It’s Christmas Eve and I’m at work, but I’m not feeling sorry for myself. Pity the poor soul I’m helping look after who has been given a brain tumour for Christmas.
It seems like we get a terrible run of bad diagnoses every year around this time, I have to think it’s not a real thing, but maybe some combination of people coming out of the woodwork and presenting to their GPs with the holidays coming up, and/or we notice it more because it feels extra poignant.
I’m wearing festive gear today, within reason considering infection control guidelines.
Sometimes I worry that patients will think I’m not taking their health issues seriously enough, but I suspect the outfits the medical staff are wearing are the last things on people’s minds at these times. After all, no one wants to be in hospital at Christmas. Or if they do, there’s something else going on.
Actually maybe I’m testing my luck more than I need to today. I rode my bicycle to work, which was lovely on such a nice day and with hardly any traffic. But when I got to the bicycle cage at the hospital, this is what I found:
Six separate attempts to break in and steal healthcare workers bicycles, patched up with four sheets of plywood. This doesn’t fill me with confidence, especially as I’ve ridden my posh e-bike today. I don’t think I’ll be riding it next week when I’m working a long day on New Year’s Eve.