Thursday, March 03, 2005
Good Things Don't Last
Sister Dunbar from the post anaesthetic care unit came in the OR with a drug card. To self I said ‘Oh what now sister’.
You forget to sign the prescription, sister will come and nag you, you forget to put the dose, she’ll come and wag a finger at you and I think she's popped in my dreams a few times before. She does that to us baby anesthetists. Kevin said he even saw sightings of sister Dunbar at his local Tesco, particularly on post on call days, when he picked up some custard doughnuts, Walker’s crisps and shortbreads. Don’t ask me why.
I was twiddling my pen, thinking about what Mr. Sigh said to me on the OR corridor earlier.
Eh, apa saya tadak tengok kamu pengsan patient saya lagi sekarang? Sudah kena hantar itu ICU jaga orang mati ka? ( I haven't seen you anaesthetising my patients anymore these days, have you been stuck babysitting the deads in ICU?) A bit rhetoric that. At which I could only laugh. He needs serious bahasa Melayu lessons.
Always makes me laugh this man. Asked me when am I going to move in with him. His perpetual proposal. He’s an ENT surgeon retiring next year with a mansion complete with a swimming pool. Easy.. easy… old man. Maybe in another life.
I was so absorbed and losing my self in the soothing sounds of the unopposed parasympathetic heart beat of 50 per minute. That is some sounds I tell you. Who needs Acoutic Alchemy, although that’s what I had in mind before they hogged the OR audio system and flooded it with Cliff Richards. Slit my wrist please.
Can I have a word doc. She said. I walked up to the double door to save sister a possibility of getting barked by the surgeon for not wearing a mask.
Pointing at the drug card.
You know that last patient you wrote the diamorphine (read: heroine) for, we cant give it anymore. So can you change it to morphine please?
Err..no..since when? Elighten me sister.
She chuckled. I tell you, if you want to get on the good side with the nurses, call her sister. But sister Dunbar is just that- sister. Nothing less.
There’s a national shortage of it and we all should use it sparingly.
Really?? Since when? I said. I wonder if the people in the streets are having the same sinking feeling as well.
I later found out that the manufacturer for diamorphine is the same one for some vaccines. From the rote, I think it's MMR vaccine. Apparently they screwed up a batch of the named vaccine, so the whole preparation was to be abandoned and redone. Diamorphine being less important is not produced as abundant to avoid exhausting the company. Leaving very little for us to enjoy it. So that’s the news on this side of the Scrub world.
But, why? I love the damn thing.
You forget to sign the prescription, sister will come and nag you, you forget to put the dose, she’ll come and wag a finger at you and I think she's popped in my dreams a few times before. She does that to us baby anesthetists. Kevin said he even saw sightings of sister Dunbar at his local Tesco, particularly on post on call days, when he picked up some custard doughnuts, Walker’s crisps and shortbreads. Don’t ask me why.
I was twiddling my pen, thinking about what Mr. Sigh said to me on the OR corridor earlier.
Eh, apa saya tadak tengok kamu pengsan patient saya lagi sekarang? Sudah kena hantar itu ICU jaga orang mati ka? ( I haven't seen you anaesthetising my patients anymore these days, have you been stuck babysitting the deads in ICU?) A bit rhetoric that. At which I could only laugh. He needs serious bahasa Melayu lessons.
Always makes me laugh this man. Asked me when am I going to move in with him. His perpetual proposal. He’s an ENT surgeon retiring next year with a mansion complete with a swimming pool. Easy.. easy… old man. Maybe in another life.
I was so absorbed and losing my self in the soothing sounds of the unopposed parasympathetic heart beat of 50 per minute. That is some sounds I tell you. Who needs Acoutic Alchemy, although that’s what I had in mind before they hogged the OR audio system and flooded it with Cliff Richards. Slit my wrist please.
Can I have a word doc. She said. I walked up to the double door to save sister a possibility of getting barked by the surgeon for not wearing a mask.
Pointing at the drug card.
You know that last patient you wrote the diamorphine (read: heroine) for, we cant give it anymore. So can you change it to morphine please?
Err..no..since when? Elighten me sister.
She chuckled. I tell you, if you want to get on the good side with the nurses, call her sister. But sister Dunbar is just that- sister. Nothing less.
There’s a national shortage of it and we all should use it sparingly.
Really?? Since when? I said. I wonder if the people in the streets are having the same sinking feeling as well.
I later found out that the manufacturer for diamorphine is the same one for some vaccines. From the rote, I think it's MMR vaccine. Apparently they screwed up a batch of the named vaccine, so the whole preparation was to be abandoned and redone. Diamorphine being less important is not produced as abundant to avoid exhausting the company. Leaving very little for us to enjoy it. So that’s the news on this side of the Scrub world.
But, why? I love the damn thing.
