And because good things come in twos.
From: Kirsty Jordan
Sent: Friday, 27 October 2017 1:02 p.m.
To: Wellington Anaesthesia All Staff
Subject: No cigar – a personal journey (disclaimer – the views expressed are those of the author only, and in no way represent those of any right minded person)
There are a lot of things I could talk about this week: our new government; Trump; Douglas; the pain of struggling on without Cindy while she jaunts around China; our imminent loss of Linda; making the wrong call about whether to do the drugs or the airway on that sick laparotomy last week, and subsequently ending up with a litre of hot, liquefied, regurgitated poo in my lap after induction (thanks, Archie); or getting the heel of my shoe stuck in my bicycle peddle (Eds note: I was making this spelling mistake five years ago!) and almost ending up on my derrier (arse) in the middle of the road, prompting flashbacks of my unfortunate experiment with clip-in bicycle shoes a few years ago.
But I’m not going to talk about those things, because what’s really been on my mind this week – thinking of Bill (twice); my daughters’ and their school roles (in their case, an inherited inability to suck up to the right people)( and, yes, that’s sour grapes right there); the poor kereru; and our own part 2 exams – is failure. What is it about failing post graduate medical exams that provokes such white hot feelings of anger, shame and misery? It’s not like the grief of losing a loved one, but more like a patient making a complaint about you – it strikes at the core of your feelings of identity and self worth (am I helping?). And similarly, we’re taught to hide those feelings at work so as not to make other people uncomfortable. I remember coming back to the department after failing my exam: suddenly a number of people I’d known for years started furtively taking me aside and saying “welcome to the club!” Well, I’m sorry, I don’t want to be in your club, I’d much rather have just passed the damn thing the first time and sailed on with my life, never knowing the pain and anguish that’s involved. But, of course, it’s too late for that. And anyway, being a doctor means opening yourself up to being judged throughout your entire career, because the buck stops with us, doesn’t it, and that’s why we get the respect (pfft) and the generous pay packets – that, and the years we’ve sacrificed of our youth to studying and sitting our exams while our friends were out partying, buying houses and starting families. And that’s why I could never be an examiner. Well, that, and also that I’ve never been asked.
Sarah S and Chris M are away, gadding about at a nursing conference in the exotic locale of Whangarei, so it’s been me sending out the surgical alerts for next week. I’ve tried to use my discretion to some extent, aiming for a 50:50 split of complaints between “why didn’t anyone warn me about this??” and “well, really, this covers about half my patients, I don’t know why you’ve even bothered telling me”. A special scheduling shout out to my office buddy, sitting an exam today but not so preoccupied that he couldn’t bring me in a deliciously yummy treat to take to production planning with me, to propitiate the scheduling Gods. The middle aged ladies of middle and lower management always look so sad and bereft when I walk in to the meeting by myself, empty handed. I was also going to thank Rose, doing an excellent job in trying circumstances, covering Cindy while she’s away – but then I discovered she doesn’t work on Fridays, so I’m going to have to make up next weeks DA folders by myself.
Monday
Three cardiac cases booked for today, including one poor soul who’s already been cancelled three times for lack of ICU beds. Fingers crossed my weekend on call will be nice and quiet and we won’t add to the number of desperately unwell folk taking up the beds in here (as opposed to the other less sick people causing bed block everywhere else in the hospital, including PACU)
No renal transplant today or Wednesday, not sure what this represents a lack of? Not renal failure, sadly, I’m fairly certain.
Tuesday
Halloween! I keep forgetting to ask Derek whether we’re likely to be visited by trick or treaters, as this is our first Halloween in our new house. I suspect any hardy souls who make it up our hill are more likely to be in need of an asthma inhaler than handfuls of candy, but I could be wrong.
Wednesday
Please note, Archie, that as it’s the first Wednesday, the reg low risk Obs clinic is out at Kene today. Perhaps you can use the drive out to think about what you’ve done.
Thursday
Inservice today, in one of it’s surprise dates.
High risk Obs clinic moved to the morning, as time and tide and due dates wait for no man.
…..
Thank you all: keep up the good work.
Cheers,
Kirsty
Ps. Constructive criticism welcome, and, as always, no offence intended.