Coming into the home straight! (Although I think I may have said that before…)
From: Kirsty Jordan
Sent: Friday, 15 September 2017 5:01 p.m.
To: Wellington Anaesthesia All Staff
Subject: Bumper issue of this weeks explanatory email! (Derek (HOD): rumours of my imminent resignation have been greatly exaggerated…)
I’m glad I went to the Ball last weekend, rather than the neuro conference I was toying with attending. I had a great time. Never actually managed to make it to the dance floor, not because of my towering heels, but rather I spent my time chatting to people and drinking. Not too much of the latter, though, because when you’re cadging a lift off your boss and his wife then it usually pays to keep it seemly. I lost track of my husband for large parts of the evening, he also had a great time, he tells me the fact that he was the only GP there makes him very special and highly sought after; I do hope he’s right. The photos in today’s newsletter are a nice representation of those who were present, which I’m very pleased about, as the locum editor had delegated me to provide photos for the newsletter but unfortunately I left my phone at home (Rachel: “You had one job!”). I particularly like the one of my husband and I. He’s generally understood to have married beneath him, looks wise, so I’m gleeful to see that he looks like a wizened hunchback leprechaun with dental hygiene issues in that photo. I myself have the quizzical expression that goes with “I hope you can figure out the flash on your camera this time, Mr Parker (neurosurgeon) – I mean, it’s not rocket science, is it??”
I’ve just come back from my lunch break, where I met up with my new French tutor. Yes, I’m giving up Spanish. Our finish times here are just too unpredictable to reliably make it to 5:30 classes. It will be interesting to see if I lapse into Spanish at moments of stress in my French class, the way I have a habit of doing the opposite in my Spanish classes. One thing you can be sure of is that I won’t be lapsing into Maori. In Maori language week it’s embarrassing to confess that my mastery of the language is even worse than a politicians. When I was at school, only the lower streams learnt Maori – the top classes did Latin instead. Isn’t that shameful? That was a long time ago, you might say (rude!), but the poncy school we pay large amounts of money to doesn’t even offer it as an option from year 7 onwards. I suppose when you’re married to a Captain of Industry it’s important when entertaining his clients, while he’s “working late at the office”, that you can offer cups of tea in suitably polished Mandarin. My oldest daughter demonstrated the value of her expensive education while waitressing last night. A customer called her over to complain that the air in his beer glass was stale, and this was spoiling it’s flavour. Her response was to be terribly apologetic: “I’m frightfully sorry, sir, I don’t know how that happened, let me remedy that straight away”, and she rapidly replaced his glass while filled with feelings of guilt and shame. Whereas, if that were me with my state school background, I might have raised my eyebrows with a WTAF expression on my face which would have likely seen me shown the door with alacrity by my erstwhile employer. So, money well spent. While I was out I took the opportunity to vote. I don’t usually like the idea of early voting. What if some particularly horrible bit of gossip comes to light between now and the election? What if I have a last minute change of heart and decide what the world really needs is more neoliberalism and a healthy dose of white supremacy? Oh well, this time I’m risking it. What I can’t understand is, why aren’t the Russians interfering? Or is that them and their bots complaining about Taxinda and her schemes to take away our yachts/ cows/ third homes? It’s funny how only a few weeks ago everyone so appalled about child poverty. It’s certainly been a roller coaster of an election campaign.
There’s a queue of people snaking down the corridor of those wanting to step into Derek’s shoes, although he’s not releasing his vice like grip on power until much further in the future than rumours led us to believe late last week. And yet, not of whiff of interest in my role when it eventually becomes available. Crazy. Well, just think of me when you’re packing up your possessions for our upcoming departmental refurbishment. Here in the executive wing I can sit quite comfortably in my expanding pile of scheduling detritus, glossy conference brochures, and various awards and bribes that I have picked up over the years. This too could be yours if you play your cards right. Many thanks to both of those people who voted for my win in the recent Ali G award. To celebrate, I am wearing my famous flowery boots. Not that anyone can see them, of course, because I’m sitting in my office (see above).
Staffing next week is erratic and unpredictable. We are short on Monday (a CICO course) and Wednesday (why?) but over resourced on Thursday. Thanks to everyone who has been helpfully flexible to ensure we can staff everything.
Wednesday
The gastro team have a POEM in OT 13 in the afternoon (there was a young man called Jeremy…)(not sure if anything rhymes with achalasia?)
Thursday
I am told that the AKS list is to be televised. Not sure what this will entail but I’ve ensured we have some our most telegenic anaesthetists in here, just in case.
A completion scoli in OT 7, priority one for an ICU bed as the poor young person has been in traction since part one a few weeks ago.
Myself, Geoff, Scott and Jeremy all available at various times of the day in the event of mass sickness or a busload of haemophiliacs type situation.
Friday
Scant RMO presence today, some sort of vascular course on today I fancy?
No movie cameras for AKS this time I’m afraid, Dr Young!
We were threatened with a RIG in the pm but apparently a previous gastric bypass makes such a procedure inadvisable, which is a fact much nicer to know in advance than at the time I’m sure.
And that’s the end of another week. The highlight of the weekend for me will be Cassini plunging to it’s death on Saturn: RIP and thanks for all the lovely pictures.
Nga mihi, kia pai to ra whakata (yes, I had to look that up)