Tag Archives: Holy Crap

The Numbers

From Home to General Practice Placement:

Total Distance (each way): 31.9km
Times per Week: 2
Speed Zones, Outbound Journey: 50 – 70 – 60 – 100 – 90 – 100 – 60 – 80 – 50
Speed Zones, Homeward Journey: 50 – 80 – 60 – 100 – 90 – 100 – 60 – 70 – 50
Speed Cameras (Fixed): 3
Traffic Lights: 7
Average Red Lights on Arrival: 6
Roundabouts: 2
Golf Courses: 2
Cow Crossings: 2
Cow Crossing Delays Experienced: 0
Rail Crossings: 1
Rail Crossing Delays Experienced: 2
Rail Crossing Delay Duration: 11mins / 8mins
Bridges Crossed: 3
Properties for Sale: 14
Wineries: 2
Winery Delays Experienced: 0
Factories: 2
Smokestacks (Gas Flame): 1
Hitchhikers: 1
Hitchhiker Sightings: 3 (Same Guy)
Minimum Journey Time: 24mins
Maximum Journey Time: 49mins
Early/On Time/Late Arrival (%, est): 30/40/30
Maximum Ground Speed Attained: Fine Exceeds Boyish Desire To Tell
Times Speed Limit Unconsciously Exceeded by Maximal Amount: 1
Times Rihanna’s S.O.S Unconsciously Played On Loop, Single Journey: 11
Total Distance Driven for GP Placement, Phase 3: 2424.4km

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Homework I’m Not Doing

I actually have a whole load of urgent homework that I’m currently not doing. But I’m not writing about that.

If a patient asks me something and I don’t know the answer, I admit it. If it’s appropriate, I’ll look up the answer while they’re with me, or while they’re waiting for Part Two of their consultation – the part with the real doctor. If I don’t get the chance, and it’s important, I’ll just ask the doc when I’m handing over.

If it’s more of a point of interest and knowing the answer only matters to me, or if the patient is happy to wait for obscure info, I’ll look it up later. On that list: Effects of chromium supplementation, fructose intolerance, sugar content of soy milk.

Not going on that homework list, not getting looked up while he’s in the waiting room, and most certainly not during our consult: (and I’m paraphrasing here for the sake of already having enough dodgy words inviting creepy google-stalkers) is today’s special offering. “My junk has shrunk… Is that a normal part of getting old?”

I don’t know.

Apparently he’s discussed his concerns with the doctor before, and my ignorance was reassuring. “So if you don’t know, maybe he didn’t know either, because he didn’t seem to want to look into it…”

Maybe I should have taken baseline measurements so we could track the alleged shrinkage over time. Something about the fact his eyes had trouble elevating above my chest level gave me the feeling such a scientific approach would be rendered inaccurate by an excessive degree of operator dependance.

Some things, I’d just rather not know.

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Conversation of the Week

Her: … So have you killed anybody yet?
Me: No… What makes you think I’m in a position to kill anybody?
Her: Oh I don’t know, maybe you prescribed the wrong drugs or something.
Me: No, I’m not actually a doctor yet, I can’t prescribe anything… But hopefully when I’m qualified, I’ll manage to avoid killing anyone.
Her: Well we were watching Doc Martin the other night and there was a locum and he was giving everyone the wrong medications, I don’t think his training was very good. That made me think of you.

Gee, thanks.

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One Hand Clapping

McCat is asleep and purring on my arm, and my one`handed typing can’t keep up with my brain.

It’s Hiroshima Day. Please take a moment to reflect on world peace. Make it as long a moment as you like.

Today I had to go to the dentist in the city. Last time I did this, my mouth stayed numb for far too long and I felt all woozy, so I had an unscheduled overnight stay with my dad. This time, my girl and the Yellow Dog of Happiness came with me to drive me home.

We drove for three hours, got a great coffee, had a quick catch-up with my lovely Step-Ma, I tottled off to the chair; Girl and Yellow Dog had a stroll by the water. They picked me up, excessively numb and somewhat dopey, we picked up some sashimi to take home for dinner, and stopped near our old house to get the Girl a late lunch.

There’s an off-leash park around the corner from the house where we lived for seven years. Let’s take the hound there, I said, and you can eat your lunch before we hit the traffic again. Great idea, off we go.

Yellow Dog is much more in love with her than he is with me, but I convinced him to leave the Girl on her park bench. The two of us wandered across the dusty excuse for a park, greeting assorted small dogs and their owners in the appropriate way. All very harmonious.

Harmonious until behind us, a certain spaniel launched itself at the Girl’s face and stole a part of her lunch.

She politely and quietly suggested to the owner that he control his dog.

Loud enough for me to hear across the park, he suggested that she ‘stop eating for five minutes.’

For the last five months, the Girl has been working against history, genetics and a whole bunch of internal demons to regain the athlete’s frame she lost to sedentary work and too much of a good thing. She has been working HARD. And she’s looking and feeling great. She has muscles on her muscles. Her clothes are hanging off her.

There was a not-so-subtle implication in his choice of words, and I dare say it cut us both to the core.

As the portly man continued to rant at her, blaming her for being in a dog park and completely failing to apologise or attempt to control his dog, she calmly stood up and walked over to the Yellow Dog and I, obnoxious spaniel in tow.

The food obsessed spaniel climbed all over us for a full lap of the park, clawing at our legs and completely fixated on the end of the sandwich. No intervention. No apology. No manners. No accountability.

There was a time when I feared living outside the city because my differences would be more obvious and I thought I would struggle for acceptance. As I got to know the Girl’s home town, I formed the view that the anonymity of the city was a bigger threat. In a small town, people know who you are. Sure, they’ll know you’re the gayest doctor in town. But they’ll also know that if they egg your car, someone in town will know who did it.

He lives in the inner city and has a little rainbow name-tag on his spaniel. Chances are, he’s a friend of a friend. Would he have dared to unleash his stream of vitriol on my Girl if he knew the whole town would know by Wednesday?

Probably. People like that are like that wherever they live their unhappy lives.

But for us, this unpleasant encounter with the obnoxious man and his uncontrollable dog just underscored our growing distaste for the city, and cemented a feeling that our tiny town is the home we want it to be.

I’m so proud of the woman I love for the way she walked away. It implies a healthy stock of inner peace.

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Seek And Ye Shall Find

The search terms which have caused people to find this particular patch of internet are a regular source of amusement to me. Sometimes the search term itself amuses me, and sometimes it amuses me that someone would actually click on the link to this site when it pops up in their results.

So to thank these faithful searchers for the hours of amusement they have provided me, I feel it is incumbent upon me to provide some answers from time to time.

Let’s start with something recent, and I admit, not unreasonable, given that I present myself as providing advice on how not to hit a golf ball.

golf ball not going in the air when hit

Keep hitting it the way you are hitting it. See, I’m qualified to tell you how not to hit it. If you want someone to tell you how to hit it, I’m not the best person to ask. However if I were pressed, I would suggest that you hit it somewhat inferiorly to the current point of impact of club on ball. This should give you some loft.

Loft is such a great word.

in which countries is the term “dad joke” used?

I’m curious as to why you need this information. Is it to be used in planning a travel itinerary? More likely you are employed by a pharmaceutical company and are testing market viability of a new cardiac drug you’re considering naming something like “Dadjokesin”. I will help you regardless: You may add Australia to your list. Of countries, not potential drug names.

cell organelle analogy harry potter

It sounds like something I would know about, but I honestly can’t think of one. If Harry Potter were a Golgi Complex… I think I shall come back to this after exams.

soob medical terminology

This is an important abbreviation, and close to my heart. It is used when writing in patients’ notes to record observations. SOOB stands for “Sitting On Own Bottom”. Sometimes you will also see “SOSEB” which stands for “Sitting On Someone Else’s Bottom”, which is indicative of significant improvement in the patient’s condition.

free air underwear

This is a good idea, but I think I should test the market with t-shirts first.

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Filed under Golf, Med School, Travel, Uncategorized

Dear Internet,

Given the amount of time a certain member of my family invests in you in his pursuit of happiness, I thought you may be interested to learn that his holiday to the Ukraine has allegedly been extended while he allegedly waits to act as a witness in the alleged trial of the ruffians who allegedly found him sleeping in his rental car and allegedly mugged him.

I’m not entirely sure of the period of time over which this drama has been unfolding. However the skeptic in me is not entirely sure that my relative is not being deprived of his liberty somewhere.

I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, if you could send me your bank account details and all of your passwords, I’ll see to it that he gets a new passport.

Sincerely,
Toast

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The Seventh Dwarf

I was sitting in a consultation room having just taken a brief history from a new patient. New to us, anyway. Not new to him – he had been referred to our team with his fourth recurrence of a particularly fickle malignancy. He’d been treated further afield, but this time decided he didn’t want the travel. Cynically, I wondered if his specialists had flicked us a literal hospital pass.

He needs a name. Let’s call him Mr Sherrin.

He was our last patient of the day. I took a good history. Talked with his wife. Had a look at the problem. It was pretty bad. Ugly, obvious, fast-growing, metastases all over the place. Disfiguring.

I handed over to the consultant. He and the registrar came back to the consult room and we all had another look and a feel and the consultant talked about treatment options. Cures are off the table, this is palliation. The treatment might slow things down or make them worse.

Mr Sherrin is not young but he’s not old either. Mrs Sherrin is visibly anxious but Mr Sherrin is quite calm. He wants to give it all he’s got. There is no hesitation as he opts for treatment.

I was watching the consultant, talking, feeling the lumps, asking questions of the Sherrins and the consultant. I wondered, for the umpteenth time, how oncologists deal with the daily load of poor prognoses. Who drinks? Who swims? Who prays? Who kicks the cat? Who washes their hands at the end of the day and leaves all the work in the sink?

Somewhere in amongst all this, Mr Sherrin and I had a long moment of eye contact. We knew what we knew. As that moment passed, I felt a rising tide of grumpiness.

Cue lightbulb.

I’m not welling up and I genuinely, honestly, don’t feel sad. I feel grumpy. Not about anything, or toward anyone.

I’m not angry with death, and I’m not afraid of it or uncomfortable around it. I know, and I feel, that I’m not part of the life and death stories around me any more than a flight attendant is part of a traveler’s holiday.

Something in the way I’m emotionally and intellectually processing what I’ve learned and experienced on this rotation is producing a consistent response, because that grumpiness has been here pretty much every night for a month.

I guess I shall stomp off somewhere soon and get my head read. Come up with a better plan. Life is not a Disney movie, but Grumpy is no way to be.

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