Thursday, February 24, 2005
He Knows # 2
Once the patient was stable on the machine inside, the two surgeons were talking about their daughters while doing the laparoscopy.
From my seat they looked like two aliens playing, experimenting with two prongs stuck into a human abdomen, like a virtual reality videogame. The conversation was intense and absorbable. They’re both convinced that one shouldn’t torture their children by making them do medicine.
Dr.B disagreed. His voice was almost whispering. Didn’t think he wanted those two green men know that we’ve been eavesdropping. We had a separate, deep and meaningful conversation on the same subject.
We concluded anaesthetists are far more jovial people compared to the surgeons, but when I asked him why is it that anaesthetists have the highest rate of suicide, his answer was because we know exactly how to kill ourselves properly. Both surgeons looked at us. The beeping of the patients heart beat from the monitor amplified as suddenly everybody went quiet.
Look at those eyes, he definitely has Richard Gere’s eyes, especially when he smiles, which is shamefully not that often.
He did, once when I missed a vein, another when I dropped an ampoule of morphine on the floor and the other big one was when I nearly strangled myself with the iv drip lines amongst other lines.
He then became rather philosophical about making choices and having options in life and how being a doctor is such a big decision.
Some things have to go, in order for you to get another. I can so relate to that. Here I am in a foreign country, digging, looking for things that I want, I desire, events that I hope to happen. While I am digging, the sun still rises in the morning and sets in the evening, and my digging never stops, so is the cycle. I let a day pass by. We age a day. If your birthday is yesterday, today you are your age plus a day.
When I think I have dug deep enough, I am still unsure whether I have time to climb out and watch the sun rising and setting or will it by then be just enough time to just stay down there and be happy that now, I have a grave that I dug myself.
That’s how deep and philosophical it all turned out at 11 am with Dr.B. The Maroon 5 is on the track –She Will Be Loved, which was calming in a way. When I finally reverted to my baseline vagal induced heart rate of calm and tranquillity of about 76 beats per minute, he broke free by asking that clinical question again.
He doesn’t have to do the teaching, he doesn’t have to grill me. Just talk about the Silk Road, or the history of gun powder. Just..just…
I knew the answer, but of course it wasn’t precise. I felt my neck, to illustrate where the cricoid is, in desperate attempt to aid my answer.
"Ahh that’s cheating. Even I, can tell from here from where your thyroid isthmus is", he smirked.
He can see the swelling in my neck? Is it that obvious?
I found myself telling him that I had a scan which I have organised it myself. I felt a responsibility to explain that I haven't been neglecting myself.
His tone of voice changed, his posture turgid. He was most attentive and also surprised that he’s just diagnosed a goitre without touching. His whole expression changed. He wanted to know what the result was. I just said abnormal.
He didn’d like my attitude and I knew that.
"It could be cancer, you know that, and what makes you think you get immunised by all these. Normal people can sue NHS if they don’t get seen in a week".
His eyes were more intense, his pupils dilated. It was easy to see as they were blue with dirty green streaks.
I can detect that those words came out without much thoughts. He was so careless with the C word, and I can sense atonement in the next thing he said.
"Have a day off soon and get a TFT and sort yourself out. Go for coffee now if you want".
Why did he have to say that? He’s supposed to say that I am a hypochondriac and I am trying to justify my tardiness, my lack of concentration and my deteriorating memory.
Being a doctor doesn’t make you immunized against anything. Not even flu. Didn't like the coffee I made after that.
From my seat they looked like two aliens playing, experimenting with two prongs stuck into a human abdomen, like a virtual reality videogame. The conversation was intense and absorbable. They’re both convinced that one shouldn’t torture their children by making them do medicine.
Dr.B disagreed. His voice was almost whispering. Didn’t think he wanted those two green men know that we’ve been eavesdropping. We had a separate, deep and meaningful conversation on the same subject.
We concluded anaesthetists are far more jovial people compared to the surgeons, but when I asked him why is it that anaesthetists have the highest rate of suicide, his answer was because we know exactly how to kill ourselves properly. Both surgeons looked at us. The beeping of the patients heart beat from the monitor amplified as suddenly everybody went quiet.
Look at those eyes, he definitely has Richard Gere’s eyes, especially when he smiles, which is shamefully not that often.
He did, once when I missed a vein, another when I dropped an ampoule of morphine on the floor and the other big one was when I nearly strangled myself with the iv drip lines amongst other lines.
He then became rather philosophical about making choices and having options in life and how being a doctor is such a big decision.
Some things have to go, in order for you to get another. I can so relate to that. Here I am in a foreign country, digging, looking for things that I want, I desire, events that I hope to happen. While I am digging, the sun still rises in the morning and sets in the evening, and my digging never stops, so is the cycle. I let a day pass by. We age a day. If your birthday is yesterday, today you are your age plus a day.
When I think I have dug deep enough, I am still unsure whether I have time to climb out and watch the sun rising and setting or will it by then be just enough time to just stay down there and be happy that now, I have a grave that I dug myself.
That’s how deep and philosophical it all turned out at 11 am with Dr.B. The Maroon 5 is on the track –She Will Be Loved, which was calming in a way. When I finally reverted to my baseline vagal induced heart rate of calm and tranquillity of about 76 beats per minute, he broke free by asking that clinical question again.
He doesn’t have to do the teaching, he doesn’t have to grill me. Just talk about the Silk Road, or the history of gun powder. Just..just…
I knew the answer, but of course it wasn’t precise. I felt my neck, to illustrate where the cricoid is, in desperate attempt to aid my answer.
"Ahh that’s cheating. Even I, can tell from here from where your thyroid isthmus is", he smirked.
He can see the swelling in my neck? Is it that obvious?
I found myself telling him that I had a scan which I have organised it myself. I felt a responsibility to explain that I haven't been neglecting myself.
His tone of voice changed, his posture turgid. He was most attentive and also surprised that he’s just diagnosed a goitre without touching. His whole expression changed. He wanted to know what the result was. I just said abnormal.
He didn’d like my attitude and I knew that.
"It could be cancer, you know that, and what makes you think you get immunised by all these. Normal people can sue NHS if they don’t get seen in a week".
His eyes were more intense, his pupils dilated. It was easy to see as they were blue with dirty green streaks.
I can detect that those words came out without much thoughts. He was so careless with the C word, and I can sense atonement in the next thing he said.
"Have a day off soon and get a TFT and sort yourself out. Go for coffee now if you want".
Why did he have to say that? He’s supposed to say that I am a hypochondriac and I am trying to justify my tardiness, my lack of concentration and my deteriorating memory.
Being a doctor doesn’t make you immunized against anything. Not even flu. Didn't like the coffee I made after that.
