So, as weekend calls go, a Friday call is generally considered to be pretty sweet. Spend the day with the team, take pages (and in the case of the surgery team, traumas) overnight, round at 8am, help the incoming student with notes and cleaning up scut, which is minimal on the weekend, and out of there usually by 1030 or 1100.
Which all falls apart when there is no incoming student.
It was actually a great call. Sort out minor stuff till 2300, then grab a few Z's. Until the trauma pagers (all 7 of them!!) start to go crazy at 0315: "trauma team to trauma room." Rub the sleep out of the eyes, grab for glasses, what did I do with my shoes?
Shoes located, down 18 floors to the trauma bay.
Pedestrian vs car high speed. Head injuries. ABCDE, X-ray, CT everything, get a reading from an unhappy radiology resident, ICU, neurosurgery consult, ortho consult. Whew!
When it is clear that our patient is well taken care of, back to 18 to sleep a little more.
Wake up to a change in the light. The rising sun is red red red. Clear sky to the north and south, but the view from our window looks east over the city, and a low black cloud like smoke is obliterating the sunrise and the city and sending chills down my spine.
The door bursts open and a nurse says, "Your patient is in trouble, come now!"
A lady with a bowel obstruction having conservative management has had sudden onset of excruciating abdominal pain. She has been doing well until now.
Vitals, morphine, stat abdo series, draw bloods and ABG. Is that hernia reducible? Is the NG working? Could she have a clot? What are the vitals now? Will a CT help?
0800 finds the senior resident and the medical student rounding. The trauma junior who has just finished his parachute call in ICU takes pity on us and helps us with the notes and orders (cool, thanks). When there's really very little left, he leaves, to get a well-deserved sleep.
And as I am running through the labs, *beep, beep, beep* "trauma team to trauma room." Technically I don't have to go, but I came to do trauma.
18 floors down. Elderly lady, apparently run over and dragged by a car. Driven by her elderly husband. He is devastated; he didn't see her. ABCDE, X rays. Pelvic fracture, needs wrapping. Hypotensive. Angio or CT?
Back to the floor, finishing up. Call the junior to let him know about a couple of minor issues which can only be cleared up by someone who can order medication, and he says "Pre-Code Orange (Disaster): a bridge in Laval has collapsed; there are definately injuries and some people might be heading our way." Oh no! Okay, I'm sticking around then.
Back in ED, take the down time to suture up a big laceration on someone's leg.
Eventually, we find out that all the injured people have been sent to the other trauma centre. And by now it's 1600. Back to the floor to tie up loose ends, then call the senior with an update. He asks me to check on one more thing, and then sends me home to sleep. Or eat, actually.
And then I went for crepes with my husband.
2006-09-30
2006-09-28
A Crappy Day
So, yesterday's post were about the problems of the world, which I can't do much about.
Today's is much less ambitious, but futile as well. My own little problems.
I woke up this morning, having had a very disturbed sleep due to the sound of dripping water. Not a new occurrence, this has been going on for over a month (last month it was "fixed," the ceiling rebuilt, and the very next day I heard water dripping on the not yet plastered ceiling... but they plastered it anyhow).
For more days than not I have been waking up to a flood in my bathroom. Dirty water from a spillover pipe in my upstairs neighbour's apartment. Unhygeinic to say the least. They finally tore down the ceiling again, and now when I shower this filthy water drips on me. Disgusting!!
The "repair job" in the photos is my solution to that, at least.
My landlord says she is getting a plumber in on Monday. Four more days of gross, unhealthy, icy cold and filthy water everywhere. Why Monday? Because that's October the first, the day she has to turn the heating on, and she already has the guy booked for that day. God forbid she get him to do both a few days early, it's certainly been cold enough to warrant it. All I can say is, thanks a bunch, Rachel (the landlord).
************
So then I go to work and have a lousy but boring day (trauma is no fun when there is no trauma, and don't get me wrong, it's not that I want anyone to get hurt.... but if they're going to get hurt anyhow, I'd like it if they did it on my shift). I accomplish nothing and manage to piss off my senior resident due to not being entirely with him (combination of bathroom and other personal stuff).
And when I get home I get paged by one of the other medical students who has taken issue with the call schedule (which she and the other students arranged in my absence) and wants me to switch a call. Which I was willing to do, but to arrange it tomorrow. Except, when I asked if we could sort this out tomorrow, she whined. And now I am very much inclined to tell her to suck it up. I detest whiners.
We shall see which me wins.
Grrr.
Today's is much less ambitious, but futile as well. My own little problems.
I woke up this morning, having had a very disturbed sleep due to the sound of dripping water. Not a new occurrence, this has been going on for over a month (last month it was "fixed," the ceiling rebuilt, and the very next day I heard water dripping on the not yet plastered ceiling... but they plastered it anyhow).
For more days than not I have been waking up to a flood in my bathroom. Dirty water from a spillover pipe in my upstairs neighbour's apartment. Unhygeinic to say the least. They finally tore down the ceiling again, and now when I shower this filthy water drips on me. Disgusting!!
The "repair job" in the photos is my solution to that, at least.My landlord says she is getting a plumber in on Monday. Four more days of gross, unhealthy, icy cold and filthy water everywhere. Why Monday? Because that's October the first, the day she has to turn the heating on, and she already has the guy booked for that day. God forbid she get him to do both a few days early, it's certainly been cold enough to warrant it. All I can say is, thanks a bunch, Rachel (the landlord).
************
So then I go to work and have a lousy but boring day (trauma is no fun when there is no trauma, and don't get me wrong, it's not that I want anyone to get hurt.... but if they're going to get hurt anyhow, I'd like it if they did it on my shift). I accomplish nothing and manage to piss off my senior resident due to not being entirely with him (combination of bathroom and other personal stuff).
And when I get home I get paged by one of the other medical students who has taken issue with the call schedule (which she and the other students arranged in my absence) and wants me to switch a call. Which I was willing to do, but to arrange it tomorrow. Except, when I asked if we could sort this out tomorrow, she whined. And now I am very much inclined to tell her to suck it up. I detest whiners.
We shall see which me wins.
Grrr.
2006-09-26
Keep it a land of peace.
I spent nearly three years in Malawi as a volunteer with VSO, from 2000 to the end of 2002. It was a life-altering experience, which made me absolutely certain that medicine was what I wanted to do with my life. I had exposure to development work and crisis relief, having been there during the 2002 floods and the subsequent famine and cholera outbreaks.
All of that said, I loved the country and I want to go back.
A little background info...
Population 13 million, Malawi is a small country in Sub-Saharan Africa. Malawi never had a civil war but lives next-door to Moçambique and suffered with that country through the 1970’s and again in 2002 during the floods. It had the dubious distinction of being named seventh poorest country in the world in 2001. And that was before the most recent famine.
The national industries (tea, tobacco, sugar) are privately owned, by foreign interests. Most Malawians are subsistence farmers, even those who have a nominal job on one of the plantations ($40 a month doesn’t feed a family of six in any economy). Balanced diets are rare. Running water is a luxury, and even a proper bore-hole isn’t guaranteed in a given village.
The Health-care System
Based upon the British system, Malawi has a two-tier system of free government-run public health care, with expensive private hospitals for those who can afford to pay for them. The differences between the two systems are staggering, but also obvious. They are everything that Canadians fear will happen here: whereas the private system has everything anyone can expect from a hospital, with prices commensurate, the public system cannot afford doctors or equipment. Waiting lists are enormous, and people often die simply trying to get to see a health professional.
“Medical Officers” are pseudo-professionals with one to two years of post-secondary training who often wind up running their own clinics. The country in is the process of developing its own medical school, if for no other reason than the fact that its medical school candidates have been until now trained in Britain, and tend to be poached by first-world nations rather than returning to work in Malawi.
The Challenges
As elsewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa, the main roadblocks are poverty, malnutrition and HIV. And like elsewhere, the three are interlinked. The official figure in Malawi is 14-17% of the population are HIV positive. HIV is killing off the productive generation. There aren’t enough teachers, labourers, farmers.... breadwinners.... parents. Education suffers. Food production suffers. Famine ensues, more die. Infant mortality is one in ten, average life expectancy is 41 years. National industries suffer, poverty increases.
There are hundreds of programmes in existence in Malawi trying to break the cycle at all points, and I was part of several of them during my time there. As a teacher, bringing a little piece of a better education to try and give a few students a chance to do something other than labour on a tea plantation. As an AIDS activist, with my students, encouraging them to challenge stereotypes and to protect themselves.
The fact that the antiretroviral drugs which have converted HIV from a death sentence into a chronic disease in the first world are still not available to all but a very lucky few in Malawi should not be overlooked. A few thousand out of the estimated 2 million people who need them are actually getting these drugs according to UNAIDS.
Nobody asked me but...
Our responsibility is not to throw money at the problems of this country. It is not to send little packages and consider ourselves as having done “our part.”
We need to be activists, to push the World Bank to treat this country fairly so that it doesn’t spend its GDP paying off interest on its debts ($3 billion!!) rather than on its people. We need to be aware of the corruption that has been crippling this tiny country, which built this massive debt (Banda died a very wealthy man, and Muluzi bought a house in Knightsbridge at £11 million around the same time the country’s grain reserve mysteriously vanished in 2002), and to make it known that this is unacceptable. We need to denounce tied aid. We need to force our government to advocate for Malawians to get better prices on prescription drugs, just as it forces the drug companies to give us reasonable prices.
We need to be aware and wary of the Live-Aid Legacy which paints these strong and intelligent people as people who need our help. They don’t need our help, but they do need our co-operation.
All of that said, I loved the country and I want to go back.
A little background info...
Population 13 million, Malawi is a small country in Sub-Saharan Africa. Malawi never had a civil war but lives next-door to Moçambique and suffered with that country through the 1970’s and again in 2002 during the floods. It had the dubious distinction of being named seventh poorest country in the world in 2001. And that was before the most recent famine.
The national industries (tea, tobacco, sugar) are privately owned, by foreign interests. Most Malawians are subsistence farmers, even those who have a nominal job on one of the plantations ($40 a month doesn’t feed a family of six in any economy). Balanced diets are rare. Running water is a luxury, and even a proper bore-hole isn’t guaranteed in a given village.
The Health-care System
Based upon the British system, Malawi has a two-tier system of free government-run public health care, with expensive private hospitals for those who can afford to pay for them. The differences between the two systems are staggering, but also obvious. They are everything that Canadians fear will happen here: whereas the private system has everything anyone can expect from a hospital, with prices commensurate, the public system cannot afford doctors or equipment. Waiting lists are enormous, and people often die simply trying to get to see a health professional.
“Medical Officers” are pseudo-professionals with one to two years of post-secondary training who often wind up running their own clinics. The country in is the process of developing its own medical school, if for no other reason than the fact that its medical school candidates have been until now trained in Britain, and tend to be poached by first-world nations rather than returning to work in Malawi.
The Challenges
As elsewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa, the main roadblocks are poverty, malnutrition and HIV. And like elsewhere, the three are interlinked. The official figure in Malawi is 14-17% of the population are HIV positive. HIV is killing off the productive generation. There aren’t enough teachers, labourers, farmers.... breadwinners.... parents. Education suffers. Food production suffers. Famine ensues, more die. Infant mortality is one in ten, average life expectancy is 41 years. National industries suffer, poverty increases.There are hundreds of programmes in existence in Malawi trying to break the cycle at all points, and I was part of several of them during my time there. As a teacher, bringing a little piece of a better education to try and give a few students a chance to do something other than labour on a tea plantation. As an AIDS activist, with my students, encouraging them to challenge stereotypes and to protect themselves.
The fact that the antiretroviral drugs which have converted HIV from a death sentence into a chronic disease in the first world are still not available to all but a very lucky few in Malawi should not be overlooked. A few thousand out of the estimated 2 million people who need them are actually getting these drugs according to UNAIDS.
Nobody asked me but...
Our responsibility is not to throw money at the problems of this country. It is not to send little packages and consider ourselves as having done “our part.”
We need to be activists, to push the World Bank to treat this country fairly so that it doesn’t spend its GDP paying off interest on its debts ($3 billion!!) rather than on its people. We need to be aware of the corruption that has been crippling this tiny country, which built this massive debt (Banda died a very wealthy man, and Muluzi bought a house in Knightsbridge at £11 million around the same time the country’s grain reserve mysteriously vanished in 2002), and to make it known that this is unacceptable. We need to denounce tied aid. We need to force our government to advocate for Malawians to get better prices on prescription drugs, just as it forces the drug companies to give us reasonable prices.
We need to be aware and wary of the Live-Aid Legacy which paints these strong and intelligent people as people who need our help. They don’t need our help, but they do need our co-operation.
Panic!!!
I have just logged onto CaRMS and spent an hour or so filling out forms. I am now officially in FREAK OUT mode (and if I knew how to get those letters to jitter and blink in red and green, well that would express things much better). I cannot imagine that in five weeks I will be altogether sorted and ready to take that next giant leap which is residency. Although, I suppose I am as ready as anyone. At least I'm sure about my choice of programme.
Still, it is A BIG DEAL.
*******
On the heading to Malawi front, I have deposited my grant, and my adorable husband and I have been baking apple pies like it's going out of style (or like the apples are threatening to become a mouldy muddy mess in the corner of the kitchen). And we have managed to raise over $150! Not bad for something that started out as a pleasant afternoon apple-picking at Rougemont.
********
Just started my Trauma surgery elective. Wooohoo!!
We start at 645am. Booo.
I have a fun team and the staff are great and also young!! Wooohoo!!
I am on call three of the next four weekends. Booo. Including the Thanksgiving Monday holiday. Double booo.
Confused? You betcha.
Still, it is A BIG DEAL.
*******
On the heading to Malawi front, I have deposited my grant, and my adorable husband and I have been baking apple pies like it's going out of style (or like the apples are threatening to become a mouldy muddy mess in the corner of the kitchen). And we have managed to raise over $150! Not bad for something that started out as a pleasant afternoon apple-picking at Rougemont.
********
Just started my Trauma surgery elective. Wooohoo!!
We start at 645am. Booo.
I have a fun team and the staff are great and also young!! Wooohoo!!
I am on call three of the next four weekends. Booo. Including the Thanksgiving Monday holiday. Double booo.
Confused? You betcha.
2006-09-18
Ndipita ku Malawi
(I'm off to Malawi)
Not now, but eventually.
I'm just realising that it's coming sooner than I think, mid-November. Two months only. I had better get cracking.
I'm doing an elective in Obstetrics and Gynecology at Mulanje Mission Hospital in Mulanje District, with Dr. Sue Makin. I am beyond excited, and a little apprehensive.
I have also just recieved my token for CARMS. I had better get cracking on that as well.
Yoicks!
Not now, but eventually.
I'm just realising that it's coming sooner than I think, mid-November. Two months only. I had better get cracking.
I'm doing an elective in Obstetrics and Gynecology at Mulanje Mission Hospital in Mulanje District, with Dr. Sue Makin. I am beyond excited, and a little apprehensive.
I have also just recieved my token for CARMS. I had better get cracking on that as well.
Yoicks!
2006-09-17
And so it goes...
Things are slowly returning to normal here. Life is going on, the city is picking up and continuing, a little sadder but certainly no less vibrant for all that.
Getting a little distance, taking a deep breath.
A classmate of mine, Sara, an alumnus of Dawson, was on the trauma team last Wednesday when the gunman struck. She writes:
"My first patient was a pretty young girl who told us what happened, in disbelief that something like this could happen to her. She was very stable and stretchers were being wheeled in faster than we could count, so I left that patient with a physician and moved on to the next one.
"Two more stretchers came in, and I found myself the only physician/resident/student with a young man with severe injuries. I began to assess him, ABC’s; he told me his name, the place and date, and what happened. Dr. N. asked if I was the only treating physician, and when I answered yes and gave him the info so far, he came to join me. I began to listen to the patient’s breathing and feel his chest, when all of a sudden he stopped answering my questions. I looked at him and noticed his eyes weren’t focusing on anything or anyone, and all of a sudden he became unstable... The head Trauma staff .... told us to send him to the ambulance room for assessment and management because other patients were coming in (routine in a major multiple trauma, basic triage protocol – save who you can and then save who you maybe can). (ADDENDUM - he's doing very well now)
"Right now I find myself feeling so guilty for loving to work in Trauma; I really do love this work because I am good at it and can help people. Yet to love Trauma seems as if I love to see people hurt – but this is so far from the case. I just feel, if people are going to get hurt I want to be able to be there to help them. But I feel horrible inside, like I asked for something like this to happen when I know that’s not fair to myself. I can’t help it though.
"And I keep thinking – wow, I went to Dawson. I loved it there, I still remember the place inside out. I can picture the scene without watching the news."
For me, it was walking home from the hospital in the rain, coming to roadblock after roadblock, flashing police lights in the murk. I felt like I was in a war zone, but it was my neighbourhood. It was walking into the hospital the next morning and being challenged by a police officer as to what my business was there. It was the security stationed at the doors of the ICU, and the news crews swarming around the entrances to the hospital.
But you know, the streets have reopened. The city is coming back to itself. The students will return to Dawson hall tomorrow.
Our own little lives are taking over again.
I'm going to make a conscious effort to forget the name of the coward who was so desperate to be remembered for something and so detached from reality that randomly shooting a group of innocent young people seemed to him the right way to do it. Have you noticed that the Montreal Gazette has had the class to refuse to put the sick bastard on their front page, but has reserved the front page for Dawson and its students? Good job guys.
Back to reality, and I'm thanking my lucky stars I live in a place where an act like this is not political, and not an everyday occurence.
Getting a little distance, taking a deep breath.
A classmate of mine, Sara, an alumnus of Dawson, was on the trauma team last Wednesday when the gunman struck. She writes:
"My first patient was a pretty young girl who told us what happened, in disbelief that something like this could happen to her. She was very stable and stretchers were being wheeled in faster than we could count, so I left that patient with a physician and moved on to the next one.
"Two more stretchers came in, and I found myself the only physician/resident/student with a young man with severe injuries. I began to assess him, ABC’s; he told me his name, the place and date, and what happened. Dr. N. asked if I was the only treating physician, and when I answered yes and gave him the info so far, he came to join me. I began to listen to the patient’s breathing and feel his chest, when all of a sudden he stopped answering my questions. I looked at him and noticed his eyes weren’t focusing on anything or anyone, and all of a sudden he became unstable... The head Trauma staff .... told us to send him to the ambulance room for assessment and management because other patients were coming in (routine in a major multiple trauma, basic triage protocol – save who you can and then save who you maybe can). (ADDENDUM - he's doing very well now)
"Right now I find myself feeling so guilty for loving to work in Trauma; I really do love this work because I am good at it and can help people. Yet to love Trauma seems as if I love to see people hurt – but this is so far from the case. I just feel, if people are going to get hurt I want to be able to be there to help them. But I feel horrible inside, like I asked for something like this to happen when I know that’s not fair to myself. I can’t help it though.
"And I keep thinking – wow, I went to Dawson. I loved it there, I still remember the place inside out. I can picture the scene without watching the news."
For me, it was walking home from the hospital in the rain, coming to roadblock after roadblock, flashing police lights in the murk. I felt like I was in a war zone, but it was my neighbourhood. It was walking into the hospital the next morning and being challenged by a police officer as to what my business was there. It was the security stationed at the doors of the ICU, and the news crews swarming around the entrances to the hospital.
But you know, the streets have reopened. The city is coming back to itself. The students will return to Dawson hall tomorrow.
Our own little lives are taking over again.
I'm going to make a conscious effort to forget the name of the coward who was so desperate to be remembered for something and so detached from reality that randomly shooting a group of innocent young people seemed to him the right way to do it. Have you noticed that the Montreal Gazette has had the class to refuse to put the sick bastard on their front page, but has reserved the front page for Dawson and its students? Good job guys.
Back to reality, and I'm thanking my lucky stars I live in a place where an act like this is not political, and not an everyday occurence.
2006-09-15
Angry and Horrified
No.
Montreal should be a safe place. Kids should be able to go to school. This is not allowed to happen.
So how does Stephen Harper respond? Scrap the gun registry. Story here. Too early for debate my ass.
Sick sick sick.
You know they have reported that those guns, including an automatic weapon and a handgun, were legal and registered. Automatic weapons are legal in Canada? Really? This has got to change.
Nothing like this can be allowed to happen again.
Montreal should be a safe place. Kids should be able to go to school. This is not allowed to happen.
So how does Stephen Harper respond? Scrap the gun registry. Story here. Too early for debate my ass.
Sick sick sick.
You know they have reported that those guns, including an automatic weapon and a handgun, were legal and registered. Automatic weapons are legal in Canada? Really? This has got to change.
Nothing like this can be allowed to happen again.
2006-09-14
Wednesday in Montreal
Everybody I know is in varying degrees of shock. I know my friends are okay.
Our hospital responded well to what was happening, and had most of the ORs cleared in minutes for emergency patients. Surgeons of all stripes came out of the woodwork to make sure everyone got the care they needed. Five people eventually needed emergent surgery. I don't know how they're doing and even if I did I suppose I wouldn't really be at liberty to say anyhow.
I'm not going to put a link to that coward's blog, I'm sure if you want to see it you could find it yourself. I haven't looked for it.
My heart goes out to the family that lost their daughter.
To the other families, hang in there, we are thinking of you.
This is not my Montreal. This is still unreal.
Our hospital responded well to what was happening, and had most of the ORs cleared in minutes for emergency patients. Surgeons of all stripes came out of the woodwork to make sure everyone got the care they needed. Five people eventually needed emergent surgery. I don't know how they're doing and even if I did I suppose I wouldn't really be at liberty to say anyhow.
I'm not going to put a link to that coward's blog, I'm sure if you want to see it you could find it yourself. I haven't looked for it.
My heart goes out to the family that lost their daughter.
To the other families, hang in there, we are thinking of you.
This is not my Montreal. This is still unreal.
2006-09-12
Random Tuesday in September
It was a pretty good one. Local weather nice.
Rounds 7am not quite sharp, but thereabouts (small team, all human). Not much on. Patients that were on death's door a few days ago are going home, and are impatient for their chest X-rays to be confirmed and their discharge prescriptions to be filled. So it goes on a thoracic surgery floor, as elsewhere.
One patient has gone back into atrial fibrillation after esophagectomy, so cardiology will have to reasses him, though his blood pressure is stable and his rate is between 80 and 120. He feels fine and doesn't know what we're so fussed about. We're worried about an anastomotic leak, and his swallow test is today. And we want to be able to anticoagulate him so he doesn't get a stroke.
We contact oncology and ENT for other patients, prepare discharge papers, chase path reports, check today's bloods and chest X-rays. Clinic in the morning to follow up post-surgical patients. I meet a lady who survived when her esophageal cancer and subsequent radiotherapy caused a diverticulum into her left atrium which led to near exsanguination. She was saved by a gastroenterologist who had his wits (and a Blakemore tube) about him, and by a lot of luck. I meet a gentleman with renal call cancer who has had all sorts of things resected and is still going for cure.
Result of our patient's swallow test? No leak. Cardiology says rate control, and we can anticoagulate now.
And then OR. Paraesophageal hernia repair. Did you know your colon could migrate into your chest? I bet this guy didn't either.
Music chosen by the surgeon: Scar Tissue, by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
Rounds 7am not quite sharp, but thereabouts (small team, all human). Not much on. Patients that were on death's door a few days ago are going home, and are impatient for their chest X-rays to be confirmed and their discharge prescriptions to be filled. So it goes on a thoracic surgery floor, as elsewhere.
One patient has gone back into atrial fibrillation after esophagectomy, so cardiology will have to reasses him, though his blood pressure is stable and his rate is between 80 and 120. He feels fine and doesn't know what we're so fussed about. We're worried about an anastomotic leak, and his swallow test is today. And we want to be able to anticoagulate him so he doesn't get a stroke.
We contact oncology and ENT for other patients, prepare discharge papers, chase path reports, check today's bloods and chest X-rays. Clinic in the morning to follow up post-surgical patients. I meet a lady who survived when her esophageal cancer and subsequent radiotherapy caused a diverticulum into her left atrium which led to near exsanguination. She was saved by a gastroenterologist who had his wits (and a Blakemore tube) about him, and by a lot of luck. I meet a gentleman with renal call cancer who has had all sorts of things resected and is still going for cure.
Result of our patient's swallow test? No leak. Cardiology says rate control, and we can anticoagulate now.
And then OR. Paraesophageal hernia repair. Did you know your colon could migrate into your chest? I bet this guy didn't either.
Music chosen by the surgeon: Scar Tissue, by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
2006-09-11
The way things should be.
Shamelessly purloined from The Brown Stuff:
"You should start out dead and get it out of the way.
That way, you wake up in a retirement home feeling gradually better every day.
You get kicked out eventually for being too healthy. You go and collect your pension, then when you start work after a decade or two you get given a gold watch on your first day.
You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement.
You drink alcohol, smoke, party and are generally promiscuous and you get ready for school.
You eventually become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a baby and then...
You spend the last 9 months of your life floating peacefully in luxurious, spa-like conditions: central heating, room service, larger living space every day.
And then, you finish off as an orgasm."
"You should start out dead and get it out of the way.
That way, you wake up in a retirement home feeling gradually better every day.
You get kicked out eventually for being too healthy. You go and collect your pension, then when you start work after a decade or two you get given a gold watch on your first day.
You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement.
You drink alcohol, smoke, party and are generally promiscuous and you get ready for school.
You eventually become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a baby and then...
You spend the last 9 months of your life floating peacefully in luxurious, spa-like conditions: central heating, room service, larger living space every day.
And then, you finish off as an orgasm."
2006-09-06
Willow: June 1988 - September 2006
She was just a cotton-puff with pink ears and a short pointy tail when we got her, somebody else's unwanted pet (the baby brother decided he would much prefer a puppy). My mother said no way did she want another cat, no, we were not allowed. But then she saw her.
She used to climb curtains.
She used to walk across the top of the birdcage and the budgies would bite her feet.
She used to come running when she heard our car approach.
She used to bounce over 7-foot fences and tightrope-walk them.
She used to burrow under the bedclothes and sleep in the crook of my knees. And bite me if I moved.
She used to knock the decorations off the Christmas tree.
She used to sleep with her tail in the electric heater so we would come home to the stench of scorched cat hair.
She taught my sister's kids how to be gentle with animals.
She used to shed like you wouldn't believe.
She used to purr like it was going out of style.
She used to come and wake me up when it was breakfast time.
She used to sleep under a mangled pine tree in the garden.
For 18 years, she was our good friend. She had a great cat-onality, and she remained our Willow right to the end. Needless to say, my family and I loved her.
Willow, I'm going to miss you.
She used to climb curtains.
She used to walk across the top of the birdcage and the budgies would bite her feet.
She used to come running when she heard our car approach.
She used to bounce over 7-foot fences and tightrope-walk them.
She used to burrow under the bedclothes and sleep in the crook of my knees. And bite me if I moved.
She used to knock the decorations off the Christmas tree.
She used to sleep with her tail in the electric heater so we would come home to the stench of scorched cat hair.
She taught my sister's kids how to be gentle with animals.
She used to shed like you wouldn't believe.
She used to purr like it was going out of style.
She used to come and wake me up when it was breakfast time.
She used to sleep under a mangled pine tree in the garden.
For 18 years, she was our good friend. She had a great cat-onality, and she remained our Willow right to the end. Needless to say, my family and I loved her.
Willow, I'm going to miss you.
2006-09-05
Back in action
So the camping trip was partly lousy and partly fab. Sites were a little packed in, but otherwise no complaints, and the setting is fantastique.
Nothing worse than waking up and realising that you have somehow managed to pitch your tent in an area that resembles high ground but is in reality a small lake bed.
*sigh*
But the sociable bit was fun... and the mini-putt was fun.... and when the rain eased off (the next day) we went kayaking. The lake is a knockout, just gorgeous.
******
I'm also back in the OR on electives now. With a great staff who lets me *do stuff*. I got to do an incision today. A big one, for a thoracotomy. Right down through the muscle, but not into the chest wall (one step at a time). I got to use the scalpel and the cautery. AND I helped to close.
(jumping up and down in an excited-four-year-old-on-birthday sort of way)
*******
In other nonsense: So, the little car in the top right of this blog is my red rabbit from 1984, believed to have a 1.8L GTi engine. White vinyl seats. Manual transmission. I have been driving giant automatics most of my life, so this baby has been a real adventure, but you know what, I am finally getting pretty comfortable with it. Yay!
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