, after spending the last week or so nutting out designs, layouts and text. It might become part of the cover.

The children's book is a difficult form. There are so many conflicting parameters to consider - the story needs simplicity but depth and the syntax needs to be precise and concise but warm. The freedom afforded, however, by a target audience unencumbered by an adult reality is a blessing.

I haven't picked up a pencil to sketch in many years. My drawing hand felt stiff and uncertain, but it felt like home.

The tentative title is "FALLING STARS NEED PARACHUTES." I was going to toss it out but it's growing on me.

The Smackdown

I didn't want my first post of the new year to be like this, but I guess Oh-six ticking over to Oh-seven didn't mean there wouldn't be rubble to clean up.

I appreciate the support people have given me regarding the last post. One comment, however, in particular, needs addressing. In it, the author was very disparaging to the girl mentioned in the post.

I hope that his comments have not caused offence to the girl in question, although they probably have. I want to apologize, but that would do little good, because those words were not mine. I am still sorry if my words provoked such a reaction.

I will say that I think the comments were unfair and crossed a line in terms of what is appropriate in the context of this blog and the post.

There is an acceptable level of slanging that is usual in the fallout of a situation like this. There were times when I'd devise outlandish insults about ex-boyfriends/girlfriends to make my friends feel better. I'd joke that we would send Gonorrhea Death Squads comprising Thai Ladyboys to infect these ex's and make their lives miserable. I mean, "GIRLS ARE STUPID, THROW ROCKS AT THEM" is a pretty catchy, if misogynistic, call to arms.

There is, however, no real venom behind it.

The comment in question was meant to incite, and unfortunately, had no real relation to the post. The author may think that because he has some skeletal inside knowledge of the situation that qualifies his comments but I don't think it does. He misses the point of the post, which is mostly about my struggle to reconcile change with staying myself. Although I made my opinion clear, whether or not this girl is "beautiful and intelligent" is largely irrelevant.

I am happy to lay my own feelings bare here in this blog, but I do not have any such rights over the feelings of others. I will not disclose information that may compromise someone else's privacy. So please understand that when you comment you are making a comment based on limited information, filtered through my world-view.

I will leave the comment unmoderated as a reminder that actions have consequences and because I also believe in free speech. The girl in question has her right to reply, which she has absolutely no obligation to exercise.

Please. This is not the place to start beef. I don't want that here.

And to you-know-who-you-are: Dot point "No.5" in the comment is not about you. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry.

Of mice, men, chimps and chumps

*Post contains profanity.*

I have to say, Happy New Year to all first. Because the rest of what I have to say sets the tone for a fairly crappy blue year.

The score of Dave vs the Axis of Women now stands at a neat 0-8.

One of those fun defeats was another cute Thai waitress who positively beamed when I told her, "I think you're cute, can I take you out to coffee?" She unfortunately had a boyfriend and I'm unfortunately beginning to think I must have some kind of fetish for the hospitality industry. Seriously, if you ever find me cruising and hitting up MacDonald's Drive-thru's I want you to shoot me, then cremate me, turn my ashes into a mud brick and then smash the brick...with a Humvee.

The other defeat is, in the big picture, much more significant to me for many reasons.

I met this wonderful girl at a Christmas party recently. She is, easily, the most interesting person I've met this year. Spontaneous, cute, artistic and articulate...phrases like "point of consciousness" roll off her tongue as easily as a Lupe Fiasco rhyme, yet peppered with girly giggles...the adjectives don't really convey what an intriguing mess of contradictions this girl is.

Such an adorable mess at that, too.

We had a couple of pseudo-dates with other people tagging along which went alright. I decided to push the agenda by offering to make her dinner at my place.

I think I drove my friends and family nuts by getting very neurotic and nervous about the date. All the typical hang-ups got dusted off and thrown about,

"What do I wear? What music do I play? What should I cook?"

I mean, I haven't been on a proper date in years, so really all that can be simplified into,

"What the fuck do I do?"

And the zen-like answer I got from all corners -

"Just be yourself."

(Is everyone else hearing Robin Williams as the Genie from Aladdin? Beeeee yourselfff)

In some people's eyes (my brother) it was slight overkill. He said, in his wisdom,

"Man, you've upped the intimacy level way too quickly. If you're not on point and the chemistry isn't there, you've got nothing to fall back on. Nothing to distract her. You're McFucked."

That's my new curse for the year. McFucked.

My friends had only one thing to say when I said that I'd tried to be adventurous by inviting the girl to pick six ingredients which I'd use, Ready Steady Cook-style.

"Dude." (Shaking their heads)

When the ingredients came back as salt, pepper, garlic, pork, tomatoes and ice-cream, and I said that I'd try and be even more adventurous and make tomato ice cream you can imagine their response.

"Dude, you....are so McFucked."

"Just be yourself."

I've decided that that is the single most useless piece of advice ever.

Anyway, come date night I had, like a typical medic, prepared and over-thought the situation enough for me not to be too nervous. And dinner went alright. Nobody died from tomato ice-cream poisoning, and nobody choked on undercooked pork.

Maybe something I should say at this point is that the girl had already forewarned me that she wasn't looking for something serious, particularly not with a doctor (aha! the "doctor" card is absolute bullshit - see?) because she had had a disappointing relationship with a doctor in the past.

I think I surprised both her and myself by forging on nonetheless, optimism in one hand and a firm belief in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny in the other.

McFuck it! I'll just BE myself and she'll see that it'll be different with ME.

I think it's clear from my tone that I did indeed get McFucked.

Somewhere around the halfway mark of the dinner date the conversation got serious. Serious talking about her not being ready to have a serious relationship. With a doctor?

No, with me.

I live with self-doubt most hours of the day and one gets used to hearing one's own voice drone on about one's own inadequacies so much that functioning is not so hard.

However, when someone beautiful and intelligent is sitting in front of you and deduces it all, and reflects it back to you in words almost stolen from your own head...

The feeling of vulnerability is like being dissected open to your soul on an operating table without proper anaesthesia. You're aware that something painful is happening to you but have no control over it, and for some strange reason it doesn't feel wrong. It just hurts.

I hear (not in these exact words, I'm paraphrasing) "You're passive, serious. Not relaxed. You're not assertive, you're not quick."

Just be yourself?

Guys (males), all of you *know* what comes next.

"I Still Want To Be Friends."

This is where you feel like a dog that's been steamrolled into a worthless (and very flat) carcass but here she is, waving a bone at your flat, sorry ass.

And I'm sorry to say it, but I'm a sorry sucker for it too.

So, just be yourself?

Be a sucker? Be a passive, serious, non-assertive slow bastard?

That chestnut of wisdom "Be Yourself" does not live with the other classic axiom, "Change is a Good Thing".

It's the season of change. I've been living in this skin for a year and it's brought me to my knees in front of women that have either been Christian, psychotic allied health or a seductive force of nature, as in this case.

I'm really feeling that if Oh-Seven is not kind to me, I will break things.

I want to thank Marcus and Sid for the drinks, and apologize for not taking their advice more to heart.

I want to thank Fi for the song we recorded - I am going to try and hang my memories of this week on that, rather than on this.

And to the significant two others involved in this situation: I realized after writing all this you may stumble on this post. This post is not meant to upset the balance we've negotiated and I'm not looking to cause any trouble. Go about your business and don't underestimate my capacity to be civil. I am a public servant, after all.

***

As Oh-six turns away for the last time, I want to wish much love and happiness to all my friends and everyone who has made this year alive for me.

Faithfully yours,
!dave~

Closing out the year

*edit*:

1) When I say "old" in the next paragraph, I mean - "longtime", not "aged" or "geriatric" or "crusty"
2) Said "longtime" friend is Fiona SNARE nee Wong - my apologies for naming the sound file incorrectly (old habits die hard!)

Tomorrow I'll find out if I really close out the year on a win (this will mean something to some, and nothing to others), but I received a beautiful gift from an old friend when I got some people together today to jam in my garage.

Just listen:

Fi and Dave - All my life (K-Ci and Jojo cover).

Fi thinks K-Ci and Jojo sound wishy-washy on the original track (blasphemy! "All my life" was one of the defining songs of my San Francisco trip in year 10); I forgave her totally after we recorded this.

Happy new year to you all. I hope 2007 brings much love and no more squalor than is necessary.

Pep talk

Headspace is a little scrambled right now.

Emergency medicine has been keeping me busy lately, but after work I get home and bash my head against metaphorical brick walls in the vain hope of creating 'music'. Eventually some bricks fall together in not-horrible ways and I sit, slightly satisfied that I've got a nice beat track. The only problem is that that brief euphoria dissipates when I realize I've got no melody, no lyrics to drape over it, i.e. no *song*. I sit there, struggling to be inspired by myself.

Not dissimilar to my current social situation, really. Struggling to be inspired by myself.

I've been going to salsa classes recently after my mate invited me along. I figured it'd be fun, and a good chance to meet new people outside of medicine.

So I'm there and somehow manage to score a dance with a cute little asian girl who is all the more cute for being able to dance. I, unfortunately, am not blessed likewise, in either category, and the combination of trying to make conversation and dance at the same time renders neither functional.

The music stops and it's been such a poor showing that I don't even bother trying to offer her a drink. There's an awkward moment and we walk off in opposite directions.

I told my friend esme about this and she laughed (it *was* funny in an awkward-Jason-Biggs-having-sex-with-an-apple-pie way) but when she said, "the picture of a deflated Dave is getting familiar" I thought Things Really Need to Change.

Both my salsa mate and a new acquaintance told me this last week that the power lies in positive thinking - in not taking these hits personally and staying positive in of myself.

Struggling to be inspired by myself.

I do, however, remain surprised by my ability to jump headlong into a situation in which I'm completely out of my depth. Last night I tried to ask out a gorgeous eurasian waitress (degree of difficulty - 5.0) and to cut a long story short, my opening salvo was,

"Hi, can I have two Jack and Cokes?" - trying to flash the most cute smile I can muster, although it probably looked like a grotesque cubist painting...and the dismount, an hour or two later -

Trying to beat the Last Call for Alcohol, I front up to the bar, hoping to catch her again, I get hit by a different waitress who says,

"Sorry, we're closing."

I've come too far. I have to dig deep.

"Um, I just came up to ask her" I point, "to coffee." (EMBARASSING!)

"Well, she just started her, maybe you could ask her another time?"

What? I can't get stopped by that. I'm committed. I'm Jerry Maguire with the memo.

"Uh, look, could you just, please?"

She asks the girl over. My heart is about to rupture in about ten different ways and so out comes,

"Uh, hi, I'm Dave...I just, actually, um, came to...

"...to like see if, to ask you..."

"to coffee."

She smiled, (I think), but said

"Sorry, I have a long term boyfriend."

Somehow I manage to apologize and leave, despite my legs feeling like an amorphous blob of caffeine and energy.

The upshot of this all, is that, despite being deflated Dave yet again, I have to thank the sympathetic nervous system for reminding me how it feels to be alive.

But, of course, being far too self-analytical, I know there are a multitude of ways that that scenario could have been run better, smoother, flirtier.

Honestly though, I'm scared of smoother, flirtier. Why? Where is that line between smooth and flirty, and sleazy? I've talked to a couple of different people about this lately. I open it up to public forum.

Go. Inspire me. Struggling to be inspired by myself.

My people

I figure some multimedia might make up for lost words since the last time I posted.

Wim is a very talented and entertaining gentleman from Canberra who I've had the privilege of jamming with on guitar every so often. He's also a devil on the tango floor, but that privilege he saves for the ladies. Hear him in lo-fi here:

Wim - Georgia on my mind
Wim and Dave - So what

The happy couple Adrian and Lei-Ching are a couple of workmates who kindly invited me to their beautiful wedding a few weeks ago - (where I found out the origin of the phrase 'tie the knot' is from a Celtic marriage tradition where the bride and groom were wed by literally having a knot tied around their joined hands)



Jaz popped down on annual leave - and we found the lighthouse that was used on the set of the TV series of Paul Jennings' Round the Twist (Australian children of the 80s throw your hands up)



And lastly, the Western hospital ball - where my registrar rolled up like William Wallace in his kilt, my co-intern drank enough to kill both our livers, and I met my crush's boyfriend. (sigh.) And before anyone asks, I'm not meant to be a cowboy, but more like Alan Moore's pulpy comic character Greyshirt (have to get the nerd referencing right).




Shout out to the final year UNSW med students who finished their exams today, peace!

Tuesday

I'm on a day off. The sun is shining and although I am indoors, I have the windows and blinds wide open. The afternoon rays are tickling my feet.

The day has been strange. It started out as I planned: I woke up with the full intent to try (again) to write some music. As usual, it progressed to me aping John Legend hooks and then giving up for a couple of hours while I watched episodes of Entourage and wished I was a handsome movie star.

I called my co-intern because we're supposed to have dinner with our registrar tonight. He informed me that one of our patients died today. Unexpectedly. This, unfortunately, makes two in the last week.

Both patients were quite old and any sort of physical insult would have been enough to tip them past the point of no return, but that said, both of them were the sort of patients that you think will inhabit their hospital bed til the end of forever before dying.

It's no secret this term has been tiring for me, and I wonder if I, or we, as a team, got complacent.

Three more days in the rotation. Three more days to straighten up and stay sharp.

***

I'm still drafting that letter to the newspaper. It has been difficult, trying to find the right voice, and tone - trying not to sound condescending or righteous but trying to still capture the vitriol. I'll keep you posted.

***

I was invited to dinner by this girl I met at work who I think might be interested in me because I'm a vertically endowed Asian doctor. It didn't go so well. Dinner was lovely, and her friends were nice but there was a fairly gaping cultural chasm between these actual Asians and me, the banana. Probably didn't help that I couldn't follow the conversation most of the time and was too embarrassed to say anything about it.

(Suyen: I therefore did not cause a ruckus. Let's see about this Saturday, at the Hospital ball)

Smile

I got a call from my lovely friend Jaz tonight as she was concerned with the trend my posts were taking lately. I conceded that despite the blogs, life was all in all good - and in fact I could do a lot worse than to be catching up over the phone with an old friend. So, if I may return to my numbered list format for another time (and David Letterman be damned)

TOP TEN THINGS THAT MADE ME SMILE IN THE LAST TWO WEEKS

1. Jaz's phone call
   
2. More new pop music than you can throw a pre-fab Girlband (TM) at: Justin Timberlake's "FutureSex/LoveSounds" is, particularly in the middle section spiralling through "My Love", "LoveStoned/I think she knows" and "What Goes Around/Comes Around" a deliriously ambitious and entertaining opus; Beyonce's new "B'Day" is an efficient and slightly forgettable effort excepting the dirty blues of "Suga Mama"; Xtina's double CD "Back to Basics" is a bloated mess with so much "whoa-ooh-ooh" that you forget she actually got a nice voice (see "Save Me From Myself"); John Mayer's "Continuum" has, in "Heart of Life" and "Stop This Train" a beautiful return to "acoustic John", but the other tracks, while polished, lack the live, bluesy urgency that made "John Mayer Trio: Try! Live" such a revelation.
3. Visiting my friends Mr and Mrs Nickless who are expecting their first child in February - I'm glad there are some grown-ups in our group down herealthough I almost lost continence when said Mr Nickless decided that the layman's definition of "anal tag" would be what you swipe pass the barcode reader for the price of an old person (thank God for people who've worked retail)
4. When my med students looked at me like I was nuts but still cannulated me successfully on the first pass - so well that I had to forgive her for forgetting to take the torniquet off and letting me bleed over the table
   
5. Being approached at the hippy festival "Earthdance for Peace" by a girl selling No Sweat shoes made to protest sweatshop labour and having to shamefully admit to wearing a Converse T-shirt at the time
   
6. Elana Stone live at Bennett's Lane - if you're in Sydney you should try to catch her shows -see www.elanastone.com
7. Elixir live at Bennett's Lane - Katie Noonan's voice is so pure and so fluid that even when she's bending and contorting the words of a random poet into a folk tune it's a beautiful mess
8. Me and my brother laughing our heads off at the ridiculously brutal sound effects in the XBox boxing game Fight Night: Round 3
9. Australian Idol contestant Ricky Muscat's unbelievably HELTER SKELTER SERIAL KILLER EYES
   
10. Wondering each day whether the cute Eurasian Aged Care reg thinks me and the other intern on my unit are idiots, and wondering whether this might have proportional repercussions on any attempt to ask her to coffee (I know this is slightly sad, but I find I laugh at ridiculously sad things much more often than I should)

Oh, and the other thing. The things I posted about in the last blog are not unique to me. Many people are grinding away at it a lot harder than me. I've resolved to write to a newspaper, not just for me, but for all of us, and not for any special recognition, but just for a little bit of peace so we can get on with a job that is busy enough as it is. I'll keep you posted.

Thanks to everyone who has commented on this blog so far, particularly in the last few weeks. It's appreciated. And Jaz, stay wonderful.

Good luck to final year med students sitting exams soon, and I hope the interns got their jobs back.

Smiling, even though I've got to work tomorrow. :)

Worn

I am wearing thin.

It has continued to be hectic at work with much of the same old routine. We've had a roster change meaning that we work slightly less, and get paid less, so that we have enough money to pay for an extra registrar which on the whole is a Good Thing.

So I've not been worn down because of the usual scut, but by a rather malign reversal of the dictum that doctors need to empathize with patients and their families and "walk in their shoes."

The last couple of weeks have been characterized by demanding families belittling, insulting and otherwise degrading medical and nursing staff.

Amongst other things, events came to a head a few days ago when I had to try to obtain a Not For Resuscitation (NFR) order for one of our patients. A NFR order is a decision by medical staff to not use aggressive measures like CPR or ventilation machines on a patient in the event that their heart or lungs stop, with the reasoning that the potential benefits are miniscule and that the quality of life after such a resuscitation is extremely poor. We make this decision in consultation with the patient or the family of the patient.

It is NOT a decision by the staff that we do nothing. Non-invasive and conservative measures are all still applied as appropriate.

I had been warned by my registrar that this particular family would be difficult to convince of the validity of our position. I sat down on the phone with them, and over the course of an hour I tried to explain that our position on NFR for their relative came out of a desire to preserve quality of life and to avoid doing harm. I did my best to assure them that we were still committed to using all other measures at hand. I asked them to think about it and discuss it with me when they came in later.

When they came, I asked them if they understood our position. The grand-daugther replied to me,

"Basically, you're saying my grand-father's an old piece of shit and no-one wants to do anything."

She went on to complain at me about the nursing staff, who had just been trying to salvage a intra-venous cannula but who had unfortunately caused the patient some discomfort.

"Basically, everyone's the same, so many sick people you just don't care and it's just a job to you people."

I stood there with the nurse unit manager and we were both speechless. There are just so many things you want to say when somebody accuses you of not giving two shits, but when you're the representative of a hospital you kind of have to sit there and take it in the face. Or, more realistically, in the ass.

"I think it's really unnecessary that you just inflict pain. It's unnecessary that you just use him as a pin cushion and stick needles into him."

My mouth ground shut. It boggled my mind how this person could reason that we would be failing in our duty if we didn't jump on her grand-father's chest (and in the process of CPR probably break all his ribs) or shove a large tube into his windpipe in the event of an arrest, and then turn around and complain about us trying to put needles into him that deliver vital fluids and antibiotics.

No, it's not unnecessary that we stick needles into him. What would be unnecessary would be me, sticking a needle into myself.

So that's what I did. The next day I got my medical students to cannulate one of my veins to remind myself of what it feels like. The med students looked at me like I was nuts, but they did it anyway, because for a med student, a chance to cannulate is a Good Day. For the record, they got it, first pass, too.

And yeah, sure, it hurts a bit. But life hurts. In the recent push to make doctors drop their God complex people forget that doctors were never god in the first place:

A hospital is not a magical place where the laws of physics and reality stop. A hospital is not a magical place where the laws of economics and taxes stop.

When I say that I'm sorry that I couldn't get there sooner or that a nurse couldn't get there sooner it's not because I left my Sonic Hedgehog Running Shoes in my other pants and I'm lying to your face.

When you ask me "Why aren't there more nurses and doctors?" you forget two vital things. For one (If I may paraphrase Dr Bones McCoy from Star Trek) I'm a doctor, not a politician, nor a font of unending financial resources or the silver bullet to a flagging health system. If you've got problems with our health system, use your DEMOCRATIC RIGHT and tell your member of parliament. Don't tell me things I already know.

The other thing: The end of a 14 hour shift is ALWAYS the best time to tell a doctor that they don't care about their patients, it really is.

Swallowed

Gen Med is still running me like a bitch. I hesitate to really scream because it sounds like it was much, MUCH, worse the rotation prior to mine, and also because I just read esme and Dr J's blogs and the poor bastards are going through worse. But, like last post, a quick summary, in numbers:

1. 5 registrars in 2 weeks sucks hard. Less continuity and more dead-air time than a David "Mullholland Drive" Lynch movie. HOWEVER,the only thing that sucks harder than 5 registrars in 2 weeks is...
2. 0 (ZERO) registrars in the last 2 days.
3. 2 cute registrars (on other units), 1 cute physio and 2 cute nurses; however given the sleep-deprivation and general time-stress I've taken to smiling nervously and bowing my head like a pleb to their goddess each time I pass them in the corridor.
4. 2 young and very pretty female consultants, 1 of whom I confused for a medical student on the first day of the rotation (luckily I didn't say anything out loud). Seriously: this petite, slim Asian girl/woman strolled into the handover room wearing this woollen grey bob one piece skirt/dress, grey matching nylons, huge puffy handbag (I mean huge by "cutesy Asian" standards) and white heels. What else was I supposed to think?
5. 5 other cool interns (1 colleague on my team, 4 on other medical units)

It's not too bad, but when you get back home at 2200hrs and you find your similarly-aged neighbour is breakdancing in the car lot in the full moonlight just for the hell of it, you start to wonder where the fun is going in your life. Then, when he tells you he's already bought a house on a hill in New Zealand and he's going to move back there when he has a family, you wonder how some people managed to get smart. Not book smart. Just real smart.

Hit the ground stumbling (aka the Ketone Express)

It's been a hectic seven days. I haven't blogged recently because I'm tired. I tried to blog the last weekend but it became too wordy and hurt my brain so let's do dot points. The facts:

• finished in the bush by telling a lady she had ovarian cancer...and almost missed diagnosing a lady with an already partially ruptured ectopic pregnancy. Very Bad.
• New rotation. General Internal Medicine. Haven't finished before 2100hrs (9:00pm to normal people, or halfway through Grey's/Housewives/OC/House) since starting. Is it my woeful inefficiency, or is it the job? Very Bad.
• Hollow Hallmark: I've pronounced people dead before but I've never had to do it in front of the family while this patient died in front of their eyes. There are no words for those moments, but you say them anyway to fill the silence, as if it will fill empty hearts.
  
• Too many one meal days, but as any paediatrician knows, it's the dehydration that'll get you. Lips feel like sandpaper. Need IV.
• Was told the previous intern took one week off on 'stress leave'. Does not bode well. Apparently the boss nurse is a power freak. Bring her on. Starting to feel like a fight. If she gives any of the interns shit I preparing a nice, Hollywood style soapbox Samuel L Jackson holier than thou speech.
  

That's about it for now.

Oh, and I discovered Fiona Apple finally. My waif-singer-songwriter of the moment.

That girl is poisonnnn....

I staggered back out to the bush on Monday morning, still recovering from an unaccustomed night out on Saturday (a good whopping 24hours after) and in fact I'm still going to blame Saturday night for slowing down my neurons today. Today...being...Tuesday...

I will remember two things from Saturday night:

1) The gorgeous bartender Anja (not her real name) who graciously smiled when I told her that she was...quote-unquote "very pretty" - if truth is the first casualty of war then eloquence is the first victim of Jack-the Ripper-Daniels...

and 2) The gorgeous Asian bar skank who smiled, shook her badonkadonk and then used my mate for a drink...

Let's beef. I'll paint the picture...

The floor is bangin' - Usher's Yeah! still packs a whallop when it's dropped at just the right time and I'm feelin' the bounce. Me and my mate are also feelin' our livers catch up to us, but we're happy and still vertical, so we bounce bounce bounce on down to the bar for "sustenance".

At this particular bar they let people dance on the bar itself (a la Coyote Ugly). When we got to the bar we looked up and found this lovely young Asian girl, sleek in a ponytail and a dress that was a flash of pink and orange, working it so well we decided (read: livers decided) to show our appreciation with a bit of respectful ruckus. When she invited my mate to get up on the bar and dance with her I thought we'd hit the jackpot!

I respectfully removed myself from the vicinity and gave my friend Maximum Operating Room. Why not? He's a good bloke, not too hard on the eyes - I could be without a drinking buddy for a little while. Out of earshot (in a club I guess that's not more than 20cm) I glanced back and found that they had come down from the bar and were talking. A Good Sign.

Things were Right With the World.

...for about five seconds.

It was almost like I blinked and then suddenly my boy was next to me again.

"What happened??"

"Mate...she used me for a drink!"

"What??"

"Yeah, I got her a drink and then she disappeared..."

Okay - so my boy was somewhat intoxicated and he's no Usher at the best of times, but this turn of events angered me. It was Unacceptable and felt like a violation of the Geneva Convention on Pretty Girl-Ethanol Tariff.

It's expected that a guy will offer a girl a drink if he likes her. Sometimes even he's just trying to hit on your hot friend he'll buy you a drink. While he's not doing it for free, he's not doing it as currency either. My understanding was that the drink offer is Code. Correct me if I'm getting old:

"Would you like a drink?" or "Can I get you a drink?"

EQUALS

"Will you hold a beverage in your hand long enough for me to try to put my best foot forward but ultimately embarass myself at which point you are free to leave?"

So if you don't want to even know what the guy's offering, just DECLINE the drink.

This is not revolutionary in any way.

So when my mate told me what happened two interpretations can be seen here:

a) She actually did hold the drink long enough for him to embarass himself; OR
b) She broke the rules and was a GOLD DIGGER.

I had to investigate further. I hunted her down (not a hard target while standing on a bar looking sexy) offered her drink myself and she accepted and invited me up onto the bar itself. At this point I had to remind myself of my Mission, because when you're in front of a hot girl and you're elevated on a bar under the influence things can go...woozy.

"I have something to confess," I say.

"What?"

"I wanted to know why you blew my man off - he's a good bloke -"

"Who? Oh...I didn't blow him off...I - I dunno, I just guess I don't go to clubs to meet people, I just go to have a good time and then move on."

"That's pretty pessimistic - you ought to rethink that -"

She shrugged. I was sobering up enough for my cynical detective reasoning skills to kick in. Here is a dissection of the case in front of me:

1) Gorgeous Asian girl
2) Drinking Smirnoff Vodka (Weak) -
3) Sober - too sober to be dancing on a bar JUST for FUN
4) Probably young...20?
5) Doesn't come to clubs to meet people...hmm. To meet corpses maybe? Goes to clubs for the air? For the serenity then?

Conclusion: Attention-seeking Gold-digging Beauty who robbed my mate of money better spent on an after-party load of grease from KFC.

Yes, okay, that's harsh.

No, I don't *actually* know if any words were exchanged between my mate and this girl.

Yes, I could be all wrong.

No, I didn't think about whether I would be making her uncomfortable. (No wait, I did, I think that might've been the purpose.) At least she got a free drink out of me, too.

Yes, I probably could've been more engaging and less blunt.

Sigh. Somebody get me off this soapbox before I fall and break a hip.
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