The dying patient

Lately I often find myself complaining about work, whining about the long hours, and generally feeling very sorry for myself and my lifeless job.

Because sometimes I forget that I encounter life and death on a daily basis.

Induction

Between people-watching from the wall-mounted mirror in one of my favourite cafes and taking a slow slp of my flat white, I decided today was one of those times to look back and not forward. It is far more pleasant to reflect when what lies ahead is work tomorrow (and having to remove your turquoise manicure for it). 

The first month of employment has been rather pleasant. My senior colleagues have been extremely lenient and tolerant of my various antics, and the staff have all been wonderful to work with - a lovely surprise taking into account the horror stories of bitchy nurses and my track history with species of the same gender. 

I wish I could remember all of my patients, but we usually only recall the mortalities, and the ones with angry relatives. Then there are the idiots who make for interesting stories, like the young man who needed orchioplasty because he had strangled both his testicles by forcing all of his external genitalia through a 1cm thick metal ring/sex toy that we could not break without snipping off bits of him. And of course there was the drug addict with COPD on long term oxygen admitted for a facial burn because his oxygen supply caught fire and blew up in his face when he was sneaking a smoke.

Time has been slipping away through my latex glove-cladded fingers like medical knowledge through the sieve that is my brain. It was only when I changed a suprapubic catheter again for the same patient did I notice an entire month had passed. Overall though, and I may or may not be writing behind rose-tinted eye shields, there has been more good than bad, and I definitely feel a lot more competent than I first started. Now, if only I could remember where I last left my pager... .

Working for royalty

The bigger hospitals here are mostly named after royalty, so let's just say I'll be spending my next three months at the Prince's.

That sounded sleazy.

After attempting to explain my working hours to my sister and friends, I am once again reminded of how inhumane the system is. Essentially, my life in the next three months will run in cycles of three to four days:

Day 1: 8am-6pm
Day 2: 8am-6pm-8am
Day 3: 8am- 6pm
(Day 4: 8am-6pm)

Whoever's decision it was to make house officers thirty-three hours shifts every few days is an absolute moron. Besides, taking into account my current unfamiliarity with my job, my days should start slightly after six every morning if I want to do a round on my patients before my medical officer does. I should start looking for a better eye cream.

You may say, hard work pays. Unfortunately, only minimally.

10 hours x 5 week days = 50 hours
4 on Saturdays = 4 hours
14 hours x 2 overnight shifts = 28 hours
Allowing an extra 8 hours overtime per week to accommodate the ridiculous number of patients in our overloaded public system
      = 90 hours x 4 weeks = 360 hours

Divided by our measly wages after subtracting costs of things like mpf and insurance, we receive less than seventy bucks an hour, i.e. just a little over a dollar per minute. In other words, it seems like a better deal for us to work at one of those 每六秒一蚊 sex story hotlines. The job nature is similar - 候召 - but with a better label.  

Despite all the ranting, I'm actually pretty excited to start finally contributing to humanity as a small potato at the bottom of the food pyramid (how apt). T-minus three and counting. 

Prologue

Life has been a whirlwind. As usual, I found myself overwhelmed by all that I had on my plate because, as usual, I'd bitten off much more than I could chew. Perhaps that's just the way I get things done - I push my poor self past my limits, crumble under stress like an overbaked cupcake, pull myself together, then write a literature review, plan a three-week trip, and throw a fabulous ball all within a month's time.

I have been in school for too long, and many a times it felt like I would never have to grow beyond the umbrella of my parents, professors and teachers. Yet suddenly, I find the end of my childhood dawning upon me all too quickly with work starting in two weeks. 

This will be a challenging path strewn with pebbles that will trip me over when I'm not looking, and most likely even when I am. Hopefully I'll find some boulders to lean on and climb a few mountains that will help me see further. And when I fall flat on my face like the time I ran down a flight of stairs in five-inch heels, I'll think of the insanity I subjected myself to this month and feel invincible again, even if only for long enough to get back on my feet and dust myself off. 

Look out, world.