My MBTI Personality
3 hours ago
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Letter 481: Buying Time
At some stage in one's career as a junior doctor, one will come to realise that sometimes, not everything needs to be tended to as urgently as one is pressured to do so. For instance, Elderly Demented Guy in the Short Stay Ward was accidentally given double his dose of oxazepam. Shock! Horrors! He's starting to get agitated! Doctor can you please come and review him ASAP? Well, under perfectly ideal conditions, I would have swung by the ward to review him. But on that night, I was called for more urgent jobs to tend to, ie septic patient, patient who needed a blood transfusion, hyperkalemic patient, frail old man who had fallen out of his bed and fractured his NOF... you name it, it was a bad night. Plus, paradoxical reactions to benzodiazapines aren't that common, and if things got worse, they would've called a Code Black anyway, so I bought time. The currency was constant reassurance from nursing staff. 4 hours later, just when I could afford to slow down my pace, I ambled towards the Short Stay Ward, and was given the thumbs up by the nursing staff-- Elderly Demented Guy was sound asleep, obs stable.
Another example would be calls for low urine output, which surgical patients are notoriously well-known for. Bed 28's urine output hasn't been too flash, doc, what do we do? Again, we buy time. Granted, management will vary depending on the clinical assessment of each patient, but in general, fluid boluses on the background of IVT tend to help pick things up, with small doses of frusemide to prevent overloading those with impaired cardiac and/or renal functions. For this, I am eternally grateful to a certain brainy ICU Reg who had very patiently and chirpily given me a compact tutorial on fluid balance over the phone at 6 in the morning when I paged him for a consult on a very complicated patient who had me scratching my head in perplexity all night long.
Where am I heading with all these random examples? I'm not sure. I don't have a destination. But I am buying time. Hopefully I will know where I'll end up by the end of it. Right now, I'm just waiting for my transaction to occur.
Another example would be calls for low urine output, which surgical patients are notoriously well-known for. Bed 28's urine output hasn't been too flash, doc, what do we do? Again, we buy time. Granted, management will vary depending on the clinical assessment of each patient, but in general, fluid boluses on the background of IVT tend to help pick things up, with small doses of frusemide to prevent overloading those with impaired cardiac and/or renal functions. For this, I am eternally grateful to a certain brainy ICU Reg who had very patiently and chirpily given me a compact tutorial on fluid balance over the phone at 6 in the morning when I paged him for a consult on a very complicated patient who had me scratching my head in perplexity all night long.
Where am I heading with all these random examples? I'm not sure. I don't have a destination. But I am buying time. Hopefully I will know where I'll end up by the end of it. Right now, I'm just waiting for my transaction to occur.
7 days till the official end of internship!!!
Technorati Tags: life, medicine, doctor, interns, internship, career, work, hospital
Monday, January 04, 2010
Letter 480: Infidelity is a Ten-Letter Word
"You suck," he said.
"No. You suck," she retorted, before spinning around on her kitten heels and sashaying away with a small glimmer of a smile.
And that, was how it all began.
"No. You suck," she retorted, before spinning around on her kitten heels and sashaying away with a small glimmer of a smile.
And that, was how it all began.
Technorati Tags: life, shorts, people, stories, relationships
Friday, January 01, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Letter 478: One Foot Forward
I wore a lightweight check dress to work today. Catherine, the witty and good-natured blood sister who would always remember me for wearing bright yellow shoes to work-- and would taunt me with an air of mock theatrical disappointment if I wore boring black boots-- took a glance at me (first at my shoes, as always), and then sized the whole of my 155cm and asked why I wasn't wearing check shoes to match my dress. Why, are you checking me out, I remarked, knowing full well she had too decent a fashion sense to suggest pairing checks with checks (although I do have a pair of tartan Steve Maddens, if you must know). Well, as long as you don't check out, she laughed, giving me a smug wink as she pushed her venipuncture trolley into the 4-bed bay, ready to start her day by sucking blood out of the poor patients.
To an outsider, it was just that-- a clever quip between 2 wordsmiths, lost in translation among the needles, syringes and blood bottles that accessorise our lives in the wards. But I was reading the isi tersirat in between the blood forms. I am checking out, in the truest sense. 5 more working days, 1 week of leave, and internship is over.
Much as I whinge and whine about this city, there's a part of me that feels saddened at the thought of leaving for what appears to be greener pastures across the border. For all I know, the grass may not be that much greener. I am suddenly dispirited by the sneaky suspicion that I've been yet again, deluded by whimsical dreams that torment the soul of an idealist. This year has been one of tremendous revelations-- I surprised even myself on most occasions. But it has also been one of false hopes and broken promises. A question I keep asking myself lately: Have I done the right thing? It peeves me in knowing that there is no answer to my own question, because there is no right or wrong. It depends on how you argue your case. In this case, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose-- I am my own worse enemy. Too many checks and balances. That's the problem.
Decembers past have been dominated by much love. And frivolity. Carefree was a way of life, not an ardor longing. Sushi rolls were sliced and immaculately presented in lacquered bento boxes, not being displayed and sold as $2 handheld takeaway fast food at grab-and-go counters. Emails were casual and all about catching up at The Curve, not formal correspondences to secure a brighter future. When did that all change? Since last December? Since throwing the mortarboard into the winds of caution? Or was it since responsibility came crashing down like plummeting interest rates?
To an outsider, it was just that-- a clever quip between 2 wordsmiths, lost in translation among the needles, syringes and blood bottles that accessorise our lives in the wards. But I was reading the isi tersirat in between the blood forms. I am checking out, in the truest sense. 5 more working days, 1 week of leave, and internship is over.
Much as I whinge and whine about this city, there's a part of me that feels saddened at the thought of leaving for what appears to be greener pastures across the border. For all I know, the grass may not be that much greener. I am suddenly dispirited by the sneaky suspicion that I've been yet again, deluded by whimsical dreams that torment the soul of an idealist. This year has been one of tremendous revelations-- I surprised even myself on most occasions. But it has also been one of false hopes and broken promises. A question I keep asking myself lately: Have I done the right thing? It peeves me in knowing that there is no answer to my own question, because there is no right or wrong. It depends on how you argue your case. In this case, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose-- I am my own worse enemy. Too many checks and balances. That's the problem.
Decembers past have been dominated by much love. And frivolity. Carefree was a way of life, not an ardor longing. Sushi rolls were sliced and immaculately presented in lacquered bento boxes, not being displayed and sold as $2 handheld takeaway fast food at grab-and-go counters. Emails were casual and all about catching up at The Curve, not formal correspondences to secure a brighter future. When did that all change? Since last December? Since throwing the mortarboard into the winds of caution? Or was it since responsibility came crashing down like plummeting interest rates?
Carefree days circa December 2008
Have a blessed and carefree New Year's, my dear friends!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
