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01 October 2010 @ 09:27 pm
a light most brilliant  
It has been a month since I last posted. (Cue the obligatory gasps of horror and 'say it isn't so!') I noted the first book I read this year when I put up the latest lolreviews and it felt like so long ago.



When I read Chekhov, I was only halfway through final med. I partly guessed and partly hoped I would make it all the way through, if only because I was so damn close. Now I've just started my fourth month of work and it feels like I've never done anything else. It's what I've been dreading from the very start and it turned out to be the best thing about it.

Don't get me wrong: doctorin', as a job, has its moments - but they're just that: moments. Usually it's a whole day of ringing the same four people to get them to do one thing for you - a scan, an echo, a consult, process results, forward letters - that seems to be so far beyond their grasp you might as well ask them to scale Everest naked ... and it turns out that said scan/echo/consult/results/letters weren't all that important. I've become rather judicious about my use of my (now honed) skills of begging. It's very easy at the top of the chain to say, "Oh yes - and get XYZ, they might be useful," and very difficult at the bottom of the chain to convince a glowering radiologist (it's nearly always a radiologist) that X is really important and should be done, when you don't believe it yourself. For the record, "Because she told me to," does not qualify as a valid medical opinion.

I remember when I applied to Oxford (yes I did - some of you ladies and gent/s may remember it); the main thing that attracted me to it was the sense of belonging. Yes, in the worst kind of clique-ish exclusionist way, but I'm not that good a person. The funny thing is, that's what I've actually found in medicine. We are a clique - it's us against everyone else using us (did you hear me say 32 hour shifts in 48 hours? WHY YES YOU DID). It's exclusionist in the sense that a lot of axillary services who work in the hospital seem to harbour resentment against us for getting where we are, but none of us lie on chaise longues sighing, "Oh, if only I could be a physiotherapist!" And then there's the slang. We've all fallen prey to using it in real life.

"I've query lost my phone!"

"I'm going to France plus or minus Spain."

"My hair has deteriorated from baseline."

"I'm plus plus excited about the party!"

My contribution is "severe PP syndrome", PP standing for private patient. Those are the ones we call 'precious'. The mad ones are 'special', the violent ones are 'difficult,' the irritating ones are 'anxious'. Nice patients get to stay as 'nice'.

Unfortunately, I've fallen into a rut of coming home and slumping sideways on the couch to watch downloads of the Big Bang Theory. In theory this sounds like an A+ life choice (Sheldon!) but I'm finding it harder and harder to finish books, and haven't been to the gym in a fortnight despite buying a very expensive membership. It doesn't seem to be a lot to ask of life - that I can get to the gym and finish books - but apparently this is so.

My cat is asleep on a chair, looking cute and not at all like the vicious hand-eating monster he actually is. He's mad for clawing. I'm in infectious disease at the moment, a lot of HIV and hep B patients, NOT the time to be having open wounds on my hands, CAT. Why does nothing you really wish for turn out well?

To end on a funnier note: one night on call I was giving factor 8 to one patient when the noise etc woke the patient in the next bed. He was fairly elderly, which means nighttime + unfamiliar environment = acute delirium. In his case, this meant shouting at all of us to get out, because he wasn't running a whorehouse. (My orange scrubs are so in vogue among streetwalkers today, you guys!) It took three security men plus nurses to get him to an obs bed, while my contribution of haloperidol and lorazepam failed to down him. He ended up sitting at the nurses' station demanding to see a doctor. I said I was one, and he yelled my name back at me, mispronouncing it so badly I laughed. But that was nothing to when he answered the phone, despite the nurse trying to grab it off him, and yelled down the line, "One A? No, this is the Old Oak pub! I have a Dr Howl here!"

So I'm now Doctor Howl. Or if you prefer, Run DOC - one of my friends among the cleaners came up with that.



I just got paid overtime yesterday, which except for the secret not-taxes was pretty sweet (damn the bank fiasco, which I never paid attention to until I had to paid money for it). Anyone care to recommend some art for me to buy? I'm thinking a few Hark, a Vagrant prints, but after that I'm lost. The caveat being that it ideally should be post-able.
 
 
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zeemversezeemverse on October 2nd, 2010 12:22 pm (UTC)
How do you feel about Renaissance art?
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on October 3rd, 2010 09:04 pm (UTC)
I ... admire the technical skill involved? I can't say there's any that I all-out love, as it all seems to be religious iconography or portraiture, but I'm open to suggestion!
zeemversezeemverse on October 4th, 2010 08:56 am (UTC)
I bought a print for a ridiculous amount from the National Gallery of Australia called Eros Burning Cupid's Shafts, my favourite piece of art ever. It's like Renaissance fucking fraternity hazing.