Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Do We Really Know
Closed Doors
That Sunday afternoon, I was miles away, scribbling ferociously after reviewing a referred potential customer for ITU. He was in septic shock and needing higher care.
I was deep in my broth of thoughts when a familiar face approached the nursing reception on ward B3. He had a Chicago Bulls cap on. I intercepted his gaze as one would, and he captured it in an acknowledging way. He suddenly deflected away from the course and carried on walking past into one of the bays.
He is visiting a relative I thought, but there was something about that face, and that bashful smile. I’ve seen it before.
I carried on scribbling the results of the arterial blood gas in the notes, my thoughts were on what Jill the charge nurse on ITU said to me as I was sitting opposite her in the morning after coming back from a caesarean section.
She’s very sure that one day I am going to marry a surgeon. What makes you think so I said. She was saying it’s inevitable because, I don’t see anybody, I am forever stuck in theatre, forever on call and my last journey abroad was almost 9 months ago.
I think that Italian SHO is rather sweet though Naj, she added.
I knew that look. I knew who she was talking about. She was feeling clever.
It’s rather funny this Italian SHO.
Mr. Donaldson was in his clinic when Italian SHO barged in and started huffing and puffing loudly with his thick Italian accent and hands in the air like a proper Italian on tantrums. The subject was desks and chairs.
Mr. Donaldson the surgeon boss, gave him a piece of paper and said “Here take this and punch a hole in it”.
Italian SHO left and came back. He literally went and asked the secretary for a hole punch and punched some holes in the paper.
After a moment of silence and staring at the holes in the paper, Mr. Donaldson only managed to say, You really punched some holes.
“Wat yu sayin’ now aagh.u tell me puncha hole aah I punch a hole aaah..so why no people gimme proper blablablablabla” Only he can do this bit with arms all over the place as if being electricuted.
When Mr.Donaldson told us the story in theatre coffee room, I almost rolled on the floor.
***
Suddenly a voice sliced my train of thoughts, pieces falling back to reality rail. I was conscious that I was smiling thinking about the hole punch story.
I looked up and this time the Chicago Bull cap guy definitely gave the ‘I know you, do you remember me?’ look. I dropped my hip and leaned against the desk, started biting on the pen. I panicked a bit, but reassured by my failing memory that somehow I recognise the face.
“It’s me I was in ITU for a week doing work placement? You’re Dr.Ahmad and you showed me around?”
Oh yes yes!!! I remember you… was what I think I said and we started catching up from where we left off. He is applying to Southampton Medical School as a mature student. I spent my 5 wicked wicked years to get a scroll in that institution. We talked about his Malaysian friends in Manchester and scanned through our databases to see if any names ring any bells to me. Looks like not.
He asked me about living in Southampton, course structure and any of the doctors in Southampton General that I knew. As a general rule of thumb mature students as in students already done another degree, are more focused than people like me.
His father is apparently been unwell and been warded for a while. And he is worried.
I felt a certain smarminess dressed with respect in laminar with the way he talked to me. He repeated some of the things I pointed out to him before about choosing a medical school. Memory is not short in his department so I said he’s going to do well.
Oh such a fresh look on an eager face with “I am a future doctor” written all over and I saw the hint of confidence in those eyes. I am jealous all over again. I know just what it feels to have a burning desire to succeed, to reach the stars, to be where people have been and doing it in your own way.
After wishing him best of luck, I was caught in the cloud of uncertainties which sometimes pay me a visit, especially when communications ceased and I am alone again. Bit like a withdrawal.
*I sensed the nurses eaves dropping our conversation because just as he left, background rustling and bustling seemed back to normal again*
Somehow I didn’t feel like growing up.
Moving up the ladder didn’t feel like such a good idea.
I want to be a student again. I don’t want to make decision, I don’t want any life in my hands, I don’t feel I am ready.
My bleep went off, again.
Sister May: Dr Ahmaaaaaaaaaaadd. Another C-section 5 minutes aaa you come fast aaaa. *Click*
Urgghhhhh.
That Sunday afternoon, I was miles away, scribbling ferociously after reviewing a referred potential customer for ITU. He was in septic shock and needing higher care.
I was deep in my broth of thoughts when a familiar face approached the nursing reception on ward B3. He had a Chicago Bulls cap on. I intercepted his gaze as one would, and he captured it in an acknowledging way. He suddenly deflected away from the course and carried on walking past into one of the bays.
He is visiting a relative I thought, but there was something about that face, and that bashful smile. I’ve seen it before.
I carried on scribbling the results of the arterial blood gas in the notes, my thoughts were on what Jill the charge nurse on ITU said to me as I was sitting opposite her in the morning after coming back from a caesarean section.
She’s very sure that one day I am going to marry a surgeon. What makes you think so I said. She was saying it’s inevitable because, I don’t see anybody, I am forever stuck in theatre, forever on call and my last journey abroad was almost 9 months ago.
I think that Italian SHO is rather sweet though Naj, she added.
I knew that look. I knew who she was talking about. She was feeling clever.
It’s rather funny this Italian SHO.
Mr. Donaldson was in his clinic when Italian SHO barged in and started huffing and puffing loudly with his thick Italian accent and hands in the air like a proper Italian on tantrums. The subject was desks and chairs.
Mr. Donaldson the surgeon boss, gave him a piece of paper and said “Here take this and punch a hole in it”.
Italian SHO left and came back. He literally went and asked the secretary for a hole punch and punched some holes in the paper.
After a moment of silence and staring at the holes in the paper, Mr. Donaldson only managed to say, You really punched some holes.
“Wat yu sayin’ now aagh.u tell me puncha hole aah I punch a hole aaah..so why no people gimme proper blablablablabla” Only he can do this bit with arms all over the place as if being electricuted.
When Mr.Donaldson told us the story in theatre coffee room, I almost rolled on the floor.
***
Suddenly a voice sliced my train of thoughts, pieces falling back to reality rail. I was conscious that I was smiling thinking about the hole punch story.
I looked up and this time the Chicago Bull cap guy definitely gave the ‘I know you, do you remember me?’ look. I dropped my hip and leaned against the desk, started biting on the pen. I panicked a bit, but reassured by my failing memory that somehow I recognise the face.
“It’s me I was in ITU for a week doing work placement? You’re Dr.Ahmad and you showed me around?”
Oh yes yes!!! I remember you… was what I think I said and we started catching up from where we left off. He is applying to Southampton Medical School as a mature student. I spent my 5 wicked wicked years to get a scroll in that institution. We talked about his Malaysian friends in Manchester and scanned through our databases to see if any names ring any bells to me. Looks like not.
He asked me about living in Southampton, course structure and any of the doctors in Southampton General that I knew. As a general rule of thumb mature students as in students already done another degree, are more focused than people like me.
His father is apparently been unwell and been warded for a while. And he is worried.
I felt a certain smarminess dressed with respect in laminar with the way he talked to me. He repeated some of the things I pointed out to him before about choosing a medical school. Memory is not short in his department so I said he’s going to do well.
Oh such a fresh look on an eager face with “I am a future doctor” written all over and I saw the hint of confidence in those eyes. I am jealous all over again. I know just what it feels to have a burning desire to succeed, to reach the stars, to be where people have been and doing it in your own way.
After wishing him best of luck, I was caught in the cloud of uncertainties which sometimes pay me a visit, especially when communications ceased and I am alone again. Bit like a withdrawal.
*I sensed the nurses eaves dropping our conversation because just as he left, background rustling and bustling seemed back to normal again*
Somehow I didn’t feel like growing up.
Moving up the ladder didn’t feel like such a good idea.
I want to be a student again. I don’t want to make decision, I don’t want any life in my hands, I don’t feel I am ready.
My bleep went off, again.
Sister May: Dr Ahmaaaaaaaaaaadd. Another C-section 5 minutes aaa you come fast aaaa. *Click*
Urgghhhhh.
