Random Radiology

In all the excitement of playing basketball with my registrar and attempting to learn to surf I somehow hurt my knee.

For a whole week I refused to walk the 5 flights of stairs to our ward and insisted on taking the elevator (much to my registrar's disdain). I moaned and whinged about my ageing frail body, even though I'm still the youngest doctor in the hospital (thanks to post-graduate medical course interns).

So eventually my registrar had had enough. He dragged me down to Emergency and bellowed "I have an important surgical resident here who needs a medical record number, please triage him!"

30 minutes later I was getting some Xray's and wishing they'd gave me a lead belt to protect my future children from the stray rays.

Given that I don't drink milk and bind any calcium in my serum with the phosphate from my Coca-Cola infusion, I was suprised to see that I've ossified quite nicely in my skeletal maturation.

What do you guys think?

Return of the Resident

Having survived the hordes of overtime shifts thrown at them by evil Admin Man, the 'terns and residents of Whoop Whoop Hospital started to gain ground over their foes.

A major loss was encountered when their beloved medical registrars were inadvertantly booked on the wrong flights back to Sydney, resulting in threats to create a new poop-shoot for Admin Man if he ever tired such an evil ploy again.

However, Dr J found himself subject to 2 consecutive 16 hour days with overtime leading to immense frustration. Myriads of cannulaes and chest pains drove him mad. Living on far too little sleep almost had him beat, until his surgical registrar stepped in and rescued him.
"I think we need to hold a Crisis Meeting* downstairs"

The weekend arrived upon the young doctors just in time. The local culinary establishments of Whoop Whoop (and surrounding villages) were pillaged for their bounty and the the vats overflowed with wine.

And so began the weekends of never-ending happiness. (WONEH)

The WONEHs were a mythical beast that were rumoured to exist in Whoop Whoop. If one of the heroic doctors were able to capture this beast, he/she would be revitalised with youthful joy and bliss, carefree happiness and vanquising of all their foes (at least for 48 hours). They were elusive, rare and most of our young heroes even doubted their existence.

It was by chance that our intrepid young team stumbled across their first WONEH. They left Whoop Whoop in their valiant steeds and journeyed far and wide towards the great sea in search of their prey. They came acorss a small village along they way where they found their first pointer towards what was to come. A great feast laid out before them with steaks twice the size anything they had encountered before and desserts laiden with chocolate and strawberries. Their journey almost ended there, shipwrecked by these Sirens of gastronomy.

They dragged their warm tummys away and journeyed on. Over rolling green hills and meadows, the vast blue sky above. They finally reached the tip of one peak to be greated with the crystal blue sea's beckoning glow.

Very soon, they were unpacking their goods and running towards the beach. Dr J was entranced by the picturesque-ness of it all. Diving into the sea as it enveloped him, the cold chill of the salty spray woke him up. It reminded him that he was alive.
But more was to come.

His colleague swam up to him and offered him his surfboard. And 5 minutes later Dr J was mounting the board and valiantly making a fool of himself attempting to emulate his fellow brothers.
Still more was to come.

A set of 4 wooden wickets were defiantly driven into the sand and they all taught their Norwegian counterpart the finer details fo the game known as cricket.

A picnic basket emerged to put Yogi to shame. Our weary heroes were fed as they toasted each other and drank to good times.

They dragged themselves to a lighthouse to watch the sun bid them farewell and usher them into a night of fun.

They adjourned down the hill to the beachside pub, grabbing a few quick drinks in before attending the local cinema for a motion picture.

They had many many other adventures that weekend, more than they could possibly fill in one story. They were joined by their registrars in violent games of basketball, went to the local markets with physiotherapists and sucked in the air of freedom.

Away in this utopian paradise they shed their pain and anguish and just enjoyed the world given to them. Their aching joints were filled with strength, their crushed spirits were lifted and their 1,25-deoxycholecalciferol** deficient skin was burnt.

Life couldn't get any better than this... or could it? (Stay tuned to find out)

* Crisis Meeting = our secret code for coffee break so that the minions of darkness that wish to page our beepers do not know of our absence
**Vitamin D (from sunlight)

Time

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace."
(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 ESV)

Life is not always about absolutes or ideals. Sometimes actions may be right or wrong in differing circumstances. Reducing the complexity of the world's intricacies is dangerous when done blindly. It takes discernment to be able to decide what to do when formulas no longer apply.

Society is kinda at odds with the poetry above. We all live by the mantra that war is always bad and that casting away, mourning and breaking down are intrinsically evil. None of us are immune, conflict is out and passivity is seen as the 'more excellent way'. There no longer exists the option of 'tough love'.

Why can't we be comfortable enough to embrace conflict as a sometimes necessary way of refinement? Why can't we endorse that sometimes refraining from something can be to our advantage? Have we become so self-indulgent that we can no longer hear the word "No"?

It's amazing the solace you find when you can embrace the change of seasons and be content with the negative actions sometimes demanded of us.

Cos eventually all things come around. After the mourning comes the laughter, after the war comes the peace.

Life may be frustrated, but that's cos it's heading somewhere better.

The New Adventures of Dr Dolittle & Dr Donothing*

Once upon a time in a place far far away called Whoop Whoop there lived two intern doctors. They were not of Whoop Whoop although one of them wished she was. Her name was Dr Dolittle and she worked at the local hospital with Dr Donothing at the local hospital. In her former mispent youth, she had been a hippie and bided her time dancing in the meadows and learning about the sustainable creation of vegetation.

However over the years, times had changed and she had been squashed into the mould of a public hospital system that showed little regard for her care-free dreams.

Her friend was Dr Donothing, a name given to him by former psychiatric inpatients who devalued his worth and mocked him daily. yet despite the constant taunts he remained optimistic; for he too had a secret ambition: to be a indie-pop rock star.

Whilst many medical students spent their free time cramming the causes of proximal myopathies into their brains, he had ventured into the brave new world of music and sought his fame in a band whose name cannot be repeated due to this blog being G-rated.

They had both been banished from their castle known as The Zoo and sent many days travel by horse to work in the cold dungeons of Whoop Whoop. Along their travels they teamed up with Dr J, another disgruntled Doogie-Howser wannabe and set forth to rule their new roost and enter into battle against the evil forces of disease and medical administration.

Twas not long before they met their first foe, an evil overlord named Admin Man whose sole quest in life seemed to be the destruction and oppression of these young sojourners. He denied them overtime pay and made them go through a number of deadly quests in order to achieve financial renumeration. He then beset upon them a plague of overtime shifts designed to break all but the brave.

On different days the JMOs would face up to their fears and with pager in one hand and stethescope in the other, slaying the hordes of nurses as them lunged at them with nagging voices. Blood pressures would come crashing down, but the doctors were now too wise for such things and would counteract this move with their own magic fluid bolus. The nurses would throw medication charts and the mighty pen of these brave souls would demolish their attack. Chest pain stood no chance against nitrates being administered in tri-route fashion (s/l, IV and top).

And so day by day the doctors overcame their fears, they overcame rather than being overcome. The nagging did not cease, the incessant paging would not desist and yet they would laugh it all off over a pint at the local Irish pub.

And so after a long and fearsome battle they all found themselves in a little haven away from Whoop Whoop. A village nearby where they could salve their wounds, eat brunch in their own pace (void of the pager beep) and whinge about nursing ineptitude.

And so they lived to fight another day... their stories have just begun.

* I'm serious, they have called themselves this... it's brilliant!