Thursday, July 08, 2004
I'll Blame it on the Weatherman
Coming off a night shift is, for me, a little like that anecdotal refractory period us men get after sex : you really want to get out there and do stuff, but you just... can't.
I'm tired. Sue me. My mind is slightly fried right now and I'm having trouble stringing the letters into words, let alone constructing sentences.
It's the English Weather. If there's one thing I'm certain about, it's that English Weather is a woman named Mary, Mary, quite Contrary.
I had a "day" off yesterday, since I started work at 1800 hrs. During that day off, I ventured into the park for breakfast and near froze to death before returning home for a snooze to the banshee wails of the wind trying it's damndest to tear up the rafters. I awoke to find half the trees in london ripped to shreds with their boughs scattered across the sidewalks, and a steady downpour fit for the tropics.
Coming off shift today, the sky is clear from horizon to horizon and the sun is shining merrily. It'd be a perfect day to doze, well-rested in a park in the company of a good book. Sleeping for real in the park however is impossible thanks to the occasional wet-nosed white-retriever and the odd wheedling NFA (no fixed abode) bag-person.
So I'm safely home in bed now, wishing I was out there enjoying the warm. (10 degrees warmer today)
*****
Just one more for the road before I curl up and die on my bed.
Uh as an aside, I didn't actually mean that of course. Paranoia sets in easily after learning that an ex colleague was found dead in bed at 27 after not showing up for work for 2 days. Apparently he burst a berry aneurysm.
Anyhow, the original anecdote ran something like this :
He does one last sweep of the wards for jobs before knocking off. Tomorrow, he's flying home yet again on holiday.
Just great. Patient to be clerked-in, at 2300 hrs. He skims through the notes. Fiftysomething obese Laotian woman with urinary incontinence query pyelonephritis. Groan. Sometimes he really hates urology, with a vengeance.
Okay. Chin up, brace yourself. Biiiig smile as you walk into the cubic...
Whoa.
Heart misses a beat.
Standing next to the patient (who fits exactly into the mental mold of pre-expectations) is someone we can only assume is her daughter.
She doesn't look anything like her mum. She's long, lean, lithe, and gorgeous.
She glances around and smiles.
"Oh! Hello." Her voice is warm, attractive, and her accent very, very English. She sounds a bit like Liz Hurley.
"ERrrm. Hello. I'm Dr XXX." He babbles, completely forgetting this patient for an instant.
"Will you be looking after my mother?" She breathes.
"Uh. No, I'm afraid I'll be on holiday starting tomorrow. One of my colleauges will be taking my place."
She turns her body and looks him square in the eye with her breasts, and says with her killer public school accent : "Oh. What a shame." (complete with italics.) With a slight smile. And a long, level gaze.
He : "......."
(silently, in his head... "meep. meep. cancelholidaycancelholiday...")
Sister, who is doing the night drug-round notices his distress out of the corner of her eye, and says loudly "YES. HE'S GOING BACK TO (COUNTRYOF ORIGIN) AREN'T YOU?"
"Yes, yes I am. Quite. Uh, goodbye."
Damn these medical ethics thingies. Do they prohibit doctor-patientrelative contact, he wonders.
:p
*****
Ooo. Did I forget to mention how very, very long ago it's been since he's been a ward doctor? :)
I'm tired. Sue me. My mind is slightly fried right now and I'm having trouble stringing the letters into words, let alone constructing sentences.
It's the English Weather. If there's one thing I'm certain about, it's that English Weather is a woman named Mary, Mary, quite Contrary.
I had a "day" off yesterday, since I started work at 1800 hrs. During that day off, I ventured into the park for breakfast and near froze to death before returning home for a snooze to the banshee wails of the wind trying it's damndest to tear up the rafters. I awoke to find half the trees in london ripped to shreds with their boughs scattered across the sidewalks, and a steady downpour fit for the tropics.
Coming off shift today, the sky is clear from horizon to horizon and the sun is shining merrily. It'd be a perfect day to doze, well-rested in a park in the company of a good book. Sleeping for real in the park however is impossible thanks to the occasional wet-nosed white-retriever and the odd wheedling NFA (no fixed abode) bag-person.
So I'm safely home in bed now, wishing I was out there enjoying the warm. (10 degrees warmer today)
*****
Just one more for the road before I curl up and die on my bed.
Uh as an aside, I didn't actually mean that of course. Paranoia sets in easily after learning that an ex colleague was found dead in bed at 27 after not showing up for work for 2 days. Apparently he burst a berry aneurysm.
Anyhow, the original anecdote ran something like this :
He does one last sweep of the wards for jobs before knocking off. Tomorrow, he's flying home yet again on holiday.
Just great. Patient to be clerked-in, at 2300 hrs. He skims through the notes. Fiftysomething obese Laotian woman with urinary incontinence query pyelonephritis. Groan. Sometimes he really hates urology, with a vengeance.
Okay. Chin up, brace yourself. Biiiig smile as you walk into the cubic...
Whoa.
Heart misses a beat.
Standing next to the patient (who fits exactly into the mental mold of pre-expectations) is someone we can only assume is her daughter.
She doesn't look anything like her mum. She's long, lean, lithe, and gorgeous.
She glances around and smiles.
"Oh! Hello." Her voice is warm, attractive, and her accent very, very English. She sounds a bit like Liz Hurley.
"ERrrm. Hello. I'm Dr XXX." He babbles, completely forgetting this patient for an instant.
"Will you be looking after my mother?" She breathes.
"Uh. No, I'm afraid I'll be on holiday starting tomorrow. One of my colleauges will be taking my place."
She turns her body and looks him square in the eye with her breasts, and says with her killer public school accent : "Oh. What a shame." (complete with italics.) With a slight smile. And a long, level gaze.
He : "......."
(silently, in his head... "meep. meep. cancelholidaycancelholiday...")
Sister, who is doing the night drug-round notices his distress out of the corner of her eye, and says loudly "YES. HE'S GOING BACK TO (COUNTRYOF ORIGIN) AREN'T YOU?"
"Yes, yes I am. Quite. Uh, goodbye."
Damn these medical ethics thingies. Do they prohibit doctor-patientrelative contact, he wonders.
:p
*****
Ooo. Did I forget to mention how very, very long ago it's been since he's been a ward doctor? :)
