My First Day Back At Work After A 6-Week-Break | Housemanship Diaries

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• The House Officer’s Dilemma | Housemanship Diaries
• Reflection of the Paediatrics Posting
• Surviving A Month Of Tagging In My Fourth Posting – Surgery | Housemanship Diaries
• Appreciation Towards The Medical Officers (MOs) – Housemanship Diaries
• My Last Day In Paediatrics As A House Officer
• My Downfall In Surgery Which Led To My Extension – Housemanship Diaries
• 1 Year Of Housemanship Update – Housemanship Diaries
• Another Good Advice I Will Remember For The Longest Time – Housemanship Diaries
• The Time I Turned A Baby’s Hand Blue – Housemanship Diaries
• Enjoying The Journey – Housemanship Diaries

I officially returned to work on the 2nd of October 2024.

Initially, I was stationed to work the morning shift at ward. However, a colleague of mine decided to take a sick leave on that day when she was initially stationed as the House Officer in the Emergency Department, ETD HO.

Being the Allocation Leader in this department, it is my duty to immediately look for a replacement and to update in the group with the medical officers. Not one person came to mind and I felt bad since it was a friend of mine who took a sick leave or did I feel comfortable dragging another person to cover this shift since it is a shift most people avoided.

Thus, I offered to be the ETD HO myself. It was during an anaemic House Officer period and there were only one House Officer stationed at the Emergency Department.

Hence, I went to work and stocked up my necessary supplies before meeting the post night House Officer in the Emergency Department to receive my handover.

Of all days, it had to be one whereby no coming mornings (bloods) were taken for the patients and there were a lot of active job-lists not being carried out. Not to mention scans to be requested the following morning.

Basically, there were a ton of “shits” being thrown to me and if I do not settle it myself or to push my post night colleague to help me, I would be in a mess for the day.

Imagine having just returned to work to this. Without thinking much, I started identifying the patients who had bloods to be taken and proceeded to take all of them and sent it off. After sending them off, I started preparing for scans and called the radiology medical officer oncall to present my case.

Finally, after I thought I was done, I decided to review the stranded patients.

Normally, the stranded patients should be reviewed around 7am as we would begin our morning rounds around 7:30am till 8am. Thankfully, it was the weekend and rounds began much later.

I went through my list of stranded patients and there were almost 20. 20 stranded patients at various locations.

Would I have the time to review all of them? What about the active joblists or scans? Can I rely on my post night colleague? What if there is a new case?

I remembered it being a rainy day and the referrals were initially from wards and not from the Emergency Department (ETD).

Perhaps it would be a slow day. I thought to myself.

But, I thought too soon.

Soon, referrals started piling up. My medical officer’s phone (MO) was blowing up with calls. Other sub-specialities kept reaching out for me to help them out and at one point, me and my medical officer had to split to ensure we got everything done to the best that we could.

I wished that I could literally divide myself but I couldn’t. On top of that, my right foot started to ache. I just came back from a 6-week-break. I can’t afford to go on anther few weeks. If I do, just when am I going to end this posting?

I recalled it being a terribly hectic day and I felt bad as I was mostly away, having been dragged away by other sub-specialities, escorting patients or carrying out the active job-lists. I could not really be by my medical officer’s (MO) side to see the cases.

Finally, the end of my shift approached. 7pm and my night colleague came for handover.

Despite it being the evening already, the fire was still burning strong, referrals did not stop coming in and I still had tasks to complete or I would be handing over “shits” to my night colleague.

Finally, it was around 8-9pm, I can’t really remember as I was following night rounds with the OT call medical officer and registrar. My medical officer told me to return home since the following day, I would be morning shift.

I remembered returning home that day, somewhat unsatisfied with myself. No doubt that it was a tough day, but I could definitely do better. If only my leg did not slow me. The pain seems to increase with every step I took and with every exertion I made.

However, as I remembered, I was blessed to have an angel as my medical officer oncall for that day. Instead of shaming me or being sarcastic or mentioning that I could do better, she simply thanked me for putting my best effort on the first day back and welcomed me back.

It’s angels like this who makes me want to try to be better the following day.

Related Posts:

• The House Officer’s Dilemma | Housemanship Diaries
• Reflection of the Paediatrics Posting
• Surviving A Month Of Tagging In My Fourth Posting – Surgery | Housemanship Diaries
• Appreciation Towards The Medical Officers (MOs) – Housemanship Diaries
• My Last Day In Paediatrics As A House Officer
• My Downfall In Surgery Which Led To My Extension – Housemanship Diaries
• 1 Year Of Housemanship Update – Housemanship Diaries
• Another Good Advice I Will Remember For The Longest Time – Housemanship Diaries
• The Time I Turned A Baby’s Hand Blue – Housemanship Diaries
• Enjoying The Journey – Housemanship Diaries

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Sometime ago, I wrote about “The Small Change I Hope My Blog Would Make“, whereby I mentioned that with every article written and uploaded on this website would spread some form of comfort and positivity, especially within the community of junior doctors.

Perhaps I’m just simply being optimistic. I have to. That keeps me going, even on difficult days to the point it has become a default reflex for me.

Nonetheless, I love to write and sometimes I do get lost that I tend to deviate from the topic at times and divert back to the main topic at hand.

Living in this world which has its flaws and problems at every corner, I try to see the good aspect of things and thus, I try to end my articles on a good note or some encouragement, which is mainly directed at me actually. However, I never know who may be reading my written articles and perhaps just need some encouragement and kind words at the moment.

It serves as a “happy ending” just like a fairytale in which I escape in one too many times.

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Have you ever had surgery? What for?

Today’s prompt asks a very specific question, that should have a real clear-cut answer. I’m not even sure why I’m answering it, aside from the fact that I just need something to write about! So here we are.

No, I haven’t ever had for real surgery, where they cut and stitch. But! This does remind me of the time I had pneumothorax, and the reasoning the doctors gave me for having it absolutely blew me away.

It was a long time ago, back in my twenties, when I’d just barely started working in retail. I was grinding the third shift and going about my day as usual: Throw freight, tear boxes, put things on shelves, take a lunch, do it again. I remember at some point in the middle of the night, I suddenly had a real hard time breathing.

In covid-culture, you’d probably call it shortness of breath.

I distinctly remember telling my manager, “Hey, I think I have to go to the hospital, I’m having a hard time breathing.”

And I still remember him saying something along the lines of, “Well, if that’s what you think you need to do.”

Because, obviously, he wasn’t inclined to let me go anywhere without some kind of pushback. I was supposed to be working the product to the shelves, after all.

I did, in fact, believe that’s what I needed. I didn’t call an ambulance, I didn’t call either of my parents to ask them to take me. I hopped in my jalopy of a car, and drove myself to the emergency room and explained to them what was wrong. And, for whatever reason, the next moments would be something that scarred me for life.

They sat me down in a waiting room that had curtains around it, where they’d do the procedure. It wasn’t a real room, it was just a row of sheets hanging from metal poles in some kind of big, huge room.

And then this freakin’ doctor walks in, and he says, “Well, strip down to your skivvies!”

I didn’t know what the hell that meant. But I waited for him to walk away, and I took off all of my clothes down to my underwear (it turns out, after a Google search fifteen years later, that’s what skivvies means). Then, a woman about my age at the time brought in one of those medical gowns patients wear, and she asked if I wanted help putting it on.

I think I said yes because a lot of movement made breathing pretty painful. And, I guess that’s why it seemed like I needed help doing this. So she assisted me in wrapping it around my body, and she got entirely too close for comfort.

But, that was only the beginning of things I would think about forever, and ever, in the middle of the night when my brain needs something to go “What the fuck?” at: This girl, pulling a sheet around me, staring down at my skinny underwear-ed body.

What the fuck, indeed.

She left, and then I was all alone again, and I think about twenty minutes passed while I sat there in this gown.

But they came in with these machines and a tube, laid me down on the bed and I think there were like five of them. They stuck a hole in my chest, and ran that tube down into my lung. There was a lot of pressure, and I remember expressing that it was pretty painful.

I remember the female doctor looking down at me and remarking that it’s not that bad, as if she was me, and I wasn’t me.

Later, after the little procedure, that I guess we can think of as some sort of “surgery,” they asked if I wanted some kind of pain meds. You know, the strong stuff. I kind of chuckled, because I had no experience with this stuff, and I was thinking about TV shows where patients tried to trick doctors into giving them strong drugs so that they could get high.

They took my chuckle the wrong way and gave me some ibuprofen.

It didn’t help.

I spent about a day there, and when the doctor who shoved the tube into my chest came in to speak to me … she told me this happened to me … because I was tall and skinny. And, being a smoker at the time, a male doctor told me that if I didn’t quit smoking, he’d have to chop off half of my lung.

I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore, I vape.

When all’s said and done, my Dad came and took me home, and then I had two weeks off of work in order to recover.

Now, it’s been about fifteen years or so, but Hershey Medical Center, or Hershey Hospital, in Pennsylvania, I just wanna know one thing: What the hell?

https://cmdr-nova.online/2024/06/30/prompt-have-i-had-surgery/

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