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» Karma
Queens Park Station
Those of you who have experienced the London Commuter will know that there are certain things called politeness and courtesy which seem to be alien to this particular flavour of person. Anyhow - it's rush hour, and my friend along with the contents of the train deposit themselves onto the platform at Queens Park. All, with the exception of one woman - pushing past with all the tenacity of a pitbull mangling a 2 year-old chav, elbowing everyone she cared to acknowledge, bellowing in a loud voice to all who cared to listen 'Excuse ME!'.
Everyone got off. There was a slight pause. Now - the Bakerloo line has an odd quirk with its recorded announcements - they occur after the event it warns you of happens.
The doors shut.
'This train terminates here.'
Cue the platform erupting in karmarific laughter as she screamed a soundless 'Nooooo!' whilst disappearing into the blackness of the depot.
(Sun 24th Feb 2008, 13:22, More)
Queens Park Station
Those of you who have experienced the London Commuter will know that there are certain things called politeness and courtesy which seem to be alien to this particular flavour of person. Anyhow - it's rush hour, and my friend along with the contents of the train deposit themselves onto the platform at Queens Park. All, with the exception of one woman - pushing past with all the tenacity of a pitbull mangling a 2 year-old chav, elbowing everyone she cared to acknowledge, bellowing in a loud voice to all who cared to listen 'Excuse ME!'.
Everyone got off. There was a slight pause. Now - the Bakerloo line has an odd quirk with its recorded announcements - they occur after the event it warns you of happens.
The doors shut.
'This train terminates here.'
Cue the platform erupting in karmarific laughter as she screamed a soundless 'Nooooo!' whilst disappearing into the blackness of the depot.
(Sun 24th Feb 2008, 13:22, More)
» Doctors, Nurses, Dentists and Hospitals
Sometimes, it can be hard to give out quality health care.
Especially if the patient who sits in front of you does not share the same worldview. Instead, they would rather believe the homeopath, their alternative practitioner or chiropractor about why they're opening their bowels 20 times a day to blood.
It's horrifying and frustrating to explain to the same person that this is not because their bowel has a 'personality', but because it is a flare up of their inflammatory bowel disease. Frustrating even more to know that the advice that steroids and other interventions which would help the patient is now going in one ear and going out the other, and the drugs that you will prescibe her will go down the toilet, and she will take more sugar pills.
Or disappointed knowing that the patient in front of you who is having a heart attack, who is refusing the angioplasty that would stop that heart attack has a 20% chance of death before the month is out.
Or resigned to knowing that the person who refused to take more blood pressure tablets or to have further investigations, because they interfered with his 'yang' will probably have a stroke in the next 12 months.
On the other hand, sucesses include keeping a stroke patient in for speech and language therapy when the managers were browbeating the team to send him home. We sent him home when he could communicate effectively. Not before.
The woman who had some breathing difficulties and through she was going to die - solved by some nebulisers and some calm words. Sent me a very nice thank you letter copied to the Chief Exec. So far, in 5 years of practice, the only offical thank you from anyone I have ever had.
There will be shit medical professionals, and good medical professionals. But if you choose not to receive the 'full package of care' at a time when disaster can averted - be assured we will still be here, to offer you the full package, in whatever state you may be in.
(Mon 15th Mar 2010, 2:40, More)
Sometimes, it can be hard to give out quality health care.
Especially if the patient who sits in front of you does not share the same worldview. Instead, they would rather believe the homeopath, their alternative practitioner or chiropractor about why they're opening their bowels 20 times a day to blood.
It's horrifying and frustrating to explain to the same person that this is not because their bowel has a 'personality', but because it is a flare up of their inflammatory bowel disease. Frustrating even more to know that the advice that steroids and other interventions which would help the patient is now going in one ear and going out the other, and the drugs that you will prescibe her will go down the toilet, and she will take more sugar pills.
Or disappointed knowing that the patient in front of you who is having a heart attack, who is refusing the angioplasty that would stop that heart attack has a 20% chance of death before the month is out.
Or resigned to knowing that the person who refused to take more blood pressure tablets or to have further investigations, because they interfered with his 'yang' will probably have a stroke in the next 12 months.
On the other hand, sucesses include keeping a stroke patient in for speech and language therapy when the managers were browbeating the team to send him home. We sent him home when he could communicate effectively. Not before.
The woman who had some breathing difficulties and through she was going to die - solved by some nebulisers and some calm words. Sent me a very nice thank you letter copied to the Chief Exec. So far, in 5 years of practice, the only offical thank you from anyone I have ever had.
There will be shit medical professionals, and good medical professionals. But if you choose not to receive the 'full package of care' at a time when disaster can averted - be assured we will still be here, to offer you the full package, in whatever state you may be in.
(Mon 15th Mar 2010, 2:40, More)
» Sticking it to The Man
Sticking it, by proxy
A friend of mine was in need of a hip replacement, and was referred to the required orthopod for the job to be done. Now, given that my friend is also a lecturer, a mutually agreeable time - a reading week, was chosen. Both surgeon and patient found this to suit them both, and it was booked.
Fast forward a month later, and a call comes out of the blue. It's a junior administrator, informing him that 'since you didn't agree to the 6 week date', one which neither the surgeon nor the patient could make it to, 'then it is with regret that we are cancelling your operation.'
No discussion, no negotiation, just an almighty 'get fucked', and 'no, we won't rebook it, because you didn't like that date that suited us.'
Now, he's rather upset, and given that I've previously worked with the maniacal drill-wielding specialists that we call orthopaedic surgeons, he asks me for advice. Previous experience in this field has led me to believe that surgeons do not like the order of their theatre lists tampered with, and if done so, it's often done on the quiet by manglement, in the hope that by the time they find out, they've either moved on, or purchased a steel door which is impervious to drill bits and hammers. So I told him to tell their secretary that something is wrong in the state of their lists.
Roughly an hour after he informed them, he gets a call back from the secretary, who happily informed him, 'You have your original date back. I wouldn't ask too many questions about how we did it.'
Somewhere out there, there is an NHS administrator bolted to some scaffolding by a very angry orthopod.
(Sun 20th Jun 2010, 13:09, More)
Sticking it, by proxy
A friend of mine was in need of a hip replacement, and was referred to the required orthopod for the job to be done. Now, given that my friend is also a lecturer, a mutually agreeable time - a reading week, was chosen. Both surgeon and patient found this to suit them both, and it was booked.
Fast forward a month later, and a call comes out of the blue. It's a junior administrator, informing him that 'since you didn't agree to the 6 week date', one which neither the surgeon nor the patient could make it to, 'then it is with regret that we are cancelling your operation.'
No discussion, no negotiation, just an almighty 'get fucked', and 'no, we won't rebook it, because you didn't like that date that suited us.'
Now, he's rather upset, and given that I've previously worked with the maniacal drill-wielding specialists that we call orthopaedic surgeons, he asks me for advice. Previous experience in this field has led me to believe that surgeons do not like the order of their theatre lists tampered with, and if done so, it's often done on the quiet by manglement, in the hope that by the time they find out, they've either moved on, or purchased a steel door which is impervious to drill bits and hammers. So I told him to tell their secretary that something is wrong in the state of their lists.
Roughly an hour after he informed them, he gets a call back from the secretary, who happily informed him, 'You have your original date back. I wouldn't ask too many questions about how we did it.'
Somewhere out there, there is an NHS administrator bolted to some scaffolding by a very angry orthopod.
(Sun 20th Jun 2010, 13:09, More)
» Sticking it to The Man
Sticking it to the fanboi.
Occasionally, on long train journeys, I'll take my laptop with me. Now, she's not pretty to look at, being a 5-year-old StinkPad, with the plastic cracking round the edges, but she's reliable, and has more new bits bolted onto her courtesy of the glorious 5 year warranty she came with. This in addition to the battery - the one replaced for free as it constituted a 'fire risk', and came with an apology that they only had a big 9-cell version, rather than the 6-cell she originally came with.
So I'm on the train to Norwich from Liverpool Street. This is a 2 and a half hour stretch, which is best lightened with perhaps, a short film or two. The man who sits opposite me also brings out his laptop - a widescreen MacBook pro, and gives me a withering look - you know the sort, the 'oh dear, are you not an acolyte of the Jobs? You know you're worse than a nonce until you know the love of Steve...' And then proceeds to use it like an oversized mp3 player, with his iPhone, iPod and various other Apple-related fetish objects scattered around the table like so many orphaned children. Fine, I think to myself, since we're both on this train together until the terminus having clocked his reservation ticket, we'll have a silent race. I'll pit my baby against your icon. I know I'm good for above an beyond the journey time alone.
After 2 hours, he's looking worried that standard class doesn't have a power socket, and sheepishly puts his expensive tea tray away. I look at my battery monitor - I'm still good for another hour and a half. And so I smiled at him, as he tried to avoid eye contact for remaining half hour of the journey.
(Wed 23rd Jun 2010, 17:07, More)
Sticking it to the fanboi.
Occasionally, on long train journeys, I'll take my laptop with me. Now, she's not pretty to look at, being a 5-year-old StinkPad, with the plastic cracking round the edges, but she's reliable, and has more new bits bolted onto her courtesy of the glorious 5 year warranty she came with. This in addition to the battery - the one replaced for free as it constituted a 'fire risk', and came with an apology that they only had a big 9-cell version, rather than the 6-cell she originally came with.
So I'm on the train to Norwich from Liverpool Street. This is a 2 and a half hour stretch, which is best lightened with perhaps, a short film or two. The man who sits opposite me also brings out his laptop - a widescreen MacBook pro, and gives me a withering look - you know the sort, the 'oh dear, are you not an acolyte of the Jobs? You know you're worse than a nonce until you know the love of Steve...' And then proceeds to use it like an oversized mp3 player, with his iPhone, iPod and various other Apple-related fetish objects scattered around the table like so many orphaned children. Fine, I think to myself, since we're both on this train together until the terminus having clocked his reservation ticket, we'll have a silent race. I'll pit my baby against your icon. I know I'm good for above an beyond the journey time alone.
After 2 hours, he's looking worried that standard class doesn't have a power socket, and sheepishly puts his expensive tea tray away. I look at my battery monitor - I'm still good for another hour and a half. And so I smiled at him, as he tried to avoid eye contact for remaining half hour of the journey.
(Wed 23rd Jun 2010, 17:07, More)
» Advice from Old People
Old people rock.
It's one of the rare slow nights in A&E, and I get assigned a 'PFO', which is short for 'pissed, fell over'.
The patient in question was a sprightly 75 year old, who, despite being the correct side of half a bottle of whiskey, was surprisingly lucid. Well, except when he tried to walk, but he was all there otherwise. A long chat started, and I find out this old boy was a former member of the British Army, served in the SAS, and became a security guard for a lesser prince of the Saudi Royal Army. Not only that, he had 11 children, his youngest turning 11 next month.
Realising that he wasn't your common or garden PFO, I noticed a lot of odd scars in odd places. Each one, it turned out, had a story. Here are the more memorable.
1. 5cm scar across the back of his right hand. Sustained when in Beijing ('Now, let's just say - I wan't meant to be there, if you know what I mean'), quelling a riot. A young man has taken a swipe at him with a knife, and he sustained a defensive laceration.
2. Multiple longitudinal scars across both forearms. Sustained when throwing the above assailant through a shop window.
3. Gunshot wound to chest. Sustained whilst under the employ of the Saudi prince as stated above ('He loved to give the impression that he was a good muslim, which was complete and utter bollocks. He was a wanker of the highest order and couldn't hold his fucking drink'). Turned out he couldn't shoot straight, and my patient had copped it in the chest which said spoiled lesser Royal shot him.
3(a). In addition, he may have chased the perp down the the stairs, and shot him in the arse ('Oh god', I said, 'were you happier?' 'No,' said he ' I was aiming for his head...')
4. Multiple healed lacerations to the back ('Jealous girlfriend - but she was so beautiful! These Vietamese girls...!')
He was just simply awesome to chat to. And a complete gentleman too - much better than the BBC exec who came in the next day, similary PFO'd, who behaved like a complete cunt*.
*in fact, his behaviour was the worst I had ever seen of any patient, only recently surpassed by a not-confused guy throwing his own poo at nurses.
(Sat 21st Jun 2008, 18:05, More)
Old people rock.
It's one of the rare slow nights in A&E, and I get assigned a 'PFO', which is short for 'pissed, fell over'.
The patient in question was a sprightly 75 year old, who, despite being the correct side of half a bottle of whiskey, was surprisingly lucid. Well, except when he tried to walk, but he was all there otherwise. A long chat started, and I find out this old boy was a former member of the British Army, served in the SAS, and became a security guard for a lesser prince of the Saudi Royal Army. Not only that, he had 11 children, his youngest turning 11 next month.
Realising that he wasn't your common or garden PFO, I noticed a lot of odd scars in odd places. Each one, it turned out, had a story. Here are the more memorable.
1. 5cm scar across the back of his right hand. Sustained when in Beijing ('Now, let's just say - I wan't meant to be there, if you know what I mean'), quelling a riot. A young man has taken a swipe at him with a knife, and he sustained a defensive laceration.
2. Multiple longitudinal scars across both forearms. Sustained when throwing the above assailant through a shop window.
3. Gunshot wound to chest. Sustained whilst under the employ of the Saudi prince as stated above ('He loved to give the impression that he was a good muslim, which was complete and utter bollocks. He was a wanker of the highest order and couldn't hold his fucking drink'). Turned out he couldn't shoot straight, and my patient had copped it in the chest which said spoiled lesser Royal shot him.
3(a). In addition, he may have chased the perp down the the stairs, and shot him in the arse ('Oh god', I said, 'were you happier?' 'No,' said he ' I was aiming for his head...')
4. Multiple healed lacerations to the back ('Jealous girlfriend - but she was so beautiful! These Vietamese girls...!')
He was just simply awesome to chat to. And a complete gentleman too - much better than the BBC exec who came in the next day, similary PFO'd, who behaved like a complete cunt*.
*in fact, his behaviour was the worst I had ever seen of any patient, only recently surpassed by a not-confused guy throwing his own poo at nurses.
(Sat 21st Jun 2008, 18:05, More)