My Writings. My Thoughts.
Hello?
// February 1st, 2012 // No Comments » // Uncategorized
Me: How are you this morning?
Mrs Poestop: I’m OK. My tummy’s a bit sore but that’s because my family is making me so angry and I have to clench my belly to hold it in.
Me: What about this big cut from the operation?
Mrs Poestop: Ow! Don’t you touch that! It’s sore.
Me: OK. How have you been apart from your tummy?
Mrs Poestop: I was fine until the other day when I had to go to the dentist. Then that’s how this all started.
Me: Do you know where we are at the moment?
Mrs Poestop: Of course I do! This is the hospital. They keep telling me it’s the hospital.
Me: That’s right. Good.
Mrs Poestop: Its only the ducks that cause trouble.
Cocky
// January 26th, 2012 // No Comments » // Uncategorized
Last week of my current general surgical rotation.
The colonoscope responds to my touch and winkles gently trough tricky corners of bowel.
The hot snare sits perfectly.
The adhesions drop away and display my critical view.
The bosses walk out, “Call me if you run into trouble.”
The scrubs and scouts know my preferences and act as if they’re important.
I am ruler of my domain. Space time bends to my will. I am surgeon, hear me roar.
On an entirely unrelated topic, I am leaving space in my blogging schedule for a series on surgical complications.
Nostalgia
// January 25th, 2012 // No Comments » // Uncategorized
We had new interns start last week. Our hospital system is arranged so that interns (first year out of medical school) start three weeks before all the rest of the medical staff change their rotations.
This changeover period is stressful. Everyone is on edge and the hospital starts to grind. We transition from interns who have worked eleven and a half months and are at the peak of their game to interns who have worked five days and are unsure if they should prescribe paracetomol.
As a corollary to this, everyone in a more senior position forces themselves to become more tolerant. There is suddenly no place for teaching lessons through snappishness. The correct answer to a confusing referral is always “I will come an see your patient.” The grumbling becomes subaudible. The teeth grinding less so.
This amnesty lasts as long as our heads don’t explode. Not sure how long that is. One of my anaesthetic colleagues had to resite five IV cannulas today on patients covered with a morse code of band aids and bruises. I had a doctor spell out her own name for me instead of the patient’s and I didn’t laugh. We can only keep the intracranial pressure down for so long.
To the interns of 2011: Happy holidays. Congratulations on the start to a new year. May your futures be successful and your prospects bright. And may you also become registrars one day and truly know how much we miss you.
Superhero
// January 12th, 2012 // No Comments » // Uncategorized
You know the cliche about surgeons? No bedside manner and an affinity for sharp tools? I’m not that gal. I have always prided myself on my surgical superpower - the ability to communicate. I am not the most up to date, steadiest-handed quickest-learner in my group, but I can talk and listen.
This skill is a surprising advantage in a field where it is unexpected. I can figure out what patients want. I know how to make them to agree with me, if I want to, but I get more of a kick out of helping them choose what they want. I can usually make them feel better about the bad stuff, and laugh despite their stitches. And I can often get anaesthetists, and booking nurses and resident staff to do what I want, and still like me at the end.
Of course, I am still a surgeon, and I still have a surgical personality. I couldn’t beat around a bush if there was a tiger in it. In surgery, this helps. People need to be told the truth, simply. Surgeons need to be able to say fart, poo and wee (at least), and answer truthfully. Could it be cancer? Yes. Will I die of this? Yes. Should I trust Lucy? No, Charlie Brown.
In real life, this trait doesn’t help as much. Tactlessness is funny in your friends, but a mood killer in party conversation. Honesty can be mean.
The other classical surgical foible is arrogance, which I have in spades (reread paragraphs one and two if you are unsure). In the last week I have told three people that I have excellent communication, and that is what makes me a good surgeon.
Last night, I went out with a colleague and somehow decided to give her an honest critique of her private life. Luckily, she can communicate too, and told me to shut up.
Sorry, babe. I’m gonna go back to humble now.
