Sunday, August 14, 2005
Shifts
Venue: Seminar room
Choones in me head: Give Me the Night -Xavier
I don’t think people want to know this, but I just have to say that I am on call and I am sat on me ass. Today. Now. Sunday. Weekend. Yes. Me work. You no work.
Those doctors who think that us anaesthetists sit on our pretty asses all day and get paid more (if you do an objective calculation of the hours actually worked), you have to take into account the fact that we are still stuck with 24 hour on call while everybody else is swimming free in the blissful sea of shift work.
Mind you, this shift work is driving me insane. Just the other day, Friday to be precise when I did my first ever on call in this GF place, (GF- godforsaken because it simply can’t just be this place on it’s own, like when you say this handsome man, you don’t just say this man) I was rudely called to put a cannula. This is the needle condomed with a plastic sheath so only the plastic bit would stay in the vein when the needle is taken out.
Now, ideally we shouldn’t be a mobile cannulation service and some anaesthetists would point blank refuse to run around the hospital sticking needles in any arm, most often than not already pin cushioned by various other doctors. But you know, me being free twiddling my thumbs at that particular time, couldn’t use the oh I have somebody dying in my arms right now excuse. Which was a total shame.
Plus when they rang me the third time (less rudely), the poor ‘worm’ (read: pre-registration house officer or F1 they now call it ) said something like, we wouldn’t be calling the expert if we haven’t tried many many times and upset the patient to the point of calling me an evil witch of Sunderland. Which I thought was funny and she sure did know how to suck up well.
Between saying ok I’ll come and sort out the deluded patient and actually going down there to sort out the deluded patient, I was called to the pre-assessment clinic. The clinic is like an MOT check only this was not for cars, it’s a clinic to make sure we don’t kill people the minute we put them to sleep. So you get to call fat people fat. Tell them off for being fat and to slap the wrists of those who are still smoking.
‘Now Mr. Fat, you are still fat, can you be less fat the next time I see you so we can take your fat gallbladder out as soon as possible? Mind you these gallstones you’ve got, would probably shrink as well if you eat less fat’
‘Yes doctor, I am fat and I will not be fat the next time you see me’. And this is the 3rd time him coming to this clinic.
‘Now again Mr.Fat, you still smoke 40. I believe that you have tried but, not good enough. How about giving me all your benefit money and I will give just enough back for your salads and bus money. This is to make sure you don’t add the chance of dying on the table to more than 5% when you do get your aneurysm done?’
‘Yes doctor, I quit now and here, take all my money.’
You wish.
By the time I got to sorting out the deluded patient on ward 25, the funny PRHO girl was already off shift which was a shame, and there was this bushy male one with chest hairs coming out of his sleeves.
I found out that the same patient was going to have a bigger line in his neck. Central line we call it. No real indication as to why he had to have one. Nobody told me anything. The theatre sister was breathing down my neck because they all want to get it over and done with and sit watch Big bloody Brother. (What a naff show. Don’t people feel their heads getting lighter after watching a bunch of idiots sat around either doing nothing or getting horny?)
I asked the bushy PRHO, do you know this patient?
No
Do you know about this central line?
No
Do you know who booked him for the central line?
No
Do you know who I should speak to about this central line?
No.
Could see him imminently going to wet his pants on the next question I was going to ask him which was going to be ‘Do you work here doctor?’ while giving him a dirty look. I spared him of course.
I left in a huff after sticking the biggest cannula I could in the patient’s arm while continuously reassuring the elderly gentleman the size of a Michelin man, that I was a nun from Norfolk and not an evil witch from Sunderland, on my charity tour with the Pope.
I concluded, apart from Dr.No doesn’t know much, which was not entirely his fault, this shift system is just camp. Nobody knows anything.
P/s: The jerebu is that bad huh. Get well soon KL. I hate you but I miss you.
Choones in me head: Give Me the Night -Xavier
I don’t think people want to know this, but I just have to say that I am on call and I am sat on me ass. Today. Now. Sunday. Weekend. Yes. Me work. You no work.
Those doctors who think that us anaesthetists sit on our pretty asses all day and get paid more (if you do an objective calculation of the hours actually worked), you have to take into account the fact that we are still stuck with 24 hour on call while everybody else is swimming free in the blissful sea of shift work.
Mind you, this shift work is driving me insane. Just the other day, Friday to be precise when I did my first ever on call in this GF place, (GF- godforsaken because it simply can’t just be this place on it’s own, like when you say this handsome man, you don’t just say this man) I was rudely called to put a cannula. This is the needle condomed with a plastic sheath so only the plastic bit would stay in the vein when the needle is taken out.
Now, ideally we shouldn’t be a mobile cannulation service and some anaesthetists would point blank refuse to run around the hospital sticking needles in any arm, most often than not already pin cushioned by various other doctors. But you know, me being free twiddling my thumbs at that particular time, couldn’t use the oh I have somebody dying in my arms right now excuse. Which was a total shame.
Plus when they rang me the third time (less rudely), the poor ‘worm’ (read: pre-registration house officer or F1 they now call it ) said something like, we wouldn’t be calling the expert if we haven’t tried many many times and upset the patient to the point of calling me an evil witch of Sunderland. Which I thought was funny and she sure did know how to suck up well.
Between saying ok I’ll come and sort out the deluded patient and actually going down there to sort out the deluded patient, I was called to the pre-assessment clinic. The clinic is like an MOT check only this was not for cars, it’s a clinic to make sure we don’t kill people the minute we put them to sleep. So you get to call fat people fat. Tell them off for being fat and to slap the wrists of those who are still smoking.
‘Now Mr. Fat, you are still fat, can you be less fat the next time I see you so we can take your fat gallbladder out as soon as possible? Mind you these gallstones you’ve got, would probably shrink as well if you eat less fat’
‘Yes doctor, I am fat and I will not be fat the next time you see me’. And this is the 3rd time him coming to this clinic.
‘Now again Mr.Fat, you still smoke 40. I believe that you have tried but, not good enough. How about giving me all your benefit money and I will give just enough back for your salads and bus money. This is to make sure you don’t add the chance of dying on the table to more than 5% when you do get your aneurysm done?’
‘Yes doctor, I quit now and here, take all my money.’
You wish.
By the time I got to sorting out the deluded patient on ward 25, the funny PRHO girl was already off shift which was a shame, and there was this bushy male one with chest hairs coming out of his sleeves.
I found out that the same patient was going to have a bigger line in his neck. Central line we call it. No real indication as to why he had to have one. Nobody told me anything. The theatre sister was breathing down my neck because they all want to get it over and done with and sit watch Big bloody Brother. (What a naff show. Don’t people feel their heads getting lighter after watching a bunch of idiots sat around either doing nothing or getting horny?)
I asked the bushy PRHO, do you know this patient?
No
Do you know about this central line?
No
Do you know who booked him for the central line?
No
Do you know who I should speak to about this central line?
No.
Could see him imminently going to wet his pants on the next question I was going to ask him which was going to be ‘Do you work here doctor?’ while giving him a dirty look. I spared him of course.
I left in a huff after sticking the biggest cannula I could in the patient’s arm while continuously reassuring the elderly gentleman the size of a Michelin man, that I was a nun from Norfolk and not an evil witch from Sunderland, on my charity tour with the Pope.
I concluded, apart from Dr.No doesn’t know much, which was not entirely his fault, this shift system is just camp. Nobody knows anything.
P/s: The jerebu is that bad huh. Get well soon KL. I hate you but I miss you.
