I have
- made yummy banana bread
- finally emailed an old friend and potentially set up a week in a house on the Cote d'Azure (sp?)
- finished knitting a scarf
- planted some beetroot seeds
- eaten figs
Monday, March 05, 2007
Nobody expects the spanish inquisition
Today, my severalth-day-in-a-row at at home, I'm looking on the bright side.
I have
I have
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Corporate greed kills patients
Deliberately inflammatory title, I know. But most people with HIV/AIDS in most of the world cannot afford treatment and those who can access it are kept alive by cheap generic medicines. Having been beaten by the courts in South Africa 5 years ago, Novartis, one of the multinational pharmaceutical companies, is taking the Indian government to court to try to change existing patent laws. This would mean skyrocketing treatment costs, loss of access to drugs for those who need them, and thousands of unnecessary deaths.
And don't even get me started on R&D costs. Novartis made a gross profit of 23.7 billion US dollars in 2005, of which it spent 4.8 billion on R&D - mostly in West-oriented drugs like anticholesterol and niche anticancer therapies: the total R&D cost being half of what it spent on marketing. It's not exactly ploughing money into a noble quest to benefit mankind.
So - please, go to msf.org.au and sign their petition. Thousands of people will thank you.
And don't even get me started on R&D costs. Novartis made a gross profit of 23.7 billion US dollars in 2005, of which it spent 4.8 billion on R&D - mostly in West-oriented drugs like anticholesterol and niche anticancer therapies: the total R&D cost being half of what it spent on marketing. It's not exactly ploughing money into a noble quest to benefit mankind.
So - please, go to msf.org.au and sign their petition. Thousands of people will thank you.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
One handed typing
... and no, it's not related to many people's reason for using the internet!
i'm avoiding turning this into a litany of injuries. suffice to say that i'm on the patient end of things for at least a week and hence may be spending somewhat more time at my computer than recently.
So hello there, how's life for you?
i'm avoiding turning this into a litany of injuries. suffice to say that i'm on the patient end of things for at least a week and hence may be spending somewhat more time at my computer than recently.
So hello there, how's life for you?
Monday, July 24, 2006
International Wig Day
The signs appeared the day prior. No further information supplied. Just clipart poster and a huge pile of wigs.
Oh, the possibilities...
First I went for a long chestnut ponytail. But it was too tame - I was told it looked like my own hair. And I've been watching Kath & Kim recently.
So I went the complete opposite of tame. Took it home in order to figure out the hair flattening arrangement and to get used to the idea. Dressed up a little the next day, heels, stockings, the lot. And my new crowning glory - a sleek electric blue bob.
Funny to walk down the street as another person. My new identity flashed out for my fellow commuters, who responded with definite Not Staring. Making a statement is a little meaningless amongst strangers.
The walk into work was a different story. A whole institution - and that slight fear you get before a fancy dress party, that no-one else will have joined you. Colleagues I've never talked to suddenly grin - but aren't really sure what to say. They think it my real new look, a bold but perhaps ill advised move. A wash of relief crosses their faces as I proclaim International Wig Day and they don't have to think up creative compliments.
At our usual morning meeting, the whole team is unrecognisable. Green curls, long blonde locks and afros are the order of the day. We all swagger and stalk throughout the day, our inner drag queens out on show. The kids love us; parents forgive us. We are the showstoppers we imagine ourselves to be.
Out for the afternoon, I take it off. Home on the tram, back in grey Melbourne. The world sags a little, the sparkle washed out by the rain, until I spot another colourful rebel through the crush of people. 70ish, she sits resplendent in buttercup yellow suit, pink boots, fuschia hair.
It heartens me to know that although every day is wig day for some, they also sometimes use it to let out their inner Queen.
Oh, the possibilities...
First I went for a long chestnut ponytail. But it was too tame - I was told it looked like my own hair. And I've been watching Kath & Kim recently.
So I went the complete opposite of tame. Took it home in order to figure out the hair flattening arrangement and to get used to the idea. Dressed up a little the next day, heels, stockings, the lot. And my new crowning glory - a sleek electric blue bob.
Funny to walk down the street as another person. My new identity flashed out for my fellow commuters, who responded with definite Not Staring. Making a statement is a little meaningless amongst strangers.
The walk into work was a different story. A whole institution - and that slight fear you get before a fancy dress party, that no-one else will have joined you. Colleagues I've never talked to suddenly grin - but aren't really sure what to say. They think it my real new look, a bold but perhaps ill advised move. A wash of relief crosses their faces as I proclaim International Wig Day and they don't have to think up creative compliments.
At our usual morning meeting, the whole team is unrecognisable. Green curls, long blonde locks and afros are the order of the day. We all swagger and stalk throughout the day, our inner drag queens out on show. The kids love us; parents forgive us. We are the showstoppers we imagine ourselves to be.
Out for the afternoon, I take it off. Home on the tram, back in grey Melbourne. The world sags a little, the sparkle washed out by the rain, until I spot another colourful rebel through the crush of people. 70ish, she sits resplendent in buttercup yellow suit, pink boots, fuschia hair.
It heartens me to know that although every day is wig day for some, they also sometimes use it to let out their inner Queen.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Pescan depression
My fish is sulking.
Now, this fish used to be a bully. It's been lord of the tank for years, although recently not had any subjects. Its behaviour consisted of biting others, bounding up and down in anticipation of food and headbutting the glass walls. He's happily weathered being called Antigone despite a change of gender (this having occured by simply a change of house and with no apparent anatomical basis) and the occasional leap of faith - most recently being found by my kind fish-sitting friend on the carpet, having been there for an unspecified length of time. This Acquired Brain Injury has had no visible ill effects - but I guess a short-term memory loss hasn't changed the situation much.
Anyway, the fish is no longer interested. He sits at the bottom of the tank, an occasional fin-flap letting us know he's alive. The chilled water may have put him into hibernation (our house having no heating and all) but I have another theory.
The bully has got a taste of his own medicine. Two of my housemates - who, I acknowledge, are largely responsible for the survival of this fish by supplying food much of the time - have fessed up. You know who you are.
You may recall my recent Whale Shark expedition. At the end of this day, to prove our bravery, we were presented with a shiny certificate and a rubberised Whale Shark figurine. Now, my own Whale Shark joined the menagerie of farm animals and Yowies overseen by Hagrid that is a feature of our ever-stylish household decor. The Other Whale Shark, arriving into the state a week later, was placed atop the glass fish tank cover, casting a menacing shadow into the tank. After protest, he was repositioned alongside the tank, at about fish eye level. Poor
Antigone suddenly had a competitor for power.
After a few days of submissive behaviour, another housemate thought a bit of stimulation was required. The only tank ornament happens to be a bright red glass seahorse, the fish equivalent of one of those scary after-the-hunt still lifes (lives?) on the wall. Imagine a routine day at the office, swimming along, trying to keep your head down lest your new boss pounces, when the art on the wall suddenly springs to life and attacks. Chases you around the tank, to be precise.
I'm actually quite proud of my fish in this circumstance - he cooly turned his back and faced the wall. But I think he's, quite rightly, developing an unacceptable level of anxiety.
So, this is a plea for any aquatic psychologists to come forward. His wellbeing depends on it.
Now, this fish used to be a bully. It's been lord of the tank for years, although recently not had any subjects. Its behaviour consisted of biting others, bounding up and down in anticipation of food and headbutting the glass walls. He's happily weathered being called Antigone despite a change of gender (this having occured by simply a change of house and with no apparent anatomical basis) and the occasional leap of faith - most recently being found by my kind fish-sitting friend on the carpet, having been there for an unspecified length of time. This Acquired Brain Injury has had no visible ill effects - but I guess a short-term memory loss hasn't changed the situation much.
Anyway, the fish is no longer interested. He sits at the bottom of the tank, an occasional fin-flap letting us know he's alive. The chilled water may have put him into hibernation (our house having no heating and all) but I have another theory.
The bully has got a taste of his own medicine. Two of my housemates - who, I acknowledge, are largely responsible for the survival of this fish by supplying food much of the time - have fessed up. You know who you are.
You may recall my recent Whale Shark expedition. At the end of this day, to prove our bravery, we were presented with a shiny certificate and a rubberised Whale Shark figurine. Now, my own Whale Shark joined the menagerie of farm animals and Yowies overseen by Hagrid that is a feature of our ever-stylish household decor. The Other Whale Shark, arriving into the state a week later, was placed atop the glass fish tank cover, casting a menacing shadow into the tank. After protest, he was repositioned alongside the tank, at about fish eye level. Poor
Antigone suddenly had a competitor for power.
After a few days of submissive behaviour, another housemate thought a bit of stimulation was required. The only tank ornament happens to be a bright red glass seahorse, the fish equivalent of one of those scary after-the-hunt still lifes (lives?) on the wall. Imagine a routine day at the office, swimming along, trying to keep your head down lest your new boss pounces, when the art on the wall suddenly springs to life and attacks. Chases you around the tank, to be precise.
I'm actually quite proud of my fish in this circumstance - he cooly turned his back and faced the wall. But I think he's, quite rightly, developing an unacceptable level of anxiety.
So, this is a plea for any aquatic psychologists to come forward. His wellbeing depends on it.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Giggle of the morning
A sign on Royal Parade, after careful adjustment, now proudly proclaims the way to the:
State Hotball & Neckey Centre
State Hotball & Neckey Centre
Sunday, May 21, 2006
I just got a phone call from France.
I've got ones from London before, and have made lots from various places, including a Christmas call from a hot Zambian hospital and surveilled (?) sat phone ones from rural Burma, code name Rio de Janeiro. But to get my friend's french accent on the phone is excitingly cool.
If only I'd been home.
I've got ones from London before, and have made lots from various places, including a Christmas call from a hot Zambian hospital and surveilled (?) sat phone ones from rural Burma, code name Rio de Janeiro. But to get my friend's french accent on the phone is excitingly cool.
If only I'd been home.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Riding the waves
I've been experiencing the world in a slightly new way for the last couple of weeks.
You know what it's like to step off a boat, and still feel the ground swaying?
Or to be slightly tipsy, where you know which way is up, but can't quite stay that way?
Welcome to my world. I've been rolling along for about 12 days now. I did spend 4 days out on boats, so for those evenings I wasn't too concerned. But one of those days involved yet another example of hurting myself in a ridiculous manner.
Now, we all know how clumsy I am. What I have only just discovered is how bouyant I am. So bouyant that my dive instructor had to keep swimming up and adding weights to my jacket to prevent me bobbing away. So bouyant that I am able to float in a vertical position in salty water with my entire head out, without even moving. This is no doubt something that will serve me well should I ever be shipwrecked, however combined with the clumsiness it's a little dangerous.
Picture being out on a boat, lovely sunshine, turquoise water, searching for whale sharks. Picture thick wetsuit (= further bouyancy) and no weight belt, given that we're snorkelling today. Picture Mel stepping off the back of the boat, thinking to herself, "Step out a LONG way" and perhaps not quite taking as big a step as she should have.
Picture Mel bouncing right back up into the bottom of the (very solid metal) boat, skull to hull contact with a juddering crunch, being towed back in by muscly Divemaster and spending the next hour crouched on the deck, whimpering quietly.
Step Away From the Boat.
Since then, I've been all at sea. I can't seem to walk up or down stairs, down a straight hallway or even stand up in a reliable manner. And patient's parents are a little taken aback by the sight of an apparently drunken doctor approaching their precious child. And so, when that rolling sensation still had me holding onto walls a week after the fact, the Professional Paranoia kicked in.
Good news is, the pictures show my brain exactly where it should be. But we're still not quite sure what's going on. And as much as I love the ocean, do wish it would bugger off out of my head.
You know what it's like to step off a boat, and still feel the ground swaying?
Or to be slightly tipsy, where you know which way is up, but can't quite stay that way?
Welcome to my world. I've been rolling along for about 12 days now. I did spend 4 days out on boats, so for those evenings I wasn't too concerned. But one of those days involved yet another example of hurting myself in a ridiculous manner.
Now, we all know how clumsy I am. What I have only just discovered is how bouyant I am. So bouyant that my dive instructor had to keep swimming up and adding weights to my jacket to prevent me bobbing away. So bouyant that I am able to float in a vertical position in salty water with my entire head out, without even moving. This is no doubt something that will serve me well should I ever be shipwrecked, however combined with the clumsiness it's a little dangerous.
Picture being out on a boat, lovely sunshine, turquoise water, searching for whale sharks. Picture thick wetsuit (= further bouyancy) and no weight belt, given that we're snorkelling today. Picture Mel stepping off the back of the boat, thinking to herself, "Step out a LONG way" and perhaps not quite taking as big a step as she should have.
Picture Mel bouncing right back up into the bottom of the (very solid metal) boat, skull to hull contact with a juddering crunch, being towed back in by muscly Divemaster and spending the next hour crouched on the deck, whimpering quietly.
Step Away From the Boat.
Since then, I've been all at sea. I can't seem to walk up or down stairs, down a straight hallway or even stand up in a reliable manner. And patient's parents are a little taken aback by the sight of an apparently drunken doctor approaching their precious child. And so, when that rolling sensation still had me holding onto walls a week after the fact, the Professional Paranoia kicked in.
Good news is, the pictures show my brain exactly where it should be. But we're still not quite sure what's going on. And as much as I love the ocean, do wish it would bugger off out of my head.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Backpacker breakfast
It's a bleary Sunday morning. The heat is winding up, the cockatoos are shreiking. We sit around the table with our borrowed mugs, gearing up for a day at the beach.
The Japanese girl eats rice, fried eggs, tinned tuna.
My German friend has jam with her rye toast.
The Americans slather their pancakes with peanut butter and "jelly".
And me, well, I'm a Weetbix kid.
The Japanese girl eats rice, fried eggs, tinned tuna.
My German friend has jam with her rye toast.
The Americans slather their pancakes with peanut butter and "jelly".
And me, well, I'm a Weetbix kid.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Last tram home
She jumped on and looked around distractedly. Her jumper caught my eye: several runs in the knitting. As she plonked down opposite, I scanned her: one or two years older than me, handbag, shoes: not otherwise scruffy. Closer inspection identified the runs as artfully placed fakes.
She stared forward, away from me. Running her hands through her short hair, the skin on her neck flushed. That's when I noticed the shakes. She scrabbled through her bag and produced a tissue, surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes.
We sat for 2 stops. She crying, me deciding.
"Can I do anything to help? Are you OK?"
Surprised eyes turned my way. "No, it's OK, I'm... I haven't been myself lately. I can't... Don't worry."
"Do you need someone to talk to?"
"No, I believe in action rather than words."
"As long as you know which action to take."
Brief smile at this. "Yes." Looks away again.
Oh God, what action was she referring to? I pull the cord for the stop. "I hope you can find a positive way out."
"Yes, I hope so."
And off into the night.
She stared forward, away from me. Running her hands through her short hair, the skin on her neck flushed. That's when I noticed the shakes. She scrabbled through her bag and produced a tissue, surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes.
We sat for 2 stops. She crying, me deciding.
"Can I do anything to help? Are you OK?"
Surprised eyes turned my way. "No, it's OK, I'm... I haven't been myself lately. I can't... Don't worry."
"Do you need someone to talk to?"
"No, I believe in action rather than words."
"As long as you know which action to take."
Brief smile at this. "Yes." Looks away again.
Oh God, what action was she referring to? I pull the cord for the stop. "I hope you can find a positive way out."
"Yes, I hope so."
And off into the night.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The big weekend
No, not that one. The one before.
A few snapshots:
2pm Friday: cute Ishka boy stands much closer than is necessary, complements the earrings (?) and makes general innuendo. Buy too much and leave feeling conned.
1am Saturday: Loud club in cold, windy, newly developed part of town. Hen-ish night (in combo with Buck's), much family angst of said Hen due to not being able to attend her own party until after 10pm. Drinking in accordance.
2:30 am Saturday: home. Keys are not in bag. Why? Ponder this. Not usual bag. Front door remains very locked.
Brainwave: break in through garage. Door locked. Some noisy wangling doesn't work. Back to front of house. Rattle own bedroom windows ineffectually.
Try garage again: success!
Back door locked. Am now locked out and in backyard. Can see lights on inside. At least outside toilets come in handy sometimes.
2:45 Saturday: Dig out mobile and call the house.
Twice.
Leave plaintive "help-me" message on machine. Hang up to see shuffling housemate emerge from room. Apologise profusely but, I fear, the sincerity somewhat diminished by drunken state.
Saturday afternoon: drag myself late to all planned events. In warehouse in back blocks of Fitzroy, find desk. Feel that have at least acheived something in day.
11pm Saturday: bubble bath. Party? Not me.
8am Sunday: jubilant phone call from new-mother-best-mate. Twins! Celebrate then go back to sleep.
6pm Sunday: Said Hen & Buck tie proverbial knot in wonderful ceremony, rightfully jettisoning all traditions they couldn't care less about. Proceed to party and actually talk to guests.
4am Monday: The party Who Do Not Work Tomorrow carry on. New high heels on cobbled streets. Gin Palace. Stalactite's. Fried cheese. Someone mentions Boutros Boutros Ghali and it's all over bar the shouting in the taxi.
8am Monday: Alarm. Oh shit. Poorly thought out car service booking. Make it to dealer, back on tram, sunglasses glued to face and holding stomach inside by sheer force of will. In retrospect may not have been at optimal driving sobriety.
7pm Monday: make it to lectures, the picture of a dedicated student.
A few snapshots:
2pm Friday: cute Ishka boy stands much closer than is necessary, complements the earrings (?) and makes general innuendo. Buy too much and leave feeling conned.
1am Saturday: Loud club in cold, windy, newly developed part of town. Hen-ish night (in combo with Buck's), much family angst of said Hen due to not being able to attend her own party until after 10pm. Drinking in accordance.
2:30 am Saturday: home. Keys are not in bag. Why? Ponder this. Not usual bag. Front door remains very locked.
Brainwave: break in through garage. Door locked. Some noisy wangling doesn't work. Back to front of house. Rattle own bedroom windows ineffectually.
Try garage again: success!
Back door locked. Am now locked out and in backyard. Can see lights on inside. At least outside toilets come in handy sometimes.
2:45 Saturday: Dig out mobile and call the house.
Twice.
Leave plaintive "help-me" message on machine. Hang up to see shuffling housemate emerge from room. Apologise profusely but, I fear, the sincerity somewhat diminished by drunken state.
Saturday afternoon: drag myself late to all planned events. In warehouse in back blocks of Fitzroy, find desk. Feel that have at least acheived something in day.
11pm Saturday: bubble bath. Party? Not me.
8am Sunday: jubilant phone call from new-mother-best-mate. Twins! Celebrate then go back to sleep.
6pm Sunday: Said Hen & Buck tie proverbial knot in wonderful ceremony, rightfully jettisoning all traditions they couldn't care less about. Proceed to party and actually talk to guests.
4am Monday: The party Who Do Not Work Tomorrow carry on. New high heels on cobbled streets. Gin Palace. Stalactite's. Fried cheese. Someone mentions Boutros Boutros Ghali and it's all over bar the shouting in the taxi.
8am Monday: Alarm. Oh shit. Poorly thought out car service booking. Make it to dealer, back on tram, sunglasses glued to face and holding stomach inside by sheer force of will. In retrospect may not have been at optimal driving sobriety.
7pm Monday: make it to lectures, the picture of a dedicated student.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Milestones
This is a double celebratory post.
First, congratulations to M & M, for the safe arrival of their TWO baby girls on Saturday night. Welcome to the world, and may the journey be joyous.
Second (going chronologically here), raise a glass to J & M, who despite protests made a lovely bride & groom on Sunday evening. Enjoy the honeymoon and the years to come.
A weekend of cheer!
First, congratulations to M & M, for the safe arrival of their TWO baby girls on Saturday night. Welcome to the world, and may the journey be joyous.
Second (going chronologically here), raise a glass to J & M, who despite protests made a lovely bride & groom on Sunday evening. Enjoy the honeymoon and the years to come.
A weekend of cheer!
Monday, April 10, 2006
Sam's appeal
As I mentioned previously, a friend from uni is currently working at Mae Tao, a clinic on the Thai-Burma border providing health care for the Burmese population.
Well, he's just put this up on his blog. A 13 month-old boy in need of a heart operation.
This is - a friend who I trust
- working in a clinic that i've seen, the leader of which has been nominated for a Nobel Prize
- with a child whose life can be turned around
- who is from a population that I spent last year trying to help.
Please have a read and contact Damien if you want, or you can contact me for details too.
As Damo has said: Why?
Because we can.
Well, he's just put this up on his blog. A 13 month-old boy in need of a heart operation.
This is - a friend who I trust
- working in a clinic that i've seen, the leader of which has been nominated for a Nobel Prize
- with a child whose life can be turned around
- who is from a population that I spent last year trying to help.
Please have a read and contact Damien if you want, or you can contact me for details too.
As Damo has said: Why?
Because we can.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
The idea of study
Last year was all about practicalities.
What antimalarial drugs to I give to a pregnant woman?
What should I look for in leptospirosis?
What's the dose for this TB medication?
How do I explain how to mix up the food supplement to women who do not own measuring jugs or scales?
This year, it's all about theory. Or, that's the theory.
I'm sick of knowing enough to work. Of scrabbling for the guidelines whenever a new situation arises. Of knowing what to do, but not being really sure why.
I'm ready to feel confident in my knowledge base. To be able to work things out, given that I know about how x affects y. To know enough to base my decisions on evidence rather than what I've been told. In short, to know a good summary of what there is to know.
Unfortunately, this takes a hell of a lot of work. I'm ready to study, but I'm not ready to spend the majority of my free time in front of a textbook. I what to know what the evidence is, but I can't face the journal articles. I'm certainly not so excited about spending the next 12 months at a desk, to then potentially have to do it all over again, when, like so many excellent, knowledgable doctors, I could fail the exam.
I want to know stuff but have a life, dammit! My lifelong study technique of cramming won't cut it this time.
The question is, will I feel any different in a year?
What antimalarial drugs to I give to a pregnant woman?
What should I look for in leptospirosis?
What's the dose for this TB medication?
How do I explain how to mix up the food supplement to women who do not own measuring jugs or scales?
This year, it's all about theory. Or, that's the theory.
I'm sick of knowing enough to work. Of scrabbling for the guidelines whenever a new situation arises. Of knowing what to do, but not being really sure why.
I'm ready to feel confident in my knowledge base. To be able to work things out, given that I know about how x affects y. To know enough to base my decisions on evidence rather than what I've been told. In short, to know a good summary of what there is to know.
Unfortunately, this takes a hell of a lot of work. I'm ready to study, but I'm not ready to spend the majority of my free time in front of a textbook. I what to know what the evidence is, but I can't face the journal articles. I'm certainly not so excited about spending the next 12 months at a desk, to then potentially have to do it all over again, when, like so many excellent, knowledgable doctors, I could fail the exam.
I want to know stuff but have a life, dammit! My lifelong study technique of cramming won't cut it this time.
The question is, will I feel any different in a year?
Monday, April 03, 2006
Back in business
After two months, a lot of angst, and many fruitless hours, I have accessible internet at home.
Yay!
Yay!
Friday, March 24, 2006
Friday night
Hmm...
10pm Friday. Could be out - movies, dinner, dancing...
But really, tim tams and the world wide web are about as much energy as I can muster.
1 week left of this job. It's been worthwhile, and I've learnt lots, and enjoyed stuff too (not that recent blog entries reflect this, I know). But the emotional batteries were already rather drained and January didn't recharge them as much as I'd thought. Now, it's a matter of enough sleep, proper meals, friends and getting through...
Good notes to balance the crap:
Being able to see the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony live! Well, the rehearsal, complete with duck, and a random sound guy standing in for Delta & choking on all the firework smoke. Thanks M!
Being thanked by 2 patients.
Also had weird conversation with patient's mother, who ran through our whole (large) team, correctly picking who had kids & who didn't by their approach. I had her stumped. I'm taking this as a compliment - seems I can relate to the kids / teenagers but not parentally!
Cooking.
Running in to 8 different colleagues that I haven't seen in ages, & feeling part of the community of this hospital.
Interactions with my Dad. Thanks!
Considering where I should spend my 5 weeks off.
Options already considered:
- Thailand
- Burma
- France
- London
- Thailand
- Burma
- Thailand
All of the above excluded due to financial & being-sensible-re-above-emotional-drainage-and-culture-shock issues. Have 2 engagements in Victoria already and am thinking Oz will have to be the answer.
Suggestions welcome...
10pm Friday. Could be out - movies, dinner, dancing...
But really, tim tams and the world wide web are about as much energy as I can muster.
1 week left of this job. It's been worthwhile, and I've learnt lots, and enjoyed stuff too (not that recent blog entries reflect this, I know). But the emotional batteries were already rather drained and January didn't recharge them as much as I'd thought. Now, it's a matter of enough sleep, proper meals, friends and getting through...
Good notes to balance the crap:
Being able to see the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony live! Well, the rehearsal, complete with duck, and a random sound guy standing in for Delta & choking on all the firework smoke. Thanks M!
Being thanked by 2 patients.
Also had weird conversation with patient's mother, who ran through our whole (large) team, correctly picking who had kids & who didn't by their approach. I had her stumped. I'm taking this as a compliment - seems I can relate to the kids / teenagers but not parentally!
Cooking.
Running in to 8 different colleagues that I haven't seen in ages, & feeling part of the community of this hospital.
Interactions with my Dad. Thanks!
Considering where I should spend my 5 weeks off.
Options already considered:
- Thailand
- Burma
- France
- London
- Thailand
- Burma
- Thailand
All of the above excluded due to financial & being-sensible-re-above-emotional-drainage-and-culture-shock issues. Have 2 engagements in Victoria already and am thinking Oz will have to be the answer.
Suggestions welcome...
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Helicopters flying to heaven
Today, we mourn two young lives.
As much as it's unfair, we play favorites. And these two were up there for me.
A baby girl, facing her challenges with an angelic smile and
fierce stamina.
A toddling boy, grown so much since we met, playing footy on the grass near my house.
Today, there are two holes in the universe, and in my heart.
My tears spent, and with the golden afternoon hours ahead, I sit in the light, with sun-warmed figs and a glass of wine. I read a picture book, for them. For what they cannot do for themselves.
Go well.
As much as it's unfair, we play favorites. And these two were up there for me.
A baby girl, facing her challenges with an angelic smile and
fierce stamina.
A toddling boy, grown so much since we met, playing footy on the grass near my house.
Today, there are two holes in the universe, and in my heart.
My tears spent, and with the golden afternoon hours ahead, I sit in the light, with sun-warmed figs and a glass of wine. I read a picture book, for them. For what they cannot do for themselves.
Go well.
Monday, March 13, 2006
In other words
Mae Tao Clinic is in Maesot, north of where I was working but with the same issues. It was started by Dr Cynthia, known throughout the border area for her ability to care for the Burmese population with few resources. My mate from uni is currently working there and his blog makes me laugh and ache with renewed grief for those I worked with.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
So, the breakdown I had to have occurred.
In fact, I was beginning to worry that it hadn't yet. After my first foray into the world of medical work, I had a wonderfully relevant supervisor who confided to me that she cried by the Thursday of any new job. Once she realised that this was normal, it wasn't nearly so disturbing when it happened.
So, the second week of the job, I worked 60 hours, went to 4 hours of lectures, bought some textbooks, got scratched by a patient, helped pick up the pieces after several young people tried to kill themselves, told a family their perfect new baby has a scary lifelong diagnosis, and I was still cruising. Exhausted, yes, but relatively intact. To the point where I was wondering how numb I had become.
But this Tuesday, meltdown occurred. I held it together for the first hour of work before the floodgates opened. The poor temporary receptionist in our office crept away from my soggy blathering, however my current supervisor was wonderful. And it all came out - the wierdness of hospitalising patients for being 10kg heavier than most of my previous patient base, not knowing anything, the emotional strain of battling people who don't want to be helped, being behind everyone else in study, forgetting how to talk Medical, my renewed doubts about decisions last year the more experience I get...
By the afternoon, I had almost recovered. Able to go to a lecture and actually absorb something. And the major benefit of a study group is already apparent: the others feel that they are behind & don't know anything either.
So, this weekend will involve sleep, newspapers, walking in the sunshine and cooking. And maybe a little study, of the reading for interest's sake kind.
In fact, I was beginning to worry that it hadn't yet. After my first foray into the world of medical work, I had a wonderfully relevant supervisor who confided to me that she cried by the Thursday of any new job. Once she realised that this was normal, it wasn't nearly so disturbing when it happened.
So, the second week of the job, I worked 60 hours, went to 4 hours of lectures, bought some textbooks, got scratched by a patient, helped pick up the pieces after several young people tried to kill themselves, told a family their perfect new baby has a scary lifelong diagnosis, and I was still cruising. Exhausted, yes, but relatively intact. To the point where I was wondering how numb I had become.
But this Tuesday, meltdown occurred. I held it together for the first hour of work before the floodgates opened. The poor temporary receptionist in our office crept away from my soggy blathering, however my current supervisor was wonderful. And it all came out - the wierdness of hospitalising patients for being 10kg heavier than most of my previous patient base, not knowing anything, the emotional strain of battling people who don't want to be helped, being behind everyone else in study, forgetting how to talk Medical, my renewed doubts about decisions last year the more experience I get...
By the afternoon, I had almost recovered. Able to go to a lecture and actually absorb something. And the major benefit of a study group is already apparent: the others feel that they are behind & don't know anything either.
So, this weekend will involve sleep, newspapers, walking in the sunshine and cooking. And maybe a little study, of the reading for interest's sake kind.
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