Thursday, February 17, 2005
On The Trot
I want to be a superwoman with a capital W, invincible, untouchable, always high on endogenous serotonin and roam the airspace without getting mistakenly shotdown by goose hunters or getting my hair caught in some twigs on some tree. I will eat wild berries and drink ..urghhh my eyes are itchy and need a dump in a bit. Can feel it coming.
Last night’s on call was an ultimate definition of being on the trot. 10 bloody hours whizzing about and on top of that, what I really could do without is a medical SpR with Bin Laden’s beard dumping a patient for me to sort out. (That much beard is surely an infection risk).
Uikkss…do I look like I am here to sort out your patient mate?
The drill is, you take history ,you examine and you treat. He couldn’t even tell me a proper history and no treatment executed apart from a call to ITU. Hmmmm
Just because the patient is now just about to kick the bucket (because you left it for so long), doesn’t mean the treatment is ITU! When you say we never have beds, you better bloody well get that in your head that we do not have a bed.
I wish I could asexual reproduce a mini me who would do the talk-to-the-hand-cos-the-face-ain’t-listening while I do my job without getting hassled every 2 seconds.
As he disappeared and washed his hands off this one, the unit rang around to find staff to come in from home and do an emergency shift because a new bed needed. I had to make the patient better in the meantime. Ironic.
The story I had from the referring SpR was, this was previously a well man with some weird and wonderful autoimmune syndrome causing some blablablablabla fibrosis, or maybe blablabla alveolitis, still under investigations. My heart sank looking at the 3 volume medical notes presented to me. I don’t have a week!!
Stuffed the notes, the patient was going off big time. He was sweaty and clammy. In 5 minutes we’ll have a dead man.
Took a deep breath, did a cockpit drill ABC, ABC, ABC.
Panic no good. Breath good.
Eh, this is not something weird and wonderful. It’s only somebody with wet lungs, just about to drown in his own body fluid.
Treatment commenced, and after yes from the boss over the phone, I went back to review and we now have a man who could give me a thumb’s up without disturbing the integrity of the whole cleverly orchestrated multilevel superhighway network of tubes and pumps of GTN and aminophylline and buzzing nebulizer on his face. He looked like a missing character from Appollo 13 stranded in the Jurassic Park.
Alhamdulillah, another life saved! He’s only 65 and he has 2 lovely daughters who think the world of him.
Changed my mind, instead sat on him and see how it goes as he was getting better by the minute. Didn’t tell boss about the change of plan of not putting the chap on the machine but the chap went to the unit for close observation nevertheless.
Sometimes, it’s so easy to get oneself tangled in a concoction of uncertainties. A step back is a good start, have a scheme in one’s head, be systematic, think easy, take things one at a time, displace all negative vibrations from the pessimists, put knowledge into heat, sweat, frustration, anxiety, diligence and perseverance. Do one’s best.
And finally, have faith, leave it all in the hands of the AlMighty. If his number is up, winning is not on the menu here, but if it’s not yet, it’s a test for oneself, patience, integrity, passion, skills, composure and thriving under pumping sky high level of adrenaline. Still have a lot buzzing around, that’s why typing like a bullet train in Tokyo.
Had better jump in the bath when cleaner finished hoovering the bedroom. What day is it today anyway? Why is her hoover louder than usual? Has she changed the hoover bag?
Auuuuuuuuhhh my head hurts, the balls of my feet throb, my back, my neck, my shoulders felt like they’ve been strapped together the whole night with a cling film, and my armpits stuffed with blu tac dipped in grease.
Things to look forward to:
Nice clean sheets.
Hot bath.
Toast and Nutella
Horlicks.
Saturday by Ian McEwan – doubt this will speed the onset of much needed sleep.
G’nite..good morning rather. Either way me go bed now, me no care. ZZZZZZZZZZZZzz
Last night’s on call was an ultimate definition of being on the trot. 10 bloody hours whizzing about and on top of that, what I really could do without is a medical SpR with Bin Laden’s beard dumping a patient for me to sort out. (That much beard is surely an infection risk).
Uikkss…do I look like I am here to sort out your patient mate?
The drill is, you take history ,you examine and you treat. He couldn’t even tell me a proper history and no treatment executed apart from a call to ITU. Hmmmm
Just because the patient is now just about to kick the bucket (because you left it for so long), doesn’t mean the treatment is ITU! When you say we never have beds, you better bloody well get that in your head that we do not have a bed.
I wish I could asexual reproduce a mini me who would do the talk-to-the-hand-cos-the-face-ain’t-listening while I do my job without getting hassled every 2 seconds.
As he disappeared and washed his hands off this one, the unit rang around to find staff to come in from home and do an emergency shift because a new bed needed. I had to make the patient better in the meantime. Ironic.
The story I had from the referring SpR was, this was previously a well man with some weird and wonderful autoimmune syndrome causing some blablablablabla fibrosis, or maybe blablabla alveolitis, still under investigations. My heart sank looking at the 3 volume medical notes presented to me. I don’t have a week!!
Stuffed the notes, the patient was going off big time. He was sweaty and clammy. In 5 minutes we’ll have a dead man.
Took a deep breath, did a cockpit drill ABC, ABC, ABC.
Panic no good. Breath good.
Eh, this is not something weird and wonderful. It’s only somebody with wet lungs, just about to drown in his own body fluid.
Treatment commenced, and after yes from the boss over the phone, I went back to review and we now have a man who could give me a thumb’s up without disturbing the integrity of the whole cleverly orchestrated multilevel superhighway network of tubes and pumps of GTN and aminophylline and buzzing nebulizer on his face. He looked like a missing character from Appollo 13 stranded in the Jurassic Park.
Alhamdulillah, another life saved! He’s only 65 and he has 2 lovely daughters who think the world of him.
Changed my mind, instead sat on him and see how it goes as he was getting better by the minute. Didn’t tell boss about the change of plan of not putting the chap on the machine but the chap went to the unit for close observation nevertheless.
Sometimes, it’s so easy to get oneself tangled in a concoction of uncertainties. A step back is a good start, have a scheme in one’s head, be systematic, think easy, take things one at a time, displace all negative vibrations from the pessimists, put knowledge into heat, sweat, frustration, anxiety, diligence and perseverance. Do one’s best.
And finally, have faith, leave it all in the hands of the AlMighty. If his number is up, winning is not on the menu here, but if it’s not yet, it’s a test for oneself, patience, integrity, passion, skills, composure and thriving under pumping sky high level of adrenaline. Still have a lot buzzing around, that’s why typing like a bullet train in Tokyo.
Had better jump in the bath when cleaner finished hoovering the bedroom. What day is it today anyway? Why is her hoover louder than usual? Has she changed the hoover bag?
Auuuuuuuuhhh my head hurts, the balls of my feet throb, my back, my neck, my shoulders felt like they’ve been strapped together the whole night with a cling film, and my armpits stuffed with blu tac dipped in grease.
Things to look forward to:
Nice clean sheets.
Hot bath.
Toast and Nutella
Horlicks.
Saturday by Ian McEwan – doubt this will speed the onset of much needed sleep.
G’nite..good morning rather. Either way me go bed now, me no care. ZZZZZZZZZZZZzz
