OK, so just imagine you’re the duty anaesthetist all day on a Friday. It’s still summer, so lots of people are away, and we’re really short. The acute board is chocka, everyone is desperate to get their patients sorted before the weekend. Everyone’s grumpy because they haven’t had breaks, they’re not getting to meetings they’ve organized, and you’re still having to shoulder tap people on their non clinical time to come and help out clinically. Oh well, it’s hell but at least the end is in sight because it’s the afternoon and soon the evening person will come on and take that dreadful, constantly ringing phone off your hands. 5 o’clock comes, and no one arrives. Oh well, they’re obviously one of those people who turn up on the dot of 5:30 because that’s what our contract says, that’s fine, it’ll all be over soon. But then it’s 5:40 and still no one comes. Theatres are overrunning, PACU is in chaos with sick post op patients trying to die, ICU are dragging their feet for no good reason, the man in bed 19 is moaning in pain, the teenage girl in bed 17 is crying. You’re supposed to be at Friday drinks at Bebemos, not knee deep in ketamine and paperwork. Sod it, it’s time to ring up your relief person and ask them to get their ass in here. So, you ring them, and they’re like “What?? No way!! I never work Friday evenings… I’m at home… they’re must be some mistake…” and you’re like (in your head) “well, buddy – I want to go home, there’s no one else here taking the phone – come and get it. The schedule has been out for weeks FFS, it hasn’t been a secret, get your act together. What a plonker!”
Yes, readers: I was that plonker. I’m sooooo sorry, Phil! I owe you big time buddy and I hope your Friday rapidly improved after you left.
