Saturday, December 25, 2004
1 hour in 48
I've discovered that the absolute minimum number of hours I can safely sleep for is two hours. I'm not getting any younger and gone are the 1 hour up, 1 hour down days of armed guard duty for the Singapore Armed Farces.
On call the day before yesterday was busy, and after doing several minor operations till five in the morning I had to patrol a few wards to do a few "favours" (ie obligatory jobs) for several of the other team doctors which I'd not had the time to earlier in the night, meaning my grand total number of hours of sleep fell to one. This, in retrospect was a mistake; I should just have worked through the night but somehow my body shut down at 6 am and my feet took me automatically to the MO rest cell. One thing led to another, and the next thing I remember was waking up and frantically limping (yes, limping. Going fencing the day after going for body combat was probably not a very clever thing to do) to the morning meeting, which I was predictably enough, late for.
As the day ground on the body began to protest even more, and by mid-day, after watching everyone else take their half-days off and flee the hospital grinning, and discovering that my team was going to theatre for an emergency laparotomy and then piles, and then... more stuff (either my team is really masochistic or we just have that classic, what is the term... arse luck...) the gastroenteritic symptoms that were slowly creeping up on me finally persuaded me to beg for my post-call (Which I am entitled to now, anyhow.)
I suspect I set a dangerous precedent and infleunced the other MO into also taking his post-call, but I didn't stick around long enough to find out. Bed was calling.
*****
Anyway, on this wonderful Christmas day, I am passing up a chance to rub shoulders with Singapore's richest and most elite at an exclusive lawn party (this is an annual trial for me. My father has some very trying friends. This year I have finally found an excuse not to attend!) in favour of going to body combat with a friend, and then attending a party at which I know all of 1 person. This means that instead of suffering the pretentious airs of 20something year oldbitches and bastards kids of rich people I barely know, I will be getting my body worn down to a pulp before suffering the pretentious airs of 20something year old kids I do not know at all.
It should be fun.
*****
Merry Christmas.
No blank cards this year. Just a thought.
On call the day before yesterday was busy, and after doing several minor operations till five in the morning I had to patrol a few wards to do a few "favours" (ie obligatory jobs) for several of the other team doctors which I'd not had the time to earlier in the night, meaning my grand total number of hours of sleep fell to one. This, in retrospect was a mistake; I should just have worked through the night but somehow my body shut down at 6 am and my feet took me automatically to the MO rest cell. One thing led to another, and the next thing I remember was waking up and frantically limping (yes, limping. Going fencing the day after going for body combat was probably not a very clever thing to do) to the morning meeting, which I was predictably enough, late for.
As the day ground on the body began to protest even more, and by mid-day, after watching everyone else take their half-days off and flee the hospital grinning, and discovering that my team was going to theatre for an emergency laparotomy and then piles, and then... more stuff (either my team is really masochistic or we just have that classic, what is the term... arse luck...) the gastroenteritic symptoms that were slowly creeping up on me finally persuaded me to beg for my post-call (Which I am entitled to now, anyhow.)
I suspect I set a dangerous precedent and infleunced the other MO into also taking his post-call, but I didn't stick around long enough to find out. Bed was calling.
*****
Anyway, on this wonderful Christmas day, I am passing up a chance to rub shoulders with Singapore's richest and most elite at an exclusive lawn party (this is an annual trial for me. My father has some very trying friends. This year I have finally found an excuse not to attend!) in favour of going to body combat with a friend, and then attending a party at which I know all of 1 person. This means that instead of suffering the pretentious airs of 20something year old
It should be fun.
*****
Merry Christmas.
No blank cards this year. Just a thought.
