Darn, I still got some many things waiting for me to do, but still, my mind just favors writing here. Perhaps it is a misplaced priority, but then again, this is my interest and a place that I can find solace from the wild wild world of mental brutality paced upon anger, paranoia, hypocrisy and everything that nice and sweet but stings like hell.
Another relationship crisis was aborted yesterday, thanks to a Consultant who willing to address the issue and sit in to listen. Basically, not being a ‘jumper’.
Yes, For today, I would like to coin the term ‘jumper’, reserved for the privileged few who simply loved to jump to conclusions and triumph on assumption.
To point one finger at others, four fingers folded back stare blankly at my own face. Yes, I must admit I am also an occasional ‘Jumper’, but with aging and experience, I jumped less, much less, probably due to the fact, that I had been a jumpee in many occasions. A ‘jumpee’ would be someone who was victimized with the resultant lost of image and reputation or simply being emotionally brutalized as a result of the jumping by the jumper.
I ceased to continue with my own literal fantasy of jumpology, and let’s jump (no pun intended) into my real story for this week.
Here’s the thing.
As the person-in-charge of the ward, my ward specialist appreciates if all minor surgical procedures pre-planned for the day can be booked before our 7.40am passover at the other side of the hospy. This is mainly so because the passover will end around 8.15am and follow by ward round ending at the region of 10 to 11am. Probably if with the early morning OT vacancy, three to four cases could have been done and with it, those four patients could be discharged home by evening plus it would not have overspill to the on call period or worse, brought forward till middle of the night. To me, that sounds sensible and efficient.
It was not my first time booking. If not mistaken, I had done it for few weeks already.
Yet, on that very special day, I was rejected and was politely asked to book only after 8am where the medical officer in charge of the day can receive. I explained my predicament, politely explaining my situation. She explained hers mainly being her colleagues do not like if she did not do the cases she accepted. I simply had to agree that our differences held us at an unlikely impasse. We ended up vocalizing in a less polite tone without raising any volume. She gave in finally because it would be weird for her to reject, because on call is like 7 Eleven – it supposed to be open 24 hours. Nevertheless, I was not happy about the mood on which those cases were accepted. Let’s just call me a schmaltzy communicator. I would be glad we can work together, par on par, for the patient, rather than anyone of us being more superior to the other.
As expected, the vacancy was filled up with the first out of four cases that I had booked.
After changing to Papa smurf, I entered the operation theater main lounge. Short of stepping further to see my patient in the lobby, I was invited into the Anaest’s relaxation room by the cool Anaest Consultant Dr. L. Yes, the coolest people usually have name starting with ‘L’. OK, I digress.
“Pilo, I heard you were naughty this morning.” Cynically suggestive.
“ Hmmn.. morning… naughty.. hmmn..” I smirked sheepishly trying to complement the merry atmosphere that the consultant trying to build before starting a serious discussion.
She was being a minor jumper in the beginning, telling tales that the on call duties on my side are usually sleeping call and her minion grieved possibly due to sleep-deprived duty till 4am.
I kept my silence briefly, knowing that her perception was grossly misplaced in the yesteryears when gynaecology calls were so called ‘chill’ call.
Unknown to many, on top of our main core of gynaecology work, our duties been quadrupled due to the esteemed growth of patients of the gynaeonco subsection with multiple geriatrics trivials and the whole shebangs of medical complexities at the palliative state, not to mention the groundwork preparation or complications arised before, during and after their respective chemotherapy, radiotherapy or brachytherapy. I shall not dwell into the pre and post-operative care of patients who underwent the long-paragraph-named gynaeoncological ops. I remembered once I completed my night round at 1am plus.
And, then, there were the informal ‘EPAU’ (early pregnancy assessment unit) consultations with a free flow of miscarriages in their diverse degree of bleeding with the various degree of intelligence of those early preggies to come in the middle of the night, ie 3-4am when the bleeding was few days back. My theory is they probably had a long and detailed discussion with their respective husbands over a cup of teh tarik during their supper in their favorite mamak stall and then decided to seek treatment.
And not uncommon, there will also be sexual assault cases coming in with the police escort to be seen immediately. I fully understand the reason being this unfortunate cohort coming in at such ungodly hours – mainly to avoid the busybody crowd of fellow patients or their family members who usually builds up in the light of the day. Lastly, commuting between the main buildings of the hospital to the maternity side 4 blocks away to help out our junior colleagues over the obstetric side in the event of grave emergencies are not rare instances that usually comes with palpitations. Furthermore, the next morning, we do not go back at 8am in the morning. We used to be going back after 5pm or more depending on the completion of wardwork, until recently by grace of our superiors, we were granted rest after the sun on top of our head.
And that was 3 paragraphs of silence, for I believe my colleagues in Anaest worked just as hard, if not, harder. ‘Harder’ simply translate to ‘better’ as the fiercest fire mould the finest sword. Secretly, I am really glad the training got tougher, as long as it is sensibly tougher.
The rest of the conversation shall be kept from public, but the result was an agreed middle ground where both of us can find comfort in - sort of fine-tuning of the small matters which seems to have the potential to grow out of proportions.
For that brief moment of level-headed civilized discussion, she earned my respect for not being a major Jumper.
I texted my Anaest colleague whom I had the verbal-duel this morning, apologizing and sort our differences.
For the time being, I simply wish not to be involved in anymore misunderstandings.