For six months I've been at the mercy of a relentless tyrannical torturer.
Yes, you Dr MB.
I arrived at this secondary hospital in July, expecting to belong to a team of caring superiors who would teach me medical secrets at every corner.
Instead you educated me in how to most annoy your colleagues, how to brew evil pranks involving patient's bodily fluids and gave me a daily lesson in torture.
And in the way a victim comes to expect and almost have an affinity for their abuse, and in the way that a cat tortures it's pray before it kills it, you killed me today when you left to go back to that cold country of yours.
I'm taking comfort in the fact that I at least managed some sort of revenge over the last few months, and for this I'm very grateful.
So here's my thanks:
•Thank you for helping me save lives...and thank you for reminding me, every day, all shift that you are a hero, have a superior intellect, are the best doctor in the universe and furthermore are generally the alpha male in all situations blah blah blah blah blah.
•Thank you for not letting the psych patients injure me while trying to sedate them...like when you unintentionally/intentionally eye-gouged a poor mentally ill music professor who wanted to make me his woman and tried to capture me.
FURTHERMORE - thank you for injuring me in resus and leaving massive bruises on both my person and my ego thus injuring me irreparably for which I will probably require a few years of therapy to recover from...and then...thank you again... for referring me to the psych department on my birthday for the aforementioned therapy.
•Thank you for being a walking textbook of medical knowledge...thanks for adding extra chapters to my textbooks including such gems as “Dr S's Discharge Eponymous Syndrome: very smelly vagina, 99.9% fatality” Nice. Very nice.
•Thank you for looking after me when I was going through my HIV needlestick issues, thanks for then stealing my patient stickers and placing one in the logbook next to a diagnosis of: retained foreign body, ?sex toy!
Thanks also for thus inspiring my revenge, with your very own diagnosis of: ?Haemaphrodite. Vaginal Bleeding, Grade IV prolapsed rectum and dysmorphic buried penis. ( Never mess with Dr S!)
•Thank you for inspiring us to eat healthily and snack only on things like lettuce and nuts...thank you for being nuts and shoving a steel bucket on my head with plaster of paris leftovers after we had a lovely chat in the POP room and then claiming that it was a beautiful home-made hat and canning yourself stupid when the sister came in and found me lying on the stretcher with the damn thing covering not only my head but also my face and shoulders so that it looked like I was being RESTRAINED by the bucket NOT adorned by it .
•Thanks for dribbling water on my head while I was resting my weary head on the desk...thank you for then standing still long enough for me to deposit an entire coke bottle full of God knows what on your person and smacking you on the head with the thing when it was empty. (HA HA! I win!)
•Thank you for making me coffee at the end of a long shift...and thank you for suspending me upside down and threatening to drop me on my head after I stole your coffee jar which was totally justified because you made me a prank cup consisting only of hot water and milk purely to piss me off.
•Thank you for letting me hide peanuts in your shoes...thanks for still eating them when you found them and thus not wasting food. (Weirdo!)
And on the subject of peanuts, thanks for throwing them at me across the doctor’s desk and making a massive mess on the floor. Thanks also, for NOT helping me clean it up when the head sister shoved the broom in my hand and forced me to start sweeping under threat of bodily harm.
•Thanks so much for being thoroughly evil and waiting until I was in resus with a smelly patient who had made a moerse foul smelling kak, and then locking me in the bloody room with her so that I could die a death by noxious fume asphyxiation while you looked on smiling and waving through the glass doors!!!!!
You're going to be terribly bored in the UK. You'd only done one chest drain in three years before you got here, and in the 14 months that you've been here you've done over a hundred...When you arrive in England, with three feet of snow to welcome you...I'm going to lie on our beautiful world-class beaches in the hot Summer's sun and think about you and laugh because I finally got the upper hand over you...
Not really.
I'll be sad.
I'll be teribly sad that my adopted sibling is gone and that there's no-one left to play with at work...
Showing posts with label colleagues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label colleagues. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
PIGS AND PATIENTS
We arrived on shift at 4pm last night with twenty patients already waiting to be seen, and a constant stream of ambulances pulling up outside the trauma unit.
Yay!
Dr MB and I had still not recovered from this recent weekend of nights:
Friday, Saturday, and, Oh-my-God-shoot-me-in-the-head Sunday.
The reason Sunday night deserves adjectives is because our new Registrar, Dr KL, ALSO had a needlestick injury and unlike me was developing nasty side-effects to the ARV's. Knowing what it's like to be sick and at work, we sent the poor man home for some TLC from his wife.
HOwever, this meant that just MB and I were left to man the unit on a Sunday night, on Halloween weekend, on the end-of-the-month-I've-just-got-paid-and-will-thus-get-smashed-and-stab/shoot/beat-someone-close-to-me weekend.
40 severely injured patients later,and by the time the Monday morning ward round rolled around, we had both, understandibly lost our minds.
MB attempted to stay awake during the round by performing strange, sporadic,forward leg lunges .(Don't ask). I was so tired I did not know whether to cry or vomit, and so to prevent both, I focused on ridiculing MB enough to spur him into some sort of retaliation. This usually involves hair tugging, pinching or "reminders" about his superiority and general world dominance. Sometimes I respond with a witty comment. Sometimes my response is to stab his testicle with my pen. This is how we help each other stay awake. We literally fight to survive the long shifts.
Anyhow. That recent weekend of horror was the reason we were still exhausted when we returned to work for the Tuesday 4-midnight shift. As expected, it was insanely busy. Why wouldn't it be? And in the middle of the shift three policeman walked into the unit and informed me that they had brought a very violent and aggressive psych patient for admission. When I asked them where he was they said that they had left him in the van outside and that I should see him in the back of the van.
This already pissed me off. I weigh 52kg. I am not particularly strong or tall. These three policemen had biceps bigger than my waist. What in God's name did they expect ME to do with a very violent psych patient in the back of a police van? I demanded that they bring the patient into the unit where we could, with their help, immobilise him on a bed and thus facilitate proper sedation. They strode off sulkily, obviously not happy with being told what to do by a little lady doctor.
They returned with the violent young man in handcuffs who was complaining bitterly about being manhandled by the police, and shouting obscenities at everyone.
I took a deep breath and approached the patient. I noticed that he was bleeding from his leg.
"Oh you poor man!" I began in my sweet, soothing, comforting voice,while stroking his hand," You have been so badly hurt, how terrible. I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain, will you let me take a look at that and give you a nice injection to make it better?".
This is my sneak attack tactic when it comes to psych patients. They do not expect someone to be nice to them and are then usually caught completely off guard, and thus more amenable to cooperation. Destroy them with kindness. Being severely lacking in the brawn department, the only weapons I have at my disposal are my smooth tongue and powers of persuasion.
"Let's ask these nice policeman to uncuff you so you can lie on the stretcher comfortably, hey? What do you say?" He nodded his head obediantly. But the policeman refused.IDIOTS!!! Could they not see that I was busy working my magic here? Play the game with me you brain donors! I eventually managed to communicate non-verbally to the policemen that the cuffs need to come off so I could sedate him. Which I eventually did, with 20mg Valium and 10mg Haloperidol. The poor patient started swaying after 30 seconds at which time I informed the policemen that they needed to help me get him onto the bed properly in the next minute before he collapsed on the floor.
They jumped into action immediately by... staring at me with blank expressions. I caught the damn patient myself when he fell, and was assisted by the elderly aunty of a radiographer who happened to be walking by at that moment. The two of us struggled to pick the patient up off the floor and put him on the bed while the policemen played with each other's assholes.
Yes, I'm all for the empowerement of women, but why should that empowerment and chivalry be in competition?
Sometimes a girl just needs men to act like men.
Then again,how silly am I expecting those pigs to behave like men?
Like Bonnie Tyler said, in one of my favourite epic 80's rock songs:
"Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where’s the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero 'till the morning light
He’s gotta be sure
And it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
Larger than life!
Yay!
Dr MB and I had still not recovered from this recent weekend of nights:
Friday, Saturday, and, Oh-my-God-shoot-me-in-the-head Sunday.
The reason Sunday night deserves adjectives is because our new Registrar, Dr KL, ALSO had a needlestick injury and unlike me was developing nasty side-effects to the ARV's. Knowing what it's like to be sick and at work, we sent the poor man home for some TLC from his wife.
HOwever, this meant that just MB and I were left to man the unit on a Sunday night, on Halloween weekend, on the end-of-the-month-I've-just-got-paid-and-will-thus-get-smashed-and-stab/shoot/beat-someone-close-to-me weekend.
40 severely injured patients later,and by the time the Monday morning ward round rolled around, we had both, understandibly lost our minds.
MB attempted to stay awake during the round by performing strange, sporadic,forward leg lunges .(Don't ask). I was so tired I did not know whether to cry or vomit, and so to prevent both, I focused on ridiculing MB enough to spur him into some sort of retaliation. This usually involves hair tugging, pinching or "reminders" about his superiority and general world dominance. Sometimes I respond with a witty comment. Sometimes my response is to stab his testicle with my pen. This is how we help each other stay awake. We literally fight to survive the long shifts.
Anyhow. That recent weekend of horror was the reason we were still exhausted when we returned to work for the Tuesday 4-midnight shift. As expected, it was insanely busy. Why wouldn't it be? And in the middle of the shift three policeman walked into the unit and informed me that they had brought a very violent and aggressive psych patient for admission. When I asked them where he was they said that they had left him in the van outside and that I should see him in the back of the van.
This already pissed me off. I weigh 52kg. I am not particularly strong or tall. These three policemen had biceps bigger than my waist. What in God's name did they expect ME to do with a very violent psych patient in the back of a police van? I demanded that they bring the patient into the unit where we could, with their help, immobilise him on a bed and thus facilitate proper sedation. They strode off sulkily, obviously not happy with being told what to do by a little lady doctor.
They returned with the violent young man in handcuffs who was complaining bitterly about being manhandled by the police, and shouting obscenities at everyone.
I took a deep breath and approached the patient. I noticed that he was bleeding from his leg.
"Oh you poor man!" I began in my sweet, soothing, comforting voice,while stroking his hand," You have been so badly hurt, how terrible. I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain, will you let me take a look at that and give you a nice injection to make it better?".
This is my sneak attack tactic when it comes to psych patients. They do not expect someone to be nice to them and are then usually caught completely off guard, and thus more amenable to cooperation. Destroy them with kindness. Being severely lacking in the brawn department, the only weapons I have at my disposal are my smooth tongue and powers of persuasion.
"Let's ask these nice policeman to uncuff you so you can lie on the stretcher comfortably, hey? What do you say?" He nodded his head obediantly. But the policeman refused.IDIOTS!!! Could they not see that I was busy working my magic here? Play the game with me you brain donors! I eventually managed to communicate non-verbally to the policemen that the cuffs need to come off so I could sedate him. Which I eventually did, with 20mg Valium and 10mg Haloperidol. The poor patient started swaying after 30 seconds at which time I informed the policemen that they needed to help me get him onto the bed properly in the next minute before he collapsed on the floor.
They jumped into action immediately by... staring at me with blank expressions. I caught the damn patient myself when he fell, and was assisted by the elderly aunty of a radiographer who happened to be walking by at that moment. The two of us struggled to pick the patient up off the floor and put him on the bed while the policemen played with each other's assholes.
Yes, I'm all for the empowerement of women, but why should that empowerment and chivalry be in competition?
Sometimes a girl just needs men to act like men.
Then again,how silly am I expecting those pigs to behave like men?
Like Bonnie Tyler said, in one of my favourite epic 80's rock songs:
"Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where’s the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'till the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero 'till the morning light
He’s gotta be sure
And it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
Larger than life!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Brothers, Sisters, and the Godfather.
I spend more time with my work colleagues than with my own family.
This happens when one is a mean, lean, life-saving machine working night shifts when everyone is sleeping, and is sleeping when everyone else is working.
I'm spending so much time at work that it's like my work colleagues are starting to become my family.
It's inevitable.
The team effort it takes to piece together a polytrauma victim, take down a violent psychiatric patient, or resuscitate a patient back from imminent death is certainly a bonding experience.
Witnessing one's colleague being vomited/urinated/shat/bled/spat on are all priceless moments of hilarity that provides the fodder for friendly family-type banter.
Spending four nights on call in a row with the same people provides insight into their characters which would otherwise not have been learned during polite dinner conversation.
Sleep deprivation is like being drunk, it loosens the tongue and disinhibits the mind.
What I'm saying is, we're getting way too comfortable.
It's only a matter of time before we start farting around each other, and then rating those rectal whistles like real siblings.
Here's the family breakdown:
Dr D: A specialist neuorologist. She does locums in our trauma unit sometimes to supplement her income. She's like everyone's mum. She doesn't hesitate to dole out the "mama treatment" when you've screwed up or are pissing her off, but is also quick to praise, offer advice and soothe.
Dr MB: You've read about him and his drunken exploits already. He gets to play the role of the mischievous older brother.
Dr S: That's me - taking centre stage as the misunderstood, brilliant, beautiful and slightly insane little sister.
Which leaves us with Dr K to play the role of father.
Except that Dr MB and I are convinced that he should actually be playing the role of Godfather.
And by Godfather I mean the scary Sicilian-mafia-gangster-type godfather, not the sweet loving I'll-take-care-of-you-when-your-parents-die-and-raise-you-in-the-name-of-Jesus type godfather.
There have just been too many incidents pointing to the fact that Dr K could currently be, or previously have been, a gang-leader on the Cape Flats.
1: He has an expressionless face with cool green eyes.
2:He broods. A lot. And skulks around the unit like a moody killing cat.
3:Whenever the hardened criminals come in to the unit and start trying to cause chaos he manages to silence them by just looking in their direction.
4:He revealed that he goes to visit some of his "friends" who currently reside in prison!! He claims that these friends are actually really good people and that when they get out they will be staying with him.
5:He only wears tops with long sleeves and high necks. We're convinced that this is because his torso is riddled with gang tattoos which he can't reveal in public.
6:During an episode of "immobilise the violent psych. patient", I watched as he controlled the guy with a one-handed vice-like choke hold. When we mentioned that perhaps this was not the healthiest method of immobilisation, he simply informed us that this was indeed the best way because once they become hypoxic they stop struggling!!!!!!
7: Whenever a gunshot wound comes into the unit he can correctly identify the type of gun that was used and the calibre of the bullet retrieved.
8: It's possible that he's packing heat.
Do you get the picture?
I mean it's pretty cool to have the damn Godfather on our team right? Lord knows we need some extra protection in this gangland trauma unit.
So now my pseudo-family is more like a pseudo-familia
And I'm loving it.
Except, that I'm also slightly nervous that I might do something to seriously piss him off and then wake up dead the next morning....
Only 5 weeks to go until the registrars rotate and he moves off to another unit elsewhere in Cape Town.
So until then it's yes Dr K, no Dr K, please don't kill me Dr K!
This happens when one is a mean, lean, life-saving machine working night shifts when everyone is sleeping, and is sleeping when everyone else is working.
I'm spending so much time at work that it's like my work colleagues are starting to become my family.
It's inevitable.
The team effort it takes to piece together a polytrauma victim, take down a violent psychiatric patient, or resuscitate a patient back from imminent death is certainly a bonding experience.
Witnessing one's colleague being vomited/urinated/shat/bled/spat on are all priceless moments of hilarity that provides the fodder for friendly family-type banter.
Spending four nights on call in a row with the same people provides insight into their characters which would otherwise not have been learned during polite dinner conversation.
Sleep deprivation is like being drunk, it loosens the tongue and disinhibits the mind.
What I'm saying is, we're getting way too comfortable.
It's only a matter of time before we start farting around each other, and then rating those rectal whistles like real siblings.
Here's the family breakdown:
Dr D: A specialist neuorologist. She does locums in our trauma unit sometimes to supplement her income. She's like everyone's mum. She doesn't hesitate to dole out the "mama treatment" when you've screwed up or are pissing her off, but is also quick to praise, offer advice and soothe.
Dr MB: You've read about him and his drunken exploits already. He gets to play the role of the mischievous older brother.
Dr S: That's me - taking centre stage as the misunderstood, brilliant, beautiful and slightly insane little sister.
Which leaves us with Dr K to play the role of father.
Except that Dr MB and I are convinced that he should actually be playing the role of Godfather.
And by Godfather I mean the scary Sicilian-mafia-gangster-type godfather, not the sweet loving I'll-take-care-of-you-when-your-parents-die-and-raise-you-in-the-name-of-Jesus type godfather.
There have just been too many incidents pointing to the fact that Dr K could currently be, or previously have been, a gang-leader on the Cape Flats.
1: He has an expressionless face with cool green eyes.
2:He broods. A lot. And skulks around the unit like a moody killing cat.
3:Whenever the hardened criminals come in to the unit and start trying to cause chaos he manages to silence them by just looking in their direction.
4:He revealed that he goes to visit some of his "friends" who currently reside in prison!! He claims that these friends are actually really good people and that when they get out they will be staying with him.
5:He only wears tops with long sleeves and high necks. We're convinced that this is because his torso is riddled with gang tattoos which he can't reveal in public.
6:During an episode of "immobilise the violent psych. patient", I watched as he controlled the guy with a one-handed vice-like choke hold. When we mentioned that perhaps this was not the healthiest method of immobilisation, he simply informed us that this was indeed the best way because once they become hypoxic they stop struggling!!!!!!
7: Whenever a gunshot wound comes into the unit he can correctly identify the type of gun that was used and the calibre of the bullet retrieved.
8: It's possible that he's packing heat.
Do you get the picture?
I mean it's pretty cool to have the damn Godfather on our team right? Lord knows we need some extra protection in this gangland trauma unit.
So now my pseudo-family is more like a pseudo-familia
And I'm loving it.
Except, that I'm also slightly nervous that I might do something to seriously piss him off and then wake up dead the next morning....
Only 5 weeks to go until the registrars rotate and he moves off to another unit elsewhere in Cape Town.
So until then it's yes Dr K, no Dr K, please don't kill me Dr K!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Boozy Sunday Brunch
Sunday morning 8am:
Arrive at work for the third time this weekend.
Dr K arrives shortly after that.
Dr MB is currently AWOL.
Sunday morning 9am.
In the short space of time that I've been at work, I've already drawn blood from three drunken drivers for forensic purposes. The police bring them in is as "DUI's" (driving under the influence). These patients are highly inventive and almost always create bullshit stories which are supposed to prevent me from taking their blood as evidence.
For Example: "I refuse to let you take my blood doctor, I'm a liver patient and the Professor of Livers at Groote Schuur said that you must be careful when taking my blood." Oh yes you most definitely ARE a liver patient my friend, being an alcoholic is compatible with destroyed livers. But I guess the liver is evil, and must be punished.
Or:"I have very thin blood doctor. And I have very thin veins. Don't take my blood or I will bleed to death. I don't want to bleed to death!" Oh yeah dude, I get what you're saying! You mean, you don't want to bleed to death like the people you could have hit while drunk driving would bleed to death? Good call, I wouldn't want to die that way either, you imbecile.
One of the three DUI's happened to be a police officer, caught drunk, on duty, while driving the police vehicle at 8am that morning.
This genius, after I shook my head at him, tried to convince me that he had just been working a very long shift and that he was so tired that he merely appeared drunk!
By the time I was done listening to how simply tired he was, I was getting simply drunk off the concentrated alcohol fumes emanating from his rancid mouth!
Sunday morning 10am:
Dr MB currently NOT at work.
Have received text message from him saying that his flatmate has parked his car in front of his and has lost his keys, thus resulting in his lateness.
I attend to a patient with multiple stab wounds. This guy is still trashed from last night. Too trashed to feel the pain of the, fortunately superficial, gashes on his scalp, back and torso.
He proceeds to blame the stab wounds on his wife. Apparently he was out drinking last night with his friends, when she came looking for him to drag him home. On their way home they were stabbed and robbed by gangsters. Stupid wife is clearly to blame,of course, and should have rather let him drink himself into a coma.
Sunday morning 10:30am:
While still busy suturing the lacerations, the cleaner stumbles into the room and stands next to my suturing trolley. He sways slightly while informing me in slurred speech that I need to throw the unused instruments in the special bin placed outside the room.
"Why thank you cleaner dude, I know this, but thanks for reminding me anyway!" I say. Cleaner dude now needs to leave me alone to finish suturing. Yet, he continues to stand there swaying to the rhythm dictated by the alcohol pumping through his veins, and stares intensely at the instruments on my trolley.
As a little bit of drool starts seeping down the side of his mouth onto my sterile field he begins again, "You know doctor, you must throw these instruments into the bin outside when you are finished, because that is where the dirty instruments must go."
Yes I know you drunken fool! Now take your alcoholic self off to the nearest dark corner and help us all by sleeping off last night's party before attempting any further brain function!
Sunday morning 11:00am
Still no sign of Dr MB. I'm starting to get worried. This is South Africa after all, and these foreigners from the UK don't understand words like, security, and hijacking and trellidoors and safety!
At this point I notice Dr MB's flatmate walking through casualty happily jangling his car keys...Dr MB is not in tow.
Thus my hijacking fears are allayed. Me thinks that Dr MB, like everyone else in casualty today, is also suffering the after-effects of drinking the devil's drool!
Sunday 11:30pm
The paramedics wheel in a morbidly obese lady with no past medical history other than being a known alcoholic. I get the feeling that in the last few months she has been sober less times than she has been able to view her own genitals beyond her massive stomach. She is currently comatose. It could be that she has drunken herself into a stupor or that she has suffered some other major pathology. First rule of intoxicated patients: Do not assume that all their symptoms are attributable to the intoxication. So after some major resuscitation, we send her off to Groote Schuur for a CT scan of her brain. My friend texts me later from Groote Schuur to inform me that she has suffered a massive sub-arachnoid haemorrhage*, whose initial symptoms were probably not picked up due to her having imbibed satan's sap all weekend. Brings new meaning to the term, "smashed out of your skull".
Sunday, midday:
Dr MB arrives, body intact, in the casualty unit. Hoorah!
He looks more like a patient than a doctor:
I begin my examination....
No evidence of hijacking noted, thankfully.
On observation though, possible evidence of a rough Saturday night: hair unusually unstyled, face slightly puffy and red, eyes glazed.
Clothes noted to be dishevelled: having fallen asleep in them last night is highly likely.
Non-purposeful wandering around trauma unit: a clear indication of hangover. That and the fact that he is periodically pressing his palms to his temples and moaning softly.
Patient delusional: Believes that he got two flat tyres on the way to work and thus had to spend the best part of the day sorting it out. Patient even promises to show me the receipts.
Patient forgets that I am female, have two brothers, am a wife, and a doctor. I can smell bullshit from kilometres away.
Never mind, Dr MB. I'll forgive you seeing that after your IV caffeine treatment you perked up and saw most of the patients for the rest of the day, while the rest of us slacked off a little.
I was just annoyed that EVERYONE was enjoying a boozy-Sunday-brunch style afternoon in casualty EXCEPT ME!!!!
It was then that I decided that I needed to get my own back.
Come Monday morning, I would stumble into work stoned, drunk, high on tik, still wearing last night's clothes and screaming like a lunatic that somebody needed to get me another drink...
But I didn't. I remained the diligent little girl that I am, had a good Sunday night's rest and arrived in good spirits, unfortunately not methylated spirits, for work the next morning...
Good little Dr S, always doing the right thing. I have terrible luck though. Knowing me, if I did ever try any nonsense I most certainly would be the ONE person in the unit to get caught, reported and probably disbarred.
Wait...hold up! Being disbarred means I never have to work as a doctor again right? Pass me that crack pipe!!!!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
TLC
Trauma.
Oh God - my body has gone through Trauma...
Four consecutive nights of night shifts, in a row, consecutively for four nights, one after the other, all night, for four nights...in a row.
They ended last night.
Therefore, I am now allowed to initiate the recovery process from the face down position under my duvet...
Step One: Climb inside skull armed with ice pick and begin breaking through the 2cm too tight steel casing compressing the brain and causing massive post-call headache.
Step Two: Once the brain pressure has been relieved, initiate neurotransmissions to rest of body. Expect MASSIVE resistance from skeletal muscles, known for their surly contempt of brain's authority.
Step Three: Scream violently upon realisation that your perfect skin is the angrily inflamed crime scene of a bloodsucking flea-bite feast festival.
Step Four: Remind yourself that being a doctor is both the most awesome and flipping worst profession in the whole world, and that this moment is just located near the bottom of the awesome/terrible scale.
Step Five: Obtain TLC - in whatever form: Food, or music, or a phonecall to a friend, or raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, or bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, or brown paper packages tied up with strings,
you know... just a few of your favorite things... ( Musicals are some of my favourite things...ESPECIALLY the Sound of Music musical...)
Jeez, I really really heart musicals!
I love musicals so much. My Mom and I used to watch My Fair Lady and the Sound of Music over and over when I was little. Singing and dancing and acting at the same time!?!?! It's the most glorious manifestation of happiness, am I not right?
The hospital front room is a very dreary place. I've made bringing a little musical magic into it one of my objectives.
Here's an example:
Last night, our front room team had two very sick patients in the resuscitation area whom we knew would not make it through the night...
Sherbert, I haven't told you about my team yet have I? It consists of:
Dr S- that's me. (newbie and very green community service officer),
Dr MB - (an English Medical Officer who travelled all the way from the UK to experience 3rd world medicine and take advantage of our superlative weather )
Dr K (The registrar in charge of our team, i.e. specialising in Emergency Medicine, who was once described my a patient as looking more like a tow-truck driver than a doctor)
Got it? That's our team right there, in a nutshell.
Back to the dying patients in the resus area - we can't get distracted now - they are dying after all.
One of the patients was mine, and the other Dr K's. We were both pretty saddened by the fact that despite extensively counseling their respective families that their relatives would surely not make it through the night, the families still decided to leave the hospital and go home.
If that was my relative I'd be in the bed with them, holding on tightly and whispering words of love all night until they left this world...
We had done all we could in terms of medical treatment. All that was left to do was make their last moments on Earth pleasant.
This is difficult in the Emergency Department...
But that didn't deter us. As we had exhausted all the medical ways of helping these patients, Dr MB and I, possibly delirious from our four consecutive night shifts, began singing harmonious lullabies at the top of our voices, in order to peacefully lull them to sleep, forever.
Dr MB might have gone a little bit too far though when, after I mentioned that the patients were for TLC management only, began singing:
"Don't go chasing waterfalls, just stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to. I know that you've got to have it your way or nothing at all, but I think you're moving too fast"
i.e. The group, TLC's, most famous song.
I won't lie, it's such a catchy tune that I couldn't help but sing with him.
Appropriate or not, it made us feel as though we were at least trying to bring something magical to the last part of these patient's lives. They died just before seven, all alone with no loving family members by their sides. I felt terrible for them, and was glad that in the end, we could provide a little TLC on their journey out of this world...
To those of you who know me...when I'm dying, please can you sing songs from My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music? I don't mind some TLC either. Some sexy rock ballads and a hard-hitting gangsta rap number might be nice as well. If you even think about breaking out the Britney Spears or Celine Dion - I will most certainly come back as a zombie to terrorise you for eternity!
Being a doctor means one comes into contact with death constantly. Mostly we don't like to think about it in order to function. If we had to process every death we'd seen our brains would explode.
That said, I once found this poem which I like to refer to when those death barriers I've erected around my emotions start to falter.
Please read it out aloud.
It is my favourite poem about death of all time:
If I die, survive me with such sheer force
that you wake the furies of the pallid and cold
from south to south, lift your indelible eyes,
from sun to sun dream through your singing mouth
I don't want your laughter or your steps to waver.
I don't want my heritage of joy to die.
Don't call up my person, I am absent.
Live in my absence as if in a house.
Absence is a house so fast
that inside, you will pass through its walls
and hang pictures on the air.
Abscence is a house so transparent
that I, lifeless, will see you, living,
And if you suffer, my love, I will die again.
Pablo Neruda
Oh God - my body has gone through Trauma...
Four consecutive nights of night shifts, in a row, consecutively for four nights, one after the other, all night, for four nights...in a row.
They ended last night.
Therefore, I am now allowed to initiate the recovery process from the face down position under my duvet...
Step One: Climb inside skull armed with ice pick and begin breaking through the 2cm too tight steel casing compressing the brain and causing massive post-call headache.
Step Two: Once the brain pressure has been relieved, initiate neurotransmissions to rest of body. Expect MASSIVE resistance from skeletal muscles, known for their surly contempt of brain's authority.
Step Three: Scream violently upon realisation that your perfect skin is the angrily inflamed crime scene of a bloodsucking flea-bite feast festival.
Step Four: Remind yourself that being a doctor is both the most awesome and flipping worst profession in the whole world, and that this moment is just located near the bottom of the awesome/terrible scale.
Step Five: Obtain TLC - in whatever form: Food, or music, or a phonecall to a friend, or raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, or bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, or brown paper packages tied up with strings,
you know... just a few of your favorite things... ( Musicals are some of my favourite things...ESPECIALLY the Sound of Music musical...)
Jeez, I really really heart musicals!
I love musicals so much. My Mom and I used to watch My Fair Lady and the Sound of Music over and over when I was little. Singing and dancing and acting at the same time!?!?! It's the most glorious manifestation of happiness, am I not right?
The hospital front room is a very dreary place. I've made bringing a little musical magic into it one of my objectives.
Here's an example:
Last night, our front room team had two very sick patients in the resuscitation area whom we knew would not make it through the night...
Sherbert, I haven't told you about my team yet have I? It consists of:
Dr S- that's me. (newbie and very green community service officer),
Dr MB - (an English Medical Officer who travelled all the way from the UK to experience 3rd world medicine and take advantage of our superlative weather )
Dr K (The registrar in charge of our team, i.e. specialising in Emergency Medicine, who was once described my a patient as looking more like a tow-truck driver than a doctor)
Got it? That's our team right there, in a nutshell.
Back to the dying patients in the resus area - we can't get distracted now - they are dying after all.
One of the patients was mine, and the other Dr K's. We were both pretty saddened by the fact that despite extensively counseling their respective families that their relatives would surely not make it through the night, the families still decided to leave the hospital and go home.
If that was my relative I'd be in the bed with them, holding on tightly and whispering words of love all night until they left this world...
We had done all we could in terms of medical treatment. All that was left to do was make their last moments on Earth pleasant.
This is difficult in the Emergency Department...
But that didn't deter us. As we had exhausted all the medical ways of helping these patients, Dr MB and I, possibly delirious from our four consecutive night shifts, began singing harmonious lullabies at the top of our voices, in order to peacefully lull them to sleep, forever.
Dr MB might have gone a little bit too far though when, after I mentioned that the patients were for TLC management only, began singing:
"Don't go chasing waterfalls, just stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to. I know that you've got to have it your way or nothing at all, but I think you're moving too fast"
i.e. The group, TLC's, most famous song.
I won't lie, it's such a catchy tune that I couldn't help but sing with him.
Appropriate or not, it made us feel as though we were at least trying to bring something magical to the last part of these patient's lives. They died just before seven, all alone with no loving family members by their sides. I felt terrible for them, and was glad that in the end, we could provide a little TLC on their journey out of this world...
To those of you who know me...when I'm dying, please can you sing songs from My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music? I don't mind some TLC either. Some sexy rock ballads and a hard-hitting gangsta rap number might be nice as well. If you even think about breaking out the Britney Spears or Celine Dion - I will most certainly come back as a zombie to terrorise you for eternity!
Being a doctor means one comes into contact with death constantly. Mostly we don't like to think about it in order to function. If we had to process every death we'd seen our brains would explode.
That said, I once found this poem which I like to refer to when those death barriers I've erected around my emotions start to falter.
Please read it out aloud.
It is my favourite poem about death of all time:
If I die, survive me with such sheer force
that you wake the furies of the pallid and cold
from south to south, lift your indelible eyes,
from sun to sun dream through your singing mouth
I don't want your laughter or your steps to waver.
I don't want my heritage of joy to die.
Don't call up my person, I am absent.
Live in my absence as if in a house.
Absence is a house so fast
that inside, you will pass through its walls
and hang pictures on the air.
Abscence is a house so transparent
that I, lifeless, will see you, living,
And if you suffer, my love, I will die again.
Pablo Neruda
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Initiation
When starting a new job, it's important to make a good impression.
There are RULES as to the way one does this.
These rules, they are COMPLEX.
They involve EVERYTHING, from the way one dresses on the first day, to learning the names of your colleagues speedily, to not allowing all one's thoughts to pass from their inception in one's insane brain to manifestation at one's luscious lips. One's new boss may have a moustache reminiscent of a 70's porn-star, but best not to mention this fact on the first day.
DO NOT forget that the most important people to befriend in a new job, are not necessarily those at the top.
The one's at the top should not be your friends - it will just be awkward on the day that you take over their jobs and assume the position of world domination.
Far better to befriend those in low places - the clerk at the front desk, the porters, the cleaning lady. These guys have been around for ages. And believe me, they know EVERYTHING, and can "organise" anything in a hurry due to their years of training in beating the system.
BE SUPER NICE TO THE NURSES. This is in fact the number one golden shiny rule of medicine. I'm not going to elaborate. It's pretty self-explanatory. If you're one of those dickhead doctors who enjoy ordering the sisters around, and getting off on your own sense of superiority because there's nothing else that's cool in your life... prepare yourself for a life of hell. Nothing is worse than the retribution from a nursing sister.
DO NOT think that you can throw your weight around immediately. Be calm, be cool, be like a detective and assess the situation.
Understand, that as the new bitch, it is unfortunately up to you to be slightly subserviant, and pleasant, and willing. These are the rules...But don't worry, it won't last long - soon there will be another new bitch, upon which to inflict your initiation torture...
My initiation experience occured last week...
After the handover ward round from the off-going doctors of the day shift, to the oncoming doctor's of the night shift (me being one of them), one of the instructions was to discharge one of the patients lying in the medical holdings area.
The patient, Mrs T.Y. was suffering from a mild lung condition that did not require admission into hospital, and could thus be sent home with oral medication.
The way to find a patient in medical holdings is to look at the name on the folder lying underneath the stretcher's mattress. The body on the bed then belongs to that folder. It is pointless asking the patients what their names are, as most of them are either deaf, psychotic, delirious, confused or don't speak English...
I located Mrs T.Y.'s folder, and proceeded to examine her.
But she certainly did not look like she had a mild respiratory condition. When I asked her how she was feeling, she just stared at me blankly, and then buried her head under the blankets while mumbling incoherently to herself.
"What the hell is this?" I thought. "Why have these other idiots decided to send this lady home? Clearly she's confused! She can't go home for God's sake! That's just negligence!She needs investigations! She needs X-rays! She needs medicine!"
While seething with the injustices of this world, I placed my stethoscope on her chest to inspect her "mild lung condition"...
...at which point, the patient suddenly, and violently shot out of bed and tried to strangle me.
I'll say that again. Tried to strangle me.
Yes.
Oh Yes...that's right.
Do you see what happened there?
This was NOT in fact Mrs T.Y.
Mrs TY was in the bed next to this patient.
This patient was a Mrs I'm-fucking-psychotic-and-abusing-copious-amounts-of-tik type patient.
Thanks a lot guys. Good one. Switch the folders around. Excellent joke to play on the new girl. Never mind that she might have suffered a FATAL INJURY at the hands of this mad, malevolent bitch. Hilarious. Really. Well done.
They claimed that it was a genuine mistake. But it was a little hard to believe them while they were all cackling and clutching their sides with laughter.
Unintentional initiation?
Maybe.
It's actually too brilliant a joke to have been planned...
I need to remember this one when we've got a fresh new fish to torture....
There are RULES as to the way one does this.
These rules, they are COMPLEX.
They involve EVERYTHING, from the way one dresses on the first day, to learning the names of your colleagues speedily, to not allowing all one's thoughts to pass from their inception in one's insane brain to manifestation at one's luscious lips. One's new boss may have a moustache reminiscent of a 70's porn-star, but best not to mention this fact on the first day.
DO NOT forget that the most important people to befriend in a new job, are not necessarily those at the top.
The one's at the top should not be your friends - it will just be awkward on the day that you take over their jobs and assume the position of world domination.
Far better to befriend those in low places - the clerk at the front desk, the porters, the cleaning lady. These guys have been around for ages. And believe me, they know EVERYTHING, and can "organise" anything in a hurry due to their years of training in beating the system.
BE SUPER NICE TO THE NURSES. This is in fact the number one golden shiny rule of medicine. I'm not going to elaborate. It's pretty self-explanatory. If you're one of those dickhead doctors who enjoy ordering the sisters around, and getting off on your own sense of superiority because there's nothing else that's cool in your life... prepare yourself for a life of hell. Nothing is worse than the retribution from a nursing sister.
DO NOT think that you can throw your weight around immediately. Be calm, be cool, be like a detective and assess the situation.
Understand, that as the new bitch, it is unfortunately up to you to be slightly subserviant, and pleasant, and willing. These are the rules...But don't worry, it won't last long - soon there will be another new bitch, upon which to inflict your initiation torture...
My initiation experience occured last week...
After the handover ward round from the off-going doctors of the day shift, to the oncoming doctor's of the night shift (me being one of them), one of the instructions was to discharge one of the patients lying in the medical holdings area.
The patient, Mrs T.Y. was suffering from a mild lung condition that did not require admission into hospital, and could thus be sent home with oral medication.
The way to find a patient in medical holdings is to look at the name on the folder lying underneath the stretcher's mattress. The body on the bed then belongs to that folder. It is pointless asking the patients what their names are, as most of them are either deaf, psychotic, delirious, confused or don't speak English...
I located Mrs T.Y.'s folder, and proceeded to examine her.
But she certainly did not look like she had a mild respiratory condition. When I asked her how she was feeling, she just stared at me blankly, and then buried her head under the blankets while mumbling incoherently to herself.
"What the hell is this?" I thought. "Why have these other idiots decided to send this lady home? Clearly she's confused! She can't go home for God's sake! That's just negligence!She needs investigations! She needs X-rays! She needs medicine!"
While seething with the injustices of this world, I placed my stethoscope on her chest to inspect her "mild lung condition"...
...at which point, the patient suddenly, and violently shot out of bed and tried to strangle me.
I'll say that again. Tried to strangle me.
Yes.
Oh Yes...that's right.
Do you see what happened there?
This was NOT in fact Mrs T.Y.
Mrs TY was in the bed next to this patient.
This patient was a Mrs I'm-fucking-psychotic-and-abusing-copious-amounts-of-tik type patient.
Thanks a lot guys. Good one. Switch the folders around. Excellent joke to play on the new girl. Never mind that she might have suffered a FATAL INJURY at the hands of this mad, malevolent bitch. Hilarious. Really. Well done.
They claimed that it was a genuine mistake. But it was a little hard to believe them while they were all cackling and clutching their sides with laughter.
Unintentional initiation?
Maybe.
It's actually too brilliant a joke to have been planned...
I need to remember this one when we've got a fresh new fish to torture....
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