Thursday, January 20, 2005
Today
I thanked the pleasant audience for the concentration and undivided attention. Everybody was in their best attire, none showed any signs of boredom. Wide awake, tuned in, plastered to the powerpoint and the tale I was telling.
Now finished, a round of civilised applause caught up with my deafening palpitations. The clapping became louder. Dr A stood up clapping away with most earnesty. I smiled with great elan. Dr G rose, clapping vigorously. Dr M did a high pitch whistle superimposing his clappings, I beamed with delight. Suddenly everybody was standing , and still clapping away.
I also rose from my seat and bowed. I felt huge but yet humblingly puny. My smart suit was creased but so was every other face in the seminar room, with joy and pride.
The standing ovation continues unabated. Suddenly bridged into what sounded like the Queen song 'We are the champion'. I stood in awe. Most flattered. Dr S hopped onto the seminar horse- shoe table and started jamming his imaginary guitar, no worries in the world, carefree. Dr D scrambled up and picked up a microphone and soon turned into a nightclub singer.
Dr Mc hobbled up and upon adjusting his belt heavily under tension started doing a cabaret steps. He was suddenly in pink sequinned bra and thong, doing a can can dance. Everybody started singing and dancing.
"Now twinkling toes, are twirly silken stocking are swirling lazy flimsy things and petticoats are whirling come, watch us do our can can, nothing more enchanting come along and watch us do our can can!!"
Just like that the whole seminar room was filled with ballons, ribbons and confetti, all cascading down in colours filtered with glitters. Brilliant shine bathing everybody in glittery pink bras and thongs. Music stopped and I was imbued with engorging varicosities of smugness.
Zeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!
So it was not like that.
Anaesthetists are boring lot. I hate to imagine becoming one of these when I grow up. Too late now, I have bought the ticket, now I have to ride my ride and sink when there's no more road to plough through.
The day was not quite like what I envisaged. First, the mood killer phone call. I was just about to leave the flat when Dr. D blatantly tricked me into doing something I wasn't prepared mentally to do.
"Adek maniss, you pegi itu maternity ada pompuan mau branak hokkayy. We've changed the pawns slightly this morning because one of the Kings are off sick".
But..but..but..
I was planning a rather chilled morning in the intensive care unit, slowly sipping coffee before the morning ward round. Bollocks.
Dr. D is an Indian-Malaysian murtad. He is married to an English bird and now living happily with the gorgoeus children, of teh tarik variants. No doubt, pretty and damn smart asses. At any opportunity he will try and speak malay with me and he would failed miserably apart from when he called me 'muka bontot' when I just about had enough on a 'bad all day'. Bad hair was included. It got me ticked off rather nicely, he had to apologize aferwards.
At the door, just as I was about to leave. Phone rang again.
"Adek, no need to go to , come to ICU and we go round and see who should 'go'. (to be let to die)".
Yes, he is no nonsense , don't-mess-with-my-doctors, see one do one type of guy. I like that bit about him. He will back any of us trainees if we ever get ourselves into trouble. I've seen that happened. This is so true that I don't mind the fact that in operating theatre I found him always scratching 'there', with no sense of sensibility, alter autisticity. He is after all a male. M.A.L.E
On the round, Mr Bed 3 was battling along on the breathing support machine.
Dr.D: So why is he still on the machine.
Naj: He's got crappy chest and it grew MRSA. Spanish type.
I could get away with that sort of reply. He is cool like that.This patient was trasferred from Madrid, holiday cut short ,having caught a nasty chest infection. He turned to Nurse M and dug out more stories about Mr. Bed 6.
Nurse M is sweet, potty and earlier in the week had adopted me, when I told her my mum and dad are 13 hr flight journey away. She wears her hair white, opera type make up, smells gorgeous day and night. She is retiring next year. Her nose hairs are however, slightly on the 'overgrown' side.
Dr. D: Nurse M, was there much when you do suction down the tube?
Nurse M: I have sucked hard, but there wasn't much coming out.
Dr. D: Are you sure?
Nurse M: Yes, I sucked really really hard and yup, nothing. (Carried on writing in her nursing notes, completely unfazed.)
Dr.D: *Throwing a muted fit of contagious laughs*
Naj: Hmmm...Moving along then.
After the presentation, we both returned to Mr Bed 6 to put a monitoring wire into his heart and up into his lungs. Knowing what goes on in his balding head, I couldn't help but having double take to everything he said.
1. First you have to make sure it's stiff, otherwise it won't go in easily (nasogastric tube)
2.This one is bigger than the ones you're used to, so you have to push really really hard and sometimes it's ok if the skin tears a bit. (PA catheter)
3. If you put this in the groin area, you may have to shave, but it's ok in the neck area. (on vascath)
4.Once it's in, position is everything, but whatever you do don't take it out. If you see that it's going flat, that means it's not wedging properly, then take it out. (on pulmonary wedge pressure)
5. When you 've finished, make sure you get rid of everything in the kit, you don't want anybody to get hurt. (on disposing the sharps)
I need a dip in the Ganges and get reincarnated as a tweety bird, or the Sleeping Buddha.
Now finished, a round of civilised applause caught up with my deafening palpitations. The clapping became louder. Dr A stood up clapping away with most earnesty. I smiled with great elan. Dr G rose, clapping vigorously. Dr M did a high pitch whistle superimposing his clappings, I beamed with delight. Suddenly everybody was standing , and still clapping away.
I also rose from my seat and bowed. I felt huge but yet humblingly puny. My smart suit was creased but so was every other face in the seminar room, with joy and pride.
The standing ovation continues unabated. Suddenly bridged into what sounded like the Queen song 'We are the champion'. I stood in awe. Most flattered. Dr S hopped onto the seminar horse- shoe table and started jamming his imaginary guitar, no worries in the world, carefree. Dr D scrambled up and picked up a microphone and soon turned into a nightclub singer.
Dr Mc hobbled up and upon adjusting his belt heavily under tension started doing a cabaret steps. He was suddenly in pink sequinned bra and thong, doing a can can dance. Everybody started singing and dancing.
"Now twinkling toes, are twirly silken stocking are swirling lazy flimsy things and petticoats are whirling come, watch us do our can can, nothing more enchanting come along and watch us do our can can!!"
Just like that the whole seminar room was filled with ballons, ribbons and confetti, all cascading down in colours filtered with glitters. Brilliant shine bathing everybody in glittery pink bras and thongs. Music stopped and I was imbued with engorging varicosities of smugness.
Zeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!
So it was not like that.
Anaesthetists are boring lot. I hate to imagine becoming one of these when I grow up. Too late now, I have bought the ticket, now I have to ride my ride and sink when there's no more road to plough through.
The day was not quite like what I envisaged. First, the mood killer phone call. I was just about to leave the flat when Dr. D blatantly tricked me into doing something I wasn't prepared mentally to do.
"Adek maniss, you pegi itu maternity ada pompuan mau branak hokkayy. We've changed the pawns slightly this morning because one of the Kings are off sick".
But..but..but..
I was planning a rather chilled morning in the intensive care unit, slowly sipping coffee before the morning ward round. Bollocks.
Dr. D is an Indian-Malaysian murtad. He is married to an English bird and now living happily with the gorgoeus children, of teh tarik variants. No doubt, pretty and damn smart asses. At any opportunity he will try and speak malay with me and he would failed miserably apart from when he called me 'muka bontot' when I just about had enough on a 'bad all day'. Bad hair was included. It got me ticked off rather nicely, he had to apologize aferwards.
At the door, just as I was about to leave. Phone rang again.
"Adek, no need to go to , come to ICU and we go round and see who should 'go'. (to be let to die)".
Yes, he is no nonsense , don't-mess-with-my-doctors, see one do one type of guy. I like that bit about him. He will back any of us trainees if we ever get ourselves into trouble. I've seen that happened. This is so true that I don't mind the fact that in operating theatre I found him always scratching 'there', with no sense of sensibility, alter autisticity. He is after all a male. M.A.L.E
On the round, Mr Bed 3 was battling along on the breathing support machine.
Dr.D: So why is he still on the machine.
Naj: He's got crappy chest and it grew MRSA. Spanish type.
I could get away with that sort of reply. He is cool like that.This patient was trasferred from Madrid, holiday cut short ,having caught a nasty chest infection. He turned to Nurse M and dug out more stories about Mr. Bed 6.
Nurse M is sweet, potty and earlier in the week had adopted me, when I told her my mum and dad are 13 hr flight journey away. She wears her hair white, opera type make up, smells gorgeous day and night. She is retiring next year. Her nose hairs are however, slightly on the 'overgrown' side.
Dr. D: Nurse M, was there much when you do suction down the tube?
Nurse M: I have sucked hard, but there wasn't much coming out.
Dr. D: Are you sure?
Nurse M: Yes, I sucked really really hard and yup, nothing. (Carried on writing in her nursing notes, completely unfazed.)
Dr.D: *Throwing a muted fit of contagious laughs*
Naj: Hmmm...Moving along then.
After the presentation, we both returned to Mr Bed 6 to put a monitoring wire into his heart and up into his lungs. Knowing what goes on in his balding head, I couldn't help but having double take to everything he said.
1. First you have to make sure it's stiff, otherwise it won't go in easily (nasogastric tube)
2.This one is bigger than the ones you're used to, so you have to push really really hard and sometimes it's ok if the skin tears a bit. (PA catheter)
3. If you put this in the groin area, you may have to shave, but it's ok in the neck area. (on vascath)
4.Once it's in, position is everything, but whatever you do don't take it out. If you see that it's going flat, that means it's not wedging properly, then take it out. (on pulmonary wedge pressure)
5. When you 've finished, make sure you get rid of everything in the kit, you don't want anybody to get hurt. (on disposing the sharps)
I need a dip in the Ganges and get reincarnated as a tweety bird, or the Sleeping Buddha.
