Dave should not be allowed near students

Today we had two third year med students floating around ICU and I found it next to impossible to not start yabbering on at great length to pass on my “wisdom” (you can all stop sniggering now). I explained ventilators to them (qualifying it with the fact that I only have a pretty rudimentary understanding myself). I discussed ionotropes. I went through acid base status, membrane electro-chemical gradients, and potassium regulation and management.

In the end it was probably a good thing that they popped off for an extended lunch break, or I would have just kept on talking and talking, and never gotten any work done at all.

Hessian sack

One of the phrases that I picked up shortly after moving to Australia to study medicine was “She’s so cute she’s look good in a Hessian sack” (which one of my female friends used to describe one of her younger and at that stage thinner friends).

This summer I find myself constantly reminded of that saying, not because all the girls are cute (although I suppose you see a few good looking ones around), but rather because the current fashions seem hell bent on testing the notion by producing garments that are only a small technicality away from being actual honest to god real life hessian skirts and tops. They are seriously ugly and completely unflattering to every person I’ve seen them on and yet like hamsters to a cliff edge young girls are all over the place in them because they’re “the new thing”.

Now whatever my views are on moronic consumer sheep behavior I think the main point which has been shown is that the adage is clearly false, as I don’t believe that I have seen anyone (no matter how cute they may be) who has actually managed to look anything other than foolish in those particular variants of hessian sacks.

What was really like a drug were the drugs…

Today I had a “sick” day, to go and get a gastroscopy done (gastroscopy = camera down into stomach to look for problems).

This all results from me being married to a surgical registrar, who when I mentioned that I get reflux a couple of times a month started insisting that I should get a gastroscopy to make sure that there wasn’t anything like a huge ulcer in my stomach causing it all. Typical doctorish scaremongering really, but as is always the way in marriage eventually the poor meek husband gives in to the pestering of his domineering wife and does whatever she wants, and so I went and got the scope done.

Now the whole process involves an hour of amnesia (ie I have no memory of anything for about an hour after they put the drugs in) sandwiched in between 2 two hour blocks of unmitigated boredom (firstly waiting for the procedure in a waiting room with lowest common denominator breakfast television blasting loudly across it, and then sitting in the recovery area with nothing to do while they wait for the drugs to wear off to their satisfaction before they let you go).

The other downside was that while I was out to it on the good drugs John Howard was doing one of his “visit the rural hospital so you can pretend you care about the bush and sick children” things in the same hospital, about two rooms from where I was. If things had been planned a bit better they could have put me earlier on the scope list so that while I was recovering I could have filled in the time by giving old Johnny a frank and honest (not to mention vitriolic and possibly obscene) piece of my mind (and later I could do a Hollywood star job and call my own press conference to blame the whole thing on the prescription drugs that my doctor had just given me), but unfortunately it was not to be.

Anyway, no big holes found, and nothing that needs fixing at the moment. And in 5 years time I get to do it all again. I wonder if I can fit it in with the next election…

Huge pet hate

Having come back from 6 weeks in New Zealand, and being re-acclimatised to their enlightened approach to eftpos I find myself repeatedly wanting to physically punch retailers in the mouth when I got to pay for something with eftpos and they turn around and say “Oh, sorry, $10 minimum on eftpos”. Seriously. Are they institutionally retarded? Are they under some illusion that they are stuck in 1987? I even get it in large shopping centres where surely all their eftpos transactions are not going through a phone line but via the centre’s broadband internet connection (and thus removes any concern about the cost of the call to dial into the eftpos system).

And then they turn around and say “How about just adding <insert some $2-3 item I didn’t want (otherwise I would have bought it to the counter with me) > to make $10”.

Increasingly I look at them as though they have a giant moron stick poking out of theirforeheads, tell them to get stuffed, and walk out without buying anything. They either want my custom or they don’t and I’m sure they can afford to factor in the 20cents worth of call to eftpos if they realise that a $7 purchase is still a $7 purchase, and if they treat me well I’ll most probably come back in the future (because like most males I’m a terrible creature of habit, and will in future go straight back to places I know and which have treated me well (and conversely never again frequent places that treat me with rudeness or disdain)), and spend (often a lot) more there next time.

The whole thing is absurd, insulting and counter-productive, and all around puts my blood pressure and my hackles up, when I know it’s not necessary, because other countries do fine without it.

Ignorant until proven guilty

(This post was alternatively going to be titled “Public Hospitals: You get the care you pay for”)

Well after listening to Jeremy talk about the stress of being responsible for ICU patients in the last few weeks, I got to experience it first hand last week.

My registrar got cellulitis from a scratch on his leg from kayaking, and was away for 3 days, and so I got something of a field promotion to pseudo-registrar.

Now the problem with ICU patients is two fold. Firstly they are (as their location suggests) genuinely quite sick (as opposed to the apparent level of health you see in some of the other people you see around the hospital, some of whom appear to see it almost as a nice little holiday). They need intensive care, and so require more technical support and more detailed knowledge to be able to manage them successfully.

The second problem is that while, in the first 2 years of being a doctor, I have generally become rather blase about what I can get away with on the care front (the old adage that Medicine mostly involves amusing the patient while nature cures the disease actually turns out to be remarkably accurate – most people tend to get better in spite of what you do (or the relative ineptitude of your methods of doing it), rather than because of what you do)) ICU patients are still surrounded by that aura of mystique, and I haven’t quite shaken off my tendency to be generally scared to do anything to them in case they should suddenly and catastrophically collapse in a heap as a result.

So the first day of being responsible was rather petrifying really. The nurses would ask me to rewrite some fluids, and I’d spend 5 minutes deliberating about the type of fluid, the rate, additives, other meds that may be needed as well, possibly implications for the ventilator settings, and a million other (in the end probably unnecessary) things before I eventually just wrote them up for more of what they were having before.

By the end of the 3rd day however I had settled on 3 general guiding principles, which had made my life considerably less stressful. Firstly, run almost everything past the bosses. They seemed happier when I asked than when I didn’t, so I just asked a lot. I’m sure that in a few weeks they would have gotten sick of it, but for a few days they were quite happy.

Second was to listen to what the more senior nurses said, and when they said “Can you change this for me” or “you should do this” I willingly went along with them, because they know far more about ICU than I do (at this stage).

Finally I learned that the first question in any unfamiliar situation should be either “what do they usually do here” or, more importantly, “Is there a protocol for that?”. More often than not there was already a protocol, and so you just followed it and almost never needed to worry about having to figure stuff (slowly) out for yourself, or being wrong.

Anyway, I managed to bumble my way through 3 days of it before my reg came back and I got shunted back into my largely superfluous most-junior-doctor-on-the-ward position, and no-one even died.

Stratification

It’s election time and one of the things I’ve been watching with growing amusement is the growth in the population of campaign signage along the side of the road on my way to work.

First there was just the nationals, labour and liberal candidates, usually separately. Then there were the Kevin Rudd ones put up next to the labour candidate’s ones as if to reinforce the candidate’s legitimacy. Then there were the union and “your rights at work” and “John Howard has sold off your rights” ones that popped up next to the afore mentioned Rudd/local candidate pairing. Then a few independent candidates and minor parties (greens, One nation etc) started putting their own ones up.

Then came the really amusing development – Stratification. I started to see labour candidate signs appearing immediately in front of liberal and national signs (and vica versa), as if to try and block them out. Then a couple of days later another sign from the obscured candidate would appear in front of the obscuring sign – to reclaim the limelight, but perhaps the most bizarre part is that the originally obscured sign would still be there. You’d think they’d just pick the obscured sign up and move it back into visibility or move it back in front of the new obscuring sign (like some perverse and ridiculous game of electioneering leap frog) but no. Instead you just end up with these rows of signs alternating red-blue-red-blue… or red-green-red-green.. each trying to block out the view to the one before it. It is all just really rather amusing in it’s absurdity.

Aftermath

Having finished Harry Potter I am finding myself ruminating a lot over it.

Part of it is the usual feeling of hollow sadness that I get after any book/TV/movie series that I have become particularly engrossed in comes to an end, the same feeling I get when I loose a friend because one or other of us moves away to continue our lives. I feel sad because I know I am going to miss their company.

Part of it also seems to stem from the fact that so many of the characters I have come to know and love end up dying, and while I won’t spoil the details for those who have not read it, it becomes a little overwhelming towards the end as so many end up dying sad and slightly futile deaths.

Ultimately I think a lot of it boils down to the fact that I kind of wish I too could do magic (and as much as I try and convince myself that some of the stuff I do at work is, in the grand scheme of things, pretty damn amazing, it’s somehow not in the same league as Patronuses and expeliarmus) and it frustrates me a bit that after getting so immersed in the Harry Potter universe for the last few days I have to return to my at the moment rather mundane life. <Sigh>

Finito

Well I just finished reading the last Harry Potter. I read 350 pages of it today (which for those of you who know how slowly I read, is quite a feat in itself).

Pretty good yarn, but I want more, and particularly stuff filling in those 19 years. Perhaps some stories about Neville and Hermione and what they get up to after school.

Anyway. It’s another thing out of the way on my “After I’ve sat the exam…” checklist.