*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~
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, December 01, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, November 10, 2006
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!
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, October 17, 2006
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)
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)
Sunday, September 24, 2006
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
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. :)
TOP TEN THINGS THAT MADE ME SMILE IN THE LAST TWO WEEKS
- Jaz's phone call
- 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.
- 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)
- 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
- 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
- Elana Stone live at Bennett's Lane - if you're in Sydney you should try to catch her shows -see www.elanastone.com
- 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
- Me and my brother laughing our heads off at the ridiculously brutal sound effects in the XBox boxing game Fight Night: Round 3
- Australian Idol contestant Ricky Muscat's unbelievably HELTER SKELTER SERIAL KILLER EYES
- 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)
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. :)
Saturday, September 23, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
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:
- 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...
- 0 (ZERO) registrars in the last 2 days.
- 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.
- 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 other cool interns (1 colleague on my team, 4 on other medical units)
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
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:
Oh, and I discovered Fiona Apple finally. My waif-singer-songwriter of the moment.
- 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.
Oh, and I discovered Fiona Apple finally. My waif-singer-songwriter of the moment.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
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.
***
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.
***
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
thinking
watching the israel - hezbollah - syria - lebanon thing turn to crap. amused/angered that Condi Rice has been sent to get syria to back off when it was israel that kicked the shit out of lebanese civilians.
thinking that this will get lots worse before it gets better.
thinking that this is where this ends...wondering where this crap begins?
thinking that this will get lots worse before it gets better.
thinking that this is where this ends...wondering where this crap begins?
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
bulletin
More interesting things happening in the world than in my life right now.
Zidane vs that Italian guy
Israel vs Hezbellah
John Howard vs The Environment and the Greenhouse Effect and Peter Costello
One of the above is fascinating and terrifying, and the other two are funny because they're so ridiculous.
***
Miss Sydney. It always feels like coming home, each time I visit. It feels like I've never really left, probably because part of me never really did. Returned to work bleary eyed on Monday morning after a weekend supersaturated with old friends and the Emergency department waiting room was positively repellant.
***
Good luck to BST candidates!
***
Saw two girls making out the other day. It goes without saying that that was Pretty Cool.
I have been asked why it is that guys find the sight or idea of two girls kissing such a turn on. My simple-minded reply at the time was that it was mathematically a case of taking something that is Cool (a girl kissing) and multiplying it by two, thus making it Pretty Cool.
I have since been told that girls do not find the reverse holds true: two guys making out is Not Cool, nor Pretty Cool, but simply Gay Porn.
***
New music:
Justin Timberlake's new single is absolutely whack, from the grammatically retarded title "SexyBack", to the infuriatingly-repetitive-and-therefore-catchy drum beat. I'm not sure what the song's producer Timbaland is trying to do exactly - the composition, it is simplicity, is a polar opposite to their previous collaboration on "Cry me a river," which was a mini-symphony in its density.
It seems to take a page from the Gwen Stefani single "Hollaback girl", or even the recent Timbaland-produced Nelly Furtado singles "Promiscuous" and "Maneater" - all "songs" without much melody, driven on sparse, catchy beats and futuretro synth.
I suppose Nelly Furtado had to do something different after Corrine Bailey Rae took her spot as "songstress with lilting wispy voice."
Zidane vs that Italian guy
Israel vs Hezbellah
John Howard vs The Environment and the Greenhouse Effect and Peter Costello
One of the above is fascinating and terrifying, and the other two are funny because they're so ridiculous.
***
Miss Sydney. It always feels like coming home, each time I visit. It feels like I've never really left, probably because part of me never really did. Returned to work bleary eyed on Monday morning after a weekend supersaturated with old friends and the Emergency department waiting room was positively repellant.
***
Good luck to BST candidates!
***
Saw two girls making out the other day. It goes without saying that that was Pretty Cool.
I have been asked why it is that guys find the sight or idea of two girls kissing such a turn on. My simple-minded reply at the time was that it was mathematically a case of taking something that is Cool (a girl kissing) and multiplying it by two, thus making it Pretty Cool.
I have since been told that girls do not find the reverse holds true: two guys making out is Not Cool, nor Pretty Cool, but simply Gay Porn.
***
New music:
Justin Timberlake's new single is absolutely whack, from the grammatically retarded title "SexyBack", to the infuriatingly-repetitive-and-therefore-catchy drum beat. I'm not sure what the song's producer Timbaland is trying to do exactly - the composition, it is simplicity, is a polar opposite to their previous collaboration on "Cry me a river," which was a mini-symphony in its density.
It seems to take a page from the Gwen Stefani single "Hollaback girl", or even the recent Timbaland-produced Nelly Furtado singles "Promiscuous" and "Maneater" - all "songs" without much melody, driven on sparse, catchy beats and futuretro synth.
I suppose Nelly Furtado had to do something different after Corrine Bailey Rae took her spot as "songstress with lilting wispy voice."
Monday, July 03, 2006
Synchrony
Felt well bummed out for the first time in a good few months on Saturday. It was weird. I had lunch with my friends and Christian Work Friend which, at the time, went great. Everyone got along and we met my friend's new lady friend which was terrific. Everything was going fine until I was on my way home and started to play Analyze This.
(Let's be clear: Christian Work Friend is Just a Friend. (Same as Gorgeous Christian Med Student) So I really shouldn't have to scrutinize how the lunch went, but I did.
Maybe you shouldn't have done the whole "James Blunt can rot in purgatory for Goodbye My Lover" schtick. And the mimed forking of said Blunt was probably unneccesary too.
Maybe she doesn't need to know about how you and your mate used to belt out Backstreet Boys songs in the car.
Maybe...
By the time I'd arrived home I'd welcomed back that old friend, Insecurity, and all over a girl that I'd resolved NOT to pursue!
To top it off, Insecurity brought his drinking buddy, Loneliness, and by the time I got online and read esme and Dr J's blog entries about similar issues I was wishing that things could go back to a place where I was just a retard who couldn't get a girl because I was basically, well, a heathen. Or a Pagan. Whichever. Because that was fun, and it was new and refreshing to be able to have dinner or breakfast with a new lovely lady, religion notwithstanding.
I've seen the Insecurity/Loneliness double feature before, and it wasn't funny the first time. Or the second.
Anyway, I shook it off with a good drive down the highway with my shiny new Creative Vision:Mp3 player blaring Ghostface Killah*, but looking forward to the end of the week, already. Hola Sydney!
*free internet advertising for you Creative, now send me $$$
(Let's be clear: Christian Work Friend is Just a Friend. (Same as Gorgeous Christian Med Student) So I really shouldn't have to scrutinize how the lunch went, but I did.
Maybe you shouldn't have done the whole "James Blunt can rot in purgatory for Goodbye My Lover" schtick. And the mimed forking of said Blunt was probably unneccesary too.
Maybe she doesn't need to know about how you and your mate used to belt out Backstreet Boys songs in the car.
Maybe...
By the time I'd arrived home I'd welcomed back that old friend, Insecurity, and all over a girl that I'd resolved NOT to pursue!
To top it off, Insecurity brought his drinking buddy, Loneliness, and by the time I got online and read esme and Dr J's blog entries about similar issues I was wishing that things could go back to a place where I was just a retard who couldn't get a girl because I was basically, well, a heathen. Or a Pagan. Whichever. Because that was fun, and it was new and refreshing to be able to have dinner or breakfast with a new lovely lady, religion notwithstanding.
I've seen the Insecurity/Loneliness double feature before, and it wasn't funny the first time. Or the second.
Anyway, I shook it off with a good drive down the highway with my shiny new Creative Vision:Mp3 player blaring Ghostface Killah*, but looking forward to the end of the week, already. Hola Sydney!
*free internet advertising for you Creative, now send me $$$
Friday, June 23, 2006
The wagon
Thinking about God lately.
As the stories roll in, and continue to roll in, from my intern colleagues about how swamped they are and how tired they are, I keep wondering when the wheels are going to fall off my wagon and when I'm going to be hit by "the REAL intern experience."
This is the third term out of five and somehow I've managed to dodge dipshit registrars, tyrannical consultants and even heavy patient loads. I've also managed to hide the fact that I probably know a lot less than my 6th year Medical Student.
Meanwhile my colleagues here in rural Victoria are struggling - one with doing essentially a registrar's job because her reg is a lazy know-nothing and the other is going so bonkers with her patient load that she thought it was a good idea to tie my shoes to the light fittings for fun and then drop chip fragments into my hair.
I have other friends and colleagues dealing with moderate depression and personal tragedy.
In some cases, such as with my colleagues here, I can give them a hand and offer my time after my shift and my severely limited expertise, but what I really want is to give them, and the rest of you, bits of this Four-Leaved Clover that I somehow stumbled upon. I know it sounds f**king hokey, but it's true. I'm probably just a little bit of a Communist Lesbian at heart.
You can have my luck - I think I've had more than my fair share, and besides, a little adversity builds character, right?
I don't pray, because I'm not a religious person (even though I've met yet ANOTHER gorgeous, lovely and single Christian girl just recently and it's driving me BONKERS), but I'm thinking about you guys, all of you. (That is, everytime except when I'm concentrating hard on not killing patients)
And so, I've been thinking about God. Not necessarily the Christian God, or the Catholic God or even Buddha, but just "a" God. I'm wondering whether he/she gave this blessing/lesson for any particular reason, or if it's just a random scatter of the fairy dust.
I guess it really doesn't matter what he/she planned, but what I do with this.
So if you suddenly discover money, food, or hot supermodels raining down on your doorsteps, you'll know I've figured out a useful way to send my luck your way.
Until then, thinking will have to do.
***
Addendum:
If God places anymore gorgeous and likeable single Christian women in my path I will be convinced that he is in fact, a she, because only a woman would tease like that.
***
Addendum II:
GO SOCCEROOS! Retarded British refereeing and rough-housing Croatians couldn't keep us down!
***
That is all.
As the stories roll in, and continue to roll in, from my intern colleagues about how swamped they are and how tired they are, I keep wondering when the wheels are going to fall off my wagon and when I'm going to be hit by "the REAL intern experience."
This is the third term out of five and somehow I've managed to dodge dipshit registrars, tyrannical consultants and even heavy patient loads. I've also managed to hide the fact that I probably know a lot less than my 6th year Medical Student.
Meanwhile my colleagues here in rural Victoria are struggling - one with doing essentially a registrar's job because her reg is a lazy know-nothing and the other is going so bonkers with her patient load that she thought it was a good idea to tie my shoes to the light fittings for fun and then drop chip fragments into my hair.
I have other friends and colleagues dealing with moderate depression and personal tragedy.
In some cases, such as with my colleagues here, I can give them a hand and offer my time after my shift and my severely limited expertise, but what I really want is to give them, and the rest of you, bits of this Four-Leaved Clover that I somehow stumbled upon. I know it sounds f**king hokey, but it's true. I'm probably just a little bit of a Communist Lesbian at heart.
You can have my luck - I think I've had more than my fair share, and besides, a little adversity builds character, right?
I don't pray, because I'm not a religious person (even though I've met yet ANOTHER gorgeous, lovely and single Christian girl just recently and it's driving me BONKERS), but I'm thinking about you guys, all of you. (That is, everytime except when I'm concentrating hard on not killing patients)
And so, I've been thinking about God. Not necessarily the Christian God, or the Catholic God or even Buddha, but just "a" God. I'm wondering whether he/she gave this blessing/lesson for any particular reason, or if it's just a random scatter of the fairy dust.
I guess it really doesn't matter what he/she planned, but what I do with this.
So if you suddenly discover money, food, or hot supermodels raining down on your doorsteps, you'll know I've figured out a useful way to send my luck your way.
Until then, thinking will have to do.
***
Addendum:
If God places anymore gorgeous and likeable single Christian women in my path I will be convinced that he is in fact, a she, because only a woman would tease like that.
***
Addendum II:
GO SOCCEROOS! Retarded British refereeing and rough-housing Croatians couldn't keep us down!
***
That is all.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Away
Started a rotation in Emergency in a country town two weeks ago. It's not the smallest country town by any means, but it's small enough that myself and the other interns have been starved of entertainment. It got so bad that the other night four interns, four MBBS-qualified and usually intelligent people were gathered around a small grate searching for a two-dollar coin using only the light from a mobile phone and we were finding it ABSOLUTELY HYSTERICAL.
***
Had some friends down from Sydney visit last weekend and among the various things we talked about over dinner was a hope that newspapers could cater to the busy medical intern and print little sidebars that help keep you up to date on any long running news item. It would be like a little "In case you missed" column, or like how your favourite TV show often has a recap at the start of the episode - like "Recently on Grey's Anatomy/Scrubs/the Conflict in the West Bank."
Basically, there are times I really want to get stuck into a particular world issue but simply need the salient facts and can't physically sift through the endless backstory. Medical people like dot points. I think I understand now the glazed look in the medical registrar's eyes when I present a patient to him - the look that means, "Just the facts man!"
This concept would easily be incorporated online. I don't think the major papers have "Related articles" links on their online publications.
***
CARS; Pixar Studios - 2.5/5
The first major misstep from an otherwise untouchable studio. An unfortunately rote storyline and uninspired character designs fail to meet Pixar's incredible technical prowess with CGI.
***
***
Had some friends down from Sydney visit last weekend and among the various things we talked about over dinner was a hope that newspapers could cater to the busy medical intern and print little sidebars that help keep you up to date on any long running news item. It would be like a little "In case you missed" column, or like how your favourite TV show often has a recap at the start of the episode - like "Recently on Grey's Anatomy/Scrubs/the Conflict in the West Bank."
Basically, there are times I really want to get stuck into a particular world issue but simply need the salient facts and can't physically sift through the endless backstory. Medical people like dot points. I think I understand now the glazed look in the medical registrar's eyes when I present a patient to him - the look that means, "Just the facts man!"
This concept would easily be incorporated online. I don't think the major papers have "Related articles" links on their online publications.
***
CARS; Pixar Studios - 2.5/5
The first major misstep from an otherwise untouchable studio. An unfortunately rote storyline and uninspired character designs fail to meet Pixar's incredible technical prowess with CGI.
***
Thursday, June 08, 2006
What's the male form of Bridget?
Somehow I had not one but *two* dates this week with not two but *three* women (I'll do the math for you in a bit). I don't know if you can tell, but I'm not as tickled as someone with my lame dating situation ought to be about the situation.
Frustrated with getting nowhere with She Who Would Deny Me and being the last week of the current rotation I decided some kamikaze-style dating effort wasn't entirely uncalled for - should I crash and burn at the hands of some lovely lady my ashes would soon be transported to rural Victoria anyway.
Kamikaze indeed - you might think I would try to give myself a good chance for the next one.
As they say in the NBA, you go hard or you go home.
I thought I would ask this other lovely health professional to coffee - a girl who I hadn't in fact laid eyes on in the last five weeks, and had perhaps only three verbal exchanges with in my entire medical career. Not only that, she worked on a ward that I had no medical reason to visit.
I strapped the bombs to my plane and took off in the direction of ward 15North.
As I approached her airspace she smiled at me but continued to talk to the health professional she was working with at the time. Needing to look busy I grabbed a portable phone and promptly paged my registrar.
She hovered by, files in hand, and said with a smile,
"Hi Dave..."
(She knows your name? Is this a sign?)
She continued,"...um, what are you doing here?"
(ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! DETONATE! DETONATE!)
I suddenly remembered the phone in my hand, and thinking it could be a good diversion, used the Force to make it ring. Or maybe, my reg just rang back at the right time.
"Oh sorry - I have to take this call, I'll talk to you later?"
Phew. I had a few hours to regroup, and paged her, mustering as much nonchalance into a text message as anyone ever could. She called me back,
"I'd love to have coffee, but I'm really busy today - what about something after work?"
This was problematic. I had already arranged with my high school mates to have dinner, but here I had an attractive, intelligent young lady on the phone happy to meet me. In my group of friends we've tried to foster a culture where we don't just ditch our friends for some dame, but surely - what else could I do - this cute woman was waiting on an answer from me. What else could I do?
I panicked. "Sorry, I have to have dinner with my mates tonight."
When I told this to my good friend Marcus later that night his face wore the sort of look that you have when you see a real ugly dude with a hot chick and you can't believe what's you just saw (or heard) - so, he probably would have had the same look on his face had I got the date anyway. He said,
"Dave, I'm about this close - " He measured out a the size of a bee's penis -"to slapping you up, you newbie! You're supposed to be out with this chick!"
I promised him that I would get her number the next day. And I did. And we had dinner and dessert. And I heard the words that no secular man wants to hear.
"I'd like my partner to be Christian."
Ah...drat.
Now let's not get all fired up about religion, because that's not the point of this particular story. It would have been similar, if somewhat weird, if she said, "I'd like my partner to have two heads." I'm not here to get on any religious soapbox - the only bad Christians are the Christians that think George Bush is a good Christian. The fact that this girl is Christian changes nothing about how attractive or intelligent she is, which is what makes this situation such a shame. But it's just the way it is sometimes - people are entitled to want what they want, and when it comes to faith and important values like this, I've learnt (sometimes the hard way) that you can't change someone just for what you want. That, and it would be slightly dodgy if I converted to Christianity just to chase some tail.
At the very least, I now know another lovely young lady, hardly the worst thing in the world.
***
The other date wasn't quite as enjoyable, and in fact made me feel somewhat like a piece of meat. A girl I know at work offered to set me up with her sister. Setups, as much fun as they are, are tricky things. They take some care, and whomever is doing the setting up has to be an invisible puppet master, so that the two people don't see the strings leading them to each other. Or, at the very most, only one person can be privy to the plan. Another nice pre-requisite is that the two people who are to meet should have some decent common ground.
Not, for example, as in this particular case for me, that the young lady was "young and pretty and tall" and that I was "a good doctor".
Can you guess the race of the people trying to set me up? I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count.
I was fairly reluctant initially, but my friend insisted, and I gave in. I agreed, with one caveat only - that my friend come with her sister to lunch, as a buffer. Who am I to turn down meeting a pretty, young, tall girl? No, really?
It was, however, all wrong. The sister was indeed pretty, young and tall. But she looked uncomfortable to be there, and I felt bad for her, not knowing how much she had been pushed into this meeting, and wondering what she thought of me - this random single loser swinging his MBBS around like it was supposed to be some sort of currency.
After a couple of hours at lunch, a couple of uncomfortable silences and long sips at my coffee I was really no closer to knowing who this person was that had been somewhat presented to me, and I felt sad. I think I had given it a decent shot, but it probably was a shot that should never have been lined up in the first place.
Dave: 0; Axis of women: 6
Frustrated with getting nowhere with She Who Would Deny Me and being the last week of the current rotation I decided some kamikaze-style dating effort wasn't entirely uncalled for - should I crash and burn at the hands of some lovely lady my ashes would soon be transported to rural Victoria anyway.
Kamikaze indeed - you might think I would try to give myself a good chance for the next one.
As they say in the NBA, you go hard or you go home.
I thought I would ask this other lovely health professional to coffee - a girl who I hadn't in fact laid eyes on in the last five weeks, and had perhaps only three verbal exchanges with in my entire medical career. Not only that, she worked on a ward that I had no medical reason to visit.
I strapped the bombs to my plane and took off in the direction of ward 15North.
As I approached her airspace she smiled at me but continued to talk to the health professional she was working with at the time. Needing to look busy I grabbed a portable phone and promptly paged my registrar.
She hovered by, files in hand, and said with a smile,
"Hi Dave..."
(She knows your name? Is this a sign?)
She continued,"...um, what are you doing here?"
(ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! DETONATE! DETONATE!)
I suddenly remembered the phone in my hand, and thinking it could be a good diversion, used the Force to make it ring. Or maybe, my reg just rang back at the right time.
"Oh sorry - I have to take this call, I'll talk to you later?"
Phew. I had a few hours to regroup, and paged her, mustering as much nonchalance into a text message as anyone ever could. She called me back,
"I'd love to have coffee, but I'm really busy today - what about something after work?"
This was problematic. I had already arranged with my high school mates to have dinner, but here I had an attractive, intelligent young lady on the phone happy to meet me. In my group of friends we've tried to foster a culture where we don't just ditch our friends for some dame, but surely - what else could I do - this cute woman was waiting on an answer from me. What else could I do?
I panicked. "Sorry, I have to have dinner with my mates tonight."
When I told this to my good friend Marcus later that night his face wore the sort of look that you have when you see a real ugly dude with a hot chick and you can't believe what's you just saw (or heard) - so, he probably would have had the same look on his face had I got the date anyway. He said,
"Dave, I'm about this close - " He measured out a the size of a bee's penis -"to slapping you up, you newbie! You're supposed to be out with this chick!"
I promised him that I would get her number the next day. And I did. And we had dinner and dessert. And I heard the words that no secular man wants to hear.
"I'd like my partner to be Christian."
Ah...drat.
Now let's not get all fired up about religion, because that's not the point of this particular story. It would have been similar, if somewhat weird, if she said, "I'd like my partner to have two heads." I'm not here to get on any religious soapbox - the only bad Christians are the Christians that think George Bush is a good Christian. The fact that this girl is Christian changes nothing about how attractive or intelligent she is, which is what makes this situation such a shame. But it's just the way it is sometimes - people are entitled to want what they want, and when it comes to faith and important values like this, I've learnt (sometimes the hard way) that you can't change someone just for what you want. That, and it would be slightly dodgy if I converted to Christianity just to chase some tail.
At the very least, I now know another lovely young lady, hardly the worst thing in the world.
***
The other date wasn't quite as enjoyable, and in fact made me feel somewhat like a piece of meat. A girl I know at work offered to set me up with her sister. Setups, as much fun as they are, are tricky things. They take some care, and whomever is doing the setting up has to be an invisible puppet master, so that the two people don't see the strings leading them to each other. Or, at the very most, only one person can be privy to the plan. Another nice pre-requisite is that the two people who are to meet should have some decent common ground.
Not, for example, as in this particular case for me, that the young lady was "young and pretty and tall" and that I was "a good doctor".
Can you guess the race of the people trying to set me up? I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count.
I was fairly reluctant initially, but my friend insisted, and I gave in. I agreed, with one caveat only - that my friend come with her sister to lunch, as a buffer. Who am I to turn down meeting a pretty, young, tall girl? No, really?
It was, however, all wrong. The sister was indeed pretty, young and tall. But she looked uncomfortable to be there, and I felt bad for her, not knowing how much she had been pushed into this meeting, and wondering what she thought of me - this random single loser swinging his MBBS around like it was supposed to be some sort of currency.
After a couple of hours at lunch, a couple of uncomfortable silences and long sips at my coffee I was really no closer to knowing who this person was that had been somewhat presented to me, and I felt sad. I think I had given it a decent shot, but it probably was a shot that should never have been lined up in the first place.
Dave: 0; Axis of women: 6
Saturday, May 27, 2006
So there's this girl...
Let's get all Bridget again.
There's this girl at work who I've been trying to have dinner with for basically the entirety of my surgical rotation. It is now the end of the rotation and the outcome of ten weeks of mildly persistent flirtation is...nothing.
(Sounds a bit like a rash..."oh, it's just a mildly persistent flirtation, it'll probably go away by itself.")
I noticed her fairly early. She is pretty in a simple way - fresh features, nice eyes and a cute smile - more than stunning in a pick-your-jaw-off-the-floor way. She was friendly to get along with, and so I thought she might be someone to get to know better.
Opportunity was kind enough to stop by, and so after she bailed me out with a couple of patients of mine I decided to offer dinner as thanks, as my olive branch. Because I was on the phone (and to look more nonchalant) I scribbled on a piece of paper - "Owe you for your help --> dinner?" and passed it to her, just like in primary school. She laughed and replied, "Well, I think dinner's not quite enough to make up for it..." (settle down, it doesn't get exciting) "...I think *two* desserts might also have be thrown in."
Okay. We're thinking, in the moment, that we're Neil Armstrong on the moon, and made that first step for mankind. However, remember what I told you in the introduction - we're really much more like poor Michael Collins with his arse up in the orbiting module of Apollo 11 , going round in circles, going nowhere fast, and wondering when the party's going to head his way.
I spent most of that day expecting a cute page to say "Get dinner underway." 48 hours later I'm standing in the carpark hearing,
"Oh, you meant for dinner *then*?"
"Uh...yeah. But, um, don't worry about it, no big deal."
"Oh, sorry! Maybe next time?"
"Well, sure, but you know, this offer is for a limited time only..."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, it doesn't have extended expiry." (Lame Group and Hold reference)
(You've got to try and bounce back with some witty crap. I bounce like a waterbomb)
Over the next few weeks we have several similar conversations in between making small talk on the ward. I throw around phrases like "this dinner is getting cold" and "this dinner is getting so old it's decomposing."
(I know, some of you reading this are probably thinking, "Dave, there seems to be a fairly logical reason why she doesn't want to have dinner - your lame-ass metaphors are about as funny as [insert funny metaphor here as I clearly don't have the knack for it]" I swear to you though, she laughed at the time).
Only one time had she tried to make a plan with me, which I had to unavoidably bail on due to an unexpected friend turning up with a mini-emergency. I ended up calling the girl back after I had finished with my friend (and this was not at an unreasonable hour) but she was by then busy.
Anyway, let's pretend we're in ICU. I've decided to pull the plug on this one. Apollo 11's running out of gas and I'm happy to let in burn up in re-entry. Slap a big NFR/DNR order on it. I've got nails, a coffin and I'm looking for a hammer. Flatline. I've got one more week at work and I don't want to care about this one anymore.
I won't get into the reasons why she had to bail so often, as that's probably a little more specific than it needs to be, but they were fair reasons. However, I think my friend Marcus summed it up best when he told me - the fact that this girl made no real attempt to reschedule any dinners was a fair sign it wasn't going to have good outcomes.
It's a funny dating scene these days where the etiquette is fairly up in the air. Is it proper for a girl to make the first move? Where's the gender equality? Why does a guy have to do all the legwork? Where's the pride-saving response to "Oh, I thought we were just friends"?
"Oh, the reason why I asked you dinner fourteen times is just that I have this incredible recipe for quiche and the chickens I keep in my backyard just happen to produce a hell of a lotta eggs."
I *don't* think so.
Let's not get confused though - we're nowhere near the frenzied intensity of "my only love sprung from my only hate!" or somesuch. All I want is a quiet half hour to maybe find out who this girl is, what her hopes and dreams are, and maybe get a sense of whether we're heading in the same direction.
Is that too much to ask?
There's this girl at work who I've been trying to have dinner with for basically the entirety of my surgical rotation. It is now the end of the rotation and the outcome of ten weeks of mildly persistent flirtation is...nothing.
(Sounds a bit like a rash..."oh, it's just a mildly persistent flirtation, it'll probably go away by itself.")
I noticed her fairly early. She is pretty in a simple way - fresh features, nice eyes and a cute smile - more than stunning in a pick-your-jaw-off-the-floor way. She was friendly to get along with, and so I thought she might be someone to get to know better.
Opportunity was kind enough to stop by, and so after she bailed me out with a couple of patients of mine I decided to offer dinner as thanks, as my olive branch. Because I was on the phone (and to look more nonchalant) I scribbled on a piece of paper - "Owe you for your help --> dinner?" and passed it to her, just like in primary school. She laughed and replied, "Well, I think dinner's not quite enough to make up for it..." (settle down, it doesn't get exciting) "...I think *two* desserts might also have be thrown in."
Okay. We're thinking, in the moment, that we're Neil Armstrong on the moon, and made that first step for mankind. However, remember what I told you in the introduction - we're really much more like poor Michael Collins with his arse up in the orbiting module of Apollo 11 , going round in circles, going nowhere fast, and wondering when the party's going to head his way.
I spent most of that day expecting a cute page to say "Get dinner underway." 48 hours later I'm standing in the carpark hearing,
"Oh, you meant for dinner *then*?"
"Uh...yeah. But, um, don't worry about it, no big deal."
"Oh, sorry! Maybe next time?"
"Well, sure, but you know, this offer is for a limited time only..."
"Oh really?
"Yeah, it doesn't have extended expiry." (Lame Group and Hold reference)
(You've got to try and bounce back with some witty crap. I bounce like a waterbomb)
Over the next few weeks we have several similar conversations in between making small talk on the ward. I throw around phrases like "this dinner is getting cold" and "this dinner is getting so old it's decomposing."
(I know, some of you reading this are probably thinking, "Dave, there seems to be a fairly logical reason why she doesn't want to have dinner - your lame-ass metaphors are about as funny as [insert funny metaphor here as I clearly don't have the knack for it]
Only one time had she tried to make a plan with me, which I had to unavoidably bail on due to an unexpected friend turning up with a mini-emergency. I ended up calling the girl back after I had finished with my friend (and this was not at an unreasonable hour) but she was by then busy.
Anyway, let's pretend we're in ICU. I've decided to pull the plug on this one. Apollo 11's running out of gas and I'm happy to let in burn up in re-entry. Slap a big NFR/DNR order on it. I've got nails, a coffin and I'm looking for a hammer. Flatline. I've got one more week at work and I don't want to care about this one anymore.
I won't get into the reasons why she had to bail so often, as that's probably a little more specific than it needs to be, but they were fair reasons. However, I think my friend Marcus summed it up best when he told me - the fact that this girl made no real attempt to reschedule any dinners was a fair sign it wasn't going to have good outcomes.
It's a funny dating scene these days where the etiquette is fairly up in the air. Is it proper for a girl to make the first move? Where's the gender equality? Why does a guy have to do all the legwork? Where's the pride-saving response to "Oh, I thought we were just friends"?
"Oh, the reason why I asked you dinner fourteen times is just that I have this incredible recipe for quiche and the chickens I keep in my backyard just happen to produce a hell of a lotta eggs."
I *don't* think so.
Let's not get confused though - we're nowhere near the frenzied intensity of "my only love sprung from my only hate!" or somesuch. All I want is a quiet half hour to maybe find out who this girl is, what her hopes and dreams are, and maybe get a sense of whether we're heading in the same direction.
Is that too much to ask?
Monday, May 08, 2006
Rumble rubble
The aftermath of the strike I blogged about previously was not much to blog home about. We got a light slap on the wrist, but business pretty much went back to usual.
This suggests to me that my reg (who we weren't real happy about last week) was probably just having an off week, as people have pointed out to me in person.
Big ups to Danny Bhoy, who we saw on the closing show of the Melbourne Comedy festival last night. I've long wanted to speak with a Scottish brogue...for some reason it seems to add 2+ charm to anything you say...
This suggests to me that my reg (who we weren't real happy about last week) was probably just having an off week, as people have pointed out to me in person.
Big ups to Danny Bhoy, who we saw on the closing show of the Melbourne Comedy festival last night. I've long wanted to speak with a Scottish brogue...for some reason it seems to add 2+ charm to anything you say...
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Rumble 2
Probably going to get a serve from the boss tomorrow.
I went on strike today at a doctor's stop work meeting, and didn't tell my boss I was going. I did hand my pager to another intern to cover but after that I just left.
I'll tell you why.
This week, as the previous posts have alluded to, has not been a Good Week. I've been bounced up and down trying to organize tests for my patient with PR bleeding who is such a lovely man that it infuriates me every time my boss flips the script and tells me to tell him we've got a new plan.
My fellow colleague was doing her best to be the advocate for another patient who our boss deemed to not have a surgical problem - so she had to go home. She was still vomiting and complained of dizziness. Physiotherapy was not happy to let her go home. My colleague had to fight to suggest that we at least transfer her care to the Medical team.
I was Not Impressed. Check that - We were Not Impressed.
It probably would have taken me two seconds to send my boss a page saying I was going, or duck into theatre to say so, but at that point in time I Simply Did Not Care Enough.
I realize that that action was very passive-aggressive of me. I should probably have the stones to say out loud to my registrar that he ought to pick up his game. Maybe I should have the heart to just shoulder this rubbish. Maybe I should have the brains to get a step ahead.
The tin man, lion and scarecrow rolled in one.
I envy you who aren't all that worried about being nice or polite. I really want to rumble and rage but I fear that just don't know how.
I went on strike today at a doctor's stop work meeting, and didn't tell my boss I was going. I did hand my pager to another intern to cover but after that I just left.
I'll tell you why.
This week, as the previous posts have alluded to, has not been a Good Week. I've been bounced up and down trying to organize tests for my patient with PR bleeding who is such a lovely man that it infuriates me every time my boss flips the script and tells me to tell him we've got a new plan.
My fellow colleague was doing her best to be the advocate for another patient who our boss deemed to not have a surgical problem - so she had to go home. She was still vomiting and complained of dizziness. Physiotherapy was not happy to let her go home. My colleague had to fight to suggest that we at least transfer her care to the Medical team.
I was Not Impressed. Check that - We were Not Impressed.
It probably would have taken me two seconds to send my boss a page saying I was going, or duck into theatre to say so, but at that point in time I Simply Did Not Care Enough.
I realize that that action was very passive-aggressive of me. I should probably have the stones to say out loud to my registrar that he ought to pick up his game. Maybe I should have the heart to just shoulder this rubbish. Maybe I should have the brains to get a step ahead.
The tin man, lion and scarecrow rolled in one.
I envy you who aren't all that worried about being nice or polite. I really want to rumble and rage but I fear that just don't know how.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Rumble in the jungle
I've hit the mid-term hump. Monday was one of those days that got such an ass-kicking that Tuesday was still rubbing it's rear wondering what happened. Wednesday is fearful for the morning and I think Thursday is willing itself into non-existence.
We took in many patients on the last weekend, and for the first time in our spoilt rosters our unit was faced with a list that stretched over a page.
The almost knee-jerk reaction from our superiors was to tell us to spend the first half of Monday trying to turf these patients to other units.
I didn't like coming to work and then solely working to make someone else's work harder, even if that someone is a registrar who likes to point out our unit's problems.
I was starting to see the dreariness of paper pushing that I had been fortunate to avoid with such a light patient load. By lunch I felt disconnected from my patients, even more so the ones that I had successfully disconnected my team from by turfing them off.
Tuesday started badly when I forgot my pager, lost the previous day's blood results and came to work to find out one of our patients hadn't had an important colonoscope. This gentleman came in with rectal bleeding. He has mechanical heart valves which mean his blood needs to be thinned somewhat so that it doesn't clog up the valves. We had stopped his blood-thinners so that he wouldn't continue to bleed. We wanted a colonoscope to investigate the bleeding as urgently as possible so we could restart his blood-thinners and prevent him from having a heart attack, a stroke or some other catastrophic event.
I spent this morning shaking my tin for pennies at the feet of the Colorectal and Gastroenterology teams who do the colonoscopes. As apologetic as they were, Charity was not forthcoming. My colleague spent the morning getting crap dumped on her by the Haematology team for not restarting the patient's blood-thinners, and then had to endure further crap-showers from our registrar for apparently taking the Haematologists too seriously.
Again, by lunch we were feeling disconnected, and about ready to rumble.
We decided to let the man have lunch. He had been fasted for two days in preparation for this test, which was looking like it might materialize in the next millenium.
At 1500hrs I get a call from the Colorectal registrar who tells me that three (count them, 3) patients didn't turn up (punks) and my patient could be seen straight away.
Crap. We had let him eat. Or had we? I called the ward.
"No, actually he hasn't had anything to eat yet." Hurrah! Out of the mess that was today, there might be something to celebrate yet. I struggled through the rest of the afternoon, looking forward to seeing the scope report, looking forward to telling the gentleman and his frustratingly anxious wife, "There's nothing to worry about, and you can (both) go home."
At 1700hrs, with a fair batch of menial tasks still left to do I hopped on down to ward 1E to read the report that would help power me through the last of my busywork...
"Bowel preparation was unsatisfactory. Clear to splenic flexure. Colon not fully visualized. Suggest repeat colonoscopy as outpatient."
God.
Damn.
It.
We took in many patients on the last weekend, and for the first time in our spoilt rosters our unit was faced with a list that stretched over a page.
The almost knee-jerk reaction from our superiors was to tell us to spend the first half of Monday trying to turf these patients to other units.
I didn't like coming to work and then solely working to make someone else's work harder, even if that someone is a registrar who likes to point out our unit's problems.
I was starting to see the dreariness of paper pushing that I had been fortunate to avoid with such a light patient load. By lunch I felt disconnected from my patients, even more so the ones that I had successfully disconnected my team from by turfing them off.
Tuesday started badly when I forgot my pager, lost the previous day's blood results and came to work to find out one of our patients hadn't had an important colonoscope. This gentleman came in with rectal bleeding. He has mechanical heart valves which mean his blood needs to be thinned somewhat so that it doesn't clog up the valves. We had stopped his blood-thinners so that he wouldn't continue to bleed. We wanted a colonoscope to investigate the bleeding as urgently as possible so we could restart his blood-thinners and prevent him from having a heart attack, a stroke or some other catastrophic event.
I spent this morning shaking my tin for pennies at the feet of the Colorectal and Gastroenterology teams who do the colonoscopes. As apologetic as they were, Charity was not forthcoming. My colleague spent the morning getting crap dumped on her by the Haematology team for not restarting the patient's blood-thinners, and then had to endure further crap-showers from our registrar for apparently taking the Haematologists too seriously.
Again, by lunch we were feeling disconnected, and about ready to rumble.
We decided to let the man have lunch. He had been fasted for two days in preparation for this test, which was looking like it might materialize in the next millenium.
At 1500hrs I get a call from the Colorectal registrar who tells me that three (count them, 3) patients didn't turn up (punks) and my patient could be seen straight away.
Crap. We had let him eat. Or had we? I called the ward.
"No, actually he hasn't had anything to eat yet." Hurrah! Out of the mess that was today, there might be something to celebrate yet. I struggled through the rest of the afternoon, looking forward to seeing the scope report, looking forward to telling the gentleman and his frustratingly anxious wife, "There's nothing to worry about, and you can (both) go home."
At 1700hrs, with a fair batch of menial tasks still left to do I hopped on down to ward 1E to read the report that would help power me through the last of my busywork...
"Bowel preparation was unsatisfactory. Clear to splenic flexure. Colon not fully visualized. Suggest repeat colonoscopy as outpatient."
God.
Damn.
It.
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