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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)
» 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)
» Karma
Admin-monkey Hunting
My friend had a rather painful hip, so went down the usual route - see the GP, refer to Orthopaedic surgeon - seen by the consultant. Upon reaching the final hurdle, the date for his operation was set a mutually convenient time for both the consultant and my friend. He's a lecturer, so timing this replacement for the reading week in Summer was essential. So all was happy for a time, and life was good, if a bit painful and limpy.
Then comes a phonecall to my friend - one to the effect of, 'since you did not agree to having your operation as according to our new waiting list guidelines, we're cancelling it.' Nothing would move the 19-year old at the end of the phone and that was that. My friend was seething - volcanic would have been closer to the situation he was in.
At this time, I was working for an Orthopaedic surgeon in London. Now, anyone who has met these beasts of nature will know that though they may not have the grace and finesse of say, a lithe cat, they do have the raw effectiveness of a brick being applied repeatedly to the balls. They are also rather fun, and rather amusing to get drunk with. They also don't like their operating schedules fucked with; and many a time, assisting these guys over an open knee, have I seen some admin monkey been summoned into the operating theatre, to be 'made an example of'. My friend called me wondering what to do. Knowing that things in the NHS from an admin point of view tend to run around the doctors who have to provide a service, without letting the doctors know, I gave him this little piece of advice: tell the consultant that his nice tidy operating list has been changed by some 19 year old up in the admin-block. I'm sure he'd deal with it in his own unique way. My friend was not convinced this would work - but hey, it's worth a try.
The order of events then ran like this. The next day my friend called up the consultant's secretary, who was rather surprised to learn this was the case, and yes, she would pass on the message to Mr Ball-Breaker.
10 minutes later, she called back. 'You have your original operation date back. Just please don't ask what happened, OK?'
In the end, he got his operation 2 days earlier than that, which was even more convenient. Proving, perhaps, that karma can be six-foot of knuckle-dragging, Black and Decker wielding, pissed off, bone crunching surgeon.
(Sun 24th Feb 2008, 15:24, More)
Admin-monkey Hunting
My friend had a rather painful hip, so went down the usual route - see the GP, refer to Orthopaedic surgeon - seen by the consultant. Upon reaching the final hurdle, the date for his operation was set a mutually convenient time for both the consultant and my friend. He's a lecturer, so timing this replacement for the reading week in Summer was essential. So all was happy for a time, and life was good, if a bit painful and limpy.
Then comes a phonecall to my friend - one to the effect of, 'since you did not agree to having your operation as according to our new waiting list guidelines, we're cancelling it.' Nothing would move the 19-year old at the end of the phone and that was that. My friend was seething - volcanic would have been closer to the situation he was in.
At this time, I was working for an Orthopaedic surgeon in London. Now, anyone who has met these beasts of nature will know that though they may not have the grace and finesse of say, a lithe cat, they do have the raw effectiveness of a brick being applied repeatedly to the balls. They are also rather fun, and rather amusing to get drunk with. They also don't like their operating schedules fucked with; and many a time, assisting these guys over an open knee, have I seen some admin monkey been summoned into the operating theatre, to be 'made an example of'. My friend called me wondering what to do. Knowing that things in the NHS from an admin point of view tend to run around the doctors who have to provide a service, without letting the doctors know, I gave him this little piece of advice: tell the consultant that his nice tidy operating list has been changed by some 19 year old up in the admin-block. I'm sure he'd deal with it in his own unique way. My friend was not convinced this would work - but hey, it's worth a try.
The order of events then ran like this. The next day my friend called up the consultant's secretary, who was rather surprised to learn this was the case, and yes, she would pass on the message to Mr Ball-Breaker.
10 minutes later, she called back. 'You have your original operation date back. Just please don't ask what happened, OK?'
In the end, he got his operation 2 days earlier than that, which was even more convenient. Proving, perhaps, that karma can be six-foot of knuckle-dragging, Black and Decker wielding, pissed off, bone crunching surgeon.
(Sun 24th Feb 2008, 15:24, More)
» Jobsworths
Accident and Emergency management
You may or may not know, but one of the 'healthcare targets' is that no one is in the A&E system for more than 4 hours. The idea is that once the 4 hours is up, you either get discharged home, or to the wards.
Stay longer that 4 hours, and you've 'breached', and the more breaches a A&E department has, the less money they get. This principle works from a checkout teller point of view, where the aim is to get customers out as quickly as possible --- however, in an A&E, you can't send people home without knowing that they will be safe. Hence why some may stay longer, and breach. Sadly, this fact doesn't show up on targets, and you get a lot of senior management getting very worked up when we don't 'patch them up and shunt them out' --- which might all be well and good if you're a fan of budgets over the welfare of your patients, but that isn't the point of medicine. But I digress.
So --- it's a very busy evening in a central London teaching hospital, and it's packed --- there are no beds to send people to the wards in, and the pharmasist can't quite give out medications quick enough to send lots of people home.
Cue one of the consultant managers rearing her head to one of the mid-grade doctors, who rather busy trying to put stiches in the head on one person, whilst trying not to be shouted at by the rather ridiculous patient in cubicle 7.
Consultant: You know, ok, we've got 3 who are about to breach.
SHO: Yes.
Consultant: [a bit taken aback by this] You do know that?
SHO: Yes.
Consultant: And aren't you going to discharge them?
SHO: We've got no beds to send them to the wards, and they're not being sent home, because they're not well enough, and I'm not comfortable about discharging them. So no.
Consultant: But they're going to breach!
SHO: Yes, you said.
Consultant: [exasperated] And don't you care?
SHO: [thinks about this concept] No.
As the student, I thought it was best that I should leave.
(Fri 13th May 2005, 13:36, More)
Accident and Emergency management
You may or may not know, but one of the 'healthcare targets' is that no one is in the A&E system for more than 4 hours. The idea is that once the 4 hours is up, you either get discharged home, or to the wards.
Stay longer that 4 hours, and you've 'breached', and the more breaches a A&E department has, the less money they get. This principle works from a checkout teller point of view, where the aim is to get customers out as quickly as possible --- however, in an A&E, you can't send people home without knowing that they will be safe. Hence why some may stay longer, and breach. Sadly, this fact doesn't show up on targets, and you get a lot of senior management getting very worked up when we don't 'patch them up and shunt them out' --- which might all be well and good if you're a fan of budgets over the welfare of your patients, but that isn't the point of medicine. But I digress.
So --- it's a very busy evening in a central London teaching hospital, and it's packed --- there are no beds to send people to the wards in, and the pharmasist can't quite give out medications quick enough to send lots of people home.
Cue one of the consultant managers rearing her head to one of the mid-grade doctors, who rather busy trying to put stiches in the head on one person, whilst trying not to be shouted at by the rather ridiculous patient in cubicle 7.
Consultant: You know, ok, we've got 3 who are about to breach.
SHO: Yes.
Consultant: [a bit taken aback by this] You do know that?
SHO: Yes.
Consultant: And aren't you going to discharge them?
SHO: We've got no beds to send them to the wards, and they're not being sent home, because they're not well enough, and I'm not comfortable about discharging them. So no.
Consultant: But they're going to breach!
SHO: Yes, you said.
Consultant: [exasperated] And don't you care?
SHO: [thinks about this concept] No.
As the student, I thought it was best that I should leave.
(Fri 13th May 2005, 13:36, More)
» Karma
More tales from the hospital
Something a little more recent - I was working on a gastroenterology team, which meant all those who had pickled their livers most effectively via the medium of Tesco Value Trampagne would magically end up under the care of my team. These people weren't your common or garden drunks; these were the hardcore ones, the ones who would continue to drink despite being brought into hospital half-dead from bleeding torrentially out of both ends.
These guys are determined, and not the world's most pleasant characters. Neither do they associate with the most pleasant people, for those are the sorts who bring the boozes into the hospital. It is one Thursday evening, and it's 7pm. I'm tying up a little paperwork, and really, I should have gone home 2 hours ago, but that's the way things are. In walks the senior sister of the ward and says 'WD, you know the man in bed 17? Well, you'll have to throw him out.'
I look up to find her carrying a can of finest Diamond White. I enquire why - other than the not uncommon finding of booze. It turned out that in the attempt to remove the prohibited item from his clutches, one of the nurses did attain the can. In her face.
So I face the drunken man - who was oh so sorry, and it was all her fault; at this point I walked out of the bay, and decided to examine what I could do more closely. It turned out that though I was senior enough to tell him he might be thrown out, I had no power to ban him from the Trust; that was the consultant's job. Being now 7:30pm, there wouldn't be a consultant in the hospital, so after calling my boss on his mobile, telling him what happened. We decided I should sign what I could, and leave it at that - he'll deal with the rest tomorrow.
In the end, the man took his own self-discharge, and that was that.
Come Friday, and I'm making my way for a ward round with my boss. However, the first person I meet is not the team, but something from the management side of things. He then proceeds to bollock me in the ward for not throwing the twat out. I say nothing. I let him continue, giving him the noddies, as my boss, who is behind him, listens to him, then taps him on the shoulder and roars, 'because she can't - didn't you read your own policy? Get out of my sight!'
As for the drunken twat - he's now banned from accessing hospital services. The closest he can now get to a hospital is A&E, at which point he'll be patched up, and slung back out again.
(Sun 24th Feb 2008, 17:20, More)
More tales from the hospital
Something a little more recent - I was working on a gastroenterology team, which meant all those who had pickled their livers most effectively via the medium of Tesco Value Trampagne would magically end up under the care of my team. These people weren't your common or garden drunks; these were the hardcore ones, the ones who would continue to drink despite being brought into hospital half-dead from bleeding torrentially out of both ends.
These guys are determined, and not the world's most pleasant characters. Neither do they associate with the most pleasant people, for those are the sorts who bring the boozes into the hospital. It is one Thursday evening, and it's 7pm. I'm tying up a little paperwork, and really, I should have gone home 2 hours ago, but that's the way things are. In walks the senior sister of the ward and says 'WD, you know the man in bed 17? Well, you'll have to throw him out.'
I look up to find her carrying a can of finest Diamond White. I enquire why - other than the not uncommon finding of booze. It turned out that in the attempt to remove the prohibited item from his clutches, one of the nurses did attain the can. In her face.
So I face the drunken man - who was oh so sorry, and it was all her fault; at this point I walked out of the bay, and decided to examine what I could do more closely. It turned out that though I was senior enough to tell him he might be thrown out, I had no power to ban him from the Trust; that was the consultant's job. Being now 7:30pm, there wouldn't be a consultant in the hospital, so after calling my boss on his mobile, telling him what happened. We decided I should sign what I could, and leave it at that - he'll deal with the rest tomorrow.
In the end, the man took his own self-discharge, and that was that.
Come Friday, and I'm making my way for a ward round with my boss. However, the first person I meet is not the team, but something from the management side of things. He then proceeds to bollock me in the ward for not throwing the twat out. I say nothing. I let him continue, giving him the noddies, as my boss, who is behind him, listens to him, then taps him on the shoulder and roars, 'because she can't - didn't you read your own policy? Get out of my sight!'
As for the drunken twat - he's now banned from accessing hospital services. The closest he can now get to a hospital is A&E, at which point he'll be patched up, and slung back out again.
(Sun 24th Feb 2008, 17:20, More)