Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Sound proof blanket
Didn’t realize I was slouching while walking home today until I looked at my reflection on the car window as I entered the master door.
I’ve been on my feet for fat 12 hours. I felt my shoulders tangled, scrunched and my head heavy like I need 4 shoulders to support it. If only I could have one of those meat funicular to hoik me up and drop me to my front door. Or maybe I could ball myself up and roll home, or glide to the oblivion like Kilometrico pens.
ITU was full choc-a-bloc and heaving. All beds were occupied.
That heavy smoker chap had a a trachaeostomy (tube into the windpipe) today and I was so relieved it was an uncomplicated procedure.
That chronic renal failure chap finally went onto haemodiafiltration machine.
I was making uneasy sound to the boss about the change of plan because I didn’t know better. In my mind, I thought that once the decision had been made for not going onto renal replacement, that is it. Close book.
No. It’s not like that with intensive care.
If anything, I shouldn’t have looked at steering away or even at making 180 change in the decision to be a sign of failure. In fact that is a sign of a being a good doctor because human beings are complicated and nothing is certain, so your decisions must also follow the volatility of human nature which can be worse than the Wallstreet main board.
As I was putting the vas-cath in the chap’s right femoral vein, I was struggling to concentrate to what Dr.G was preaching to me, confettied me with his pearl of wisdoms. He stood there talking, but after a certain time, he sounded mute, albeit his mouth moving in a rather hypnotic way. All that my senses managed to pickup was that he looked like a Yoda master, only this is the black version from Uganda.
I haven’t really graduated from the academy of multitasking.
On that note, there was a commotion in the visitors’ lounge. The chap with lung cancer’s brother was not a happy bunny. Apparently he was told that his dear brother who was going to get married next month only had 3-4 weeks to live. When Dr.Jones turned up to talk to him this afternoon, he told the brother 2-3 months. Completely different to what we’d said.
This is inconsistent, he probably thought and I had better cause chaos, he thought more. Something is wrong and the doctors are a bunch of liars, he thought a bit more.
Is that necessary brother? What difference does it make? If anything, the whole family should be getting the message that he is dying and 1 month, two months three months won’t make any difference.
I feel for the brother. You can just see his tender soft heart trying to leap out of a steel frame hiding behind those butch ex-rugby player with beer belly exterior. He must be in real shock and in severe unconsolidated denial to have come across so tensed and confrontational. I hope in next few days he will learn to accept and stop treating us like the cause of the matter. We are all on your side, be it one month or two months.
We care, don’t say we don’t.
Didn’t realize I was slouching while walking home today until I looked at my reflection on the car window as I entered the master door.
I’ve been on my feet for fat 12 hours. I felt my shoulders tangled, scrunched and my head heavy like I need 4 shoulders to support it. If only I could have one of those meat funicular to hoik me up and drop me to my front door. Or maybe I could ball myself up and roll home, or glide to the oblivion like Kilometrico pens.
ITU was full choc-a-bloc and heaving. All beds were occupied.
That heavy smoker chap had a a trachaeostomy (tube into the windpipe) today and I was so relieved it was an uncomplicated procedure.
That chronic renal failure chap finally went onto haemodiafiltration machine.
I was making uneasy sound to the boss about the change of plan because I didn’t know better. In my mind, I thought that once the decision had been made for not going onto renal replacement, that is it. Close book.
No. It’s not like that with intensive care.
If anything, I shouldn’t have looked at steering away or even at making 180 change in the decision to be a sign of failure. In fact that is a sign of a being a good doctor because human beings are complicated and nothing is certain, so your decisions must also follow the volatility of human nature which can be worse than the Wallstreet main board.
As I was putting the vas-cath in the chap’s right femoral vein, I was struggling to concentrate to what Dr.G was preaching to me, confettied me with his pearl of wisdoms. He stood there talking, but after a certain time, he sounded mute, albeit his mouth moving in a rather hypnotic way. All that my senses managed to pickup was that he looked like a Yoda master, only this is the black version from Uganda.
I haven’t really graduated from the academy of multitasking.
On that note, there was a commotion in the visitors’ lounge. The chap with lung cancer’s brother was not a happy bunny. Apparently he was told that his dear brother who was going to get married next month only had 3-4 weeks to live. When Dr.Jones turned up to talk to him this afternoon, he told the brother 2-3 months. Completely different to what we’d said.
This is inconsistent, he probably thought and I had better cause chaos, he thought more. Something is wrong and the doctors are a bunch of liars, he thought a bit more.
Is that necessary brother? What difference does it make? If anything, the whole family should be getting the message that he is dying and 1 month, two months three months won’t make any difference.
I feel for the brother. You can just see his tender soft heart trying to leap out of a steel frame hiding behind those butch ex-rugby player with beer belly exterior. He must be in real shock and in severe unconsolidated denial to have come across so tensed and confrontational. I hope in next few days he will learn to accept and stop treating us like the cause of the matter. We are all on your side, be it one month or two months.
We care, don’t say we don’t.
