A second chance

This evening I had an argument with a certain professor who is supervising my thesis. Now that can't be good.

I don't know why I risked engaging myself in such a dangerous situation. It could be due to the hot weather that burns down my throat or perhaps a poor sod flapped its wing in Buenos Aires. I suspect it hasn't got anything to do with that expired Mee Sedap 'perasa bawang goreng' with lots of chillies I ate last night either.

No matter what the aetiology was that created my state of volatile emotion which beget this labile action, the consequences could be disastrous to my future employment in this hospital.

I hope I'm not turning back into the man I was many years ago.

I hope I could undone some of my actions in the last few weeks.

I hope the tenant who live on the top floor would stop moving his furniture at 2 in the morning.

I hope for so many things in life now....

... but the one I'm hoping for the most is a second chance from her.

Destination home

Ended up slept away the entire Sunday afternoon. Woke up at 8pm with a left temporal headache and cursing my amygdala for being so weak.

I purposely drove to Bangsar so that I could do some thinking while I'm at it. The 2x2 table at Madam Kwan's appeared larger than usual when you were sitting alone without a company.

The new 'salted cappucino' flavour at the Coffee Bean tasted rather... salty. It had already gotten cold by the time I took the first sip. Wasn't that amazing after all. Nothing memorable.

It must had been somewhere between erythema multiforme and pyoderma gangrenosum when I looked up and realised that it was raining.

"Loneliness has never been this inviting" I said to Lolly.

"Well... welcome home, it had been a magical journey" she replied.

I turned towards her to return her smile. But she was no longer there.

Short entry

There can never be too many acronyms in medicine. Acroyms are short, effective and sometime catchy. They are not meant to be jargon for public. But merely a creation to help doctors saves time by not saying the what could be a mouthful medical condition, such as S.A.R.S (severe acute respiratory syndrome). In other words, we're all bunch of malas people.

So in a typical 3am busy Sunday morning dealing with crisis in a resus room in A&E (...see my point) would be something like this...

Case 1:

"Hello Dr Mamat, this Makcik Julia was a LOL who came in DOA had history of BOOP with COPD complained of SOB since 1/52 ago, now our differentials apart from the obvious would be a PE, certainly wasn't in ARDS or an ACS".


Now wouldn't that save the poor doctor a 4.92 seconds (multiply by 20 patients say in a graveyard shift (graveyard shift eh.. how ironic!).

Anyhow, I suppose acronyms wouldn't make so much difference in saving time. Perhaps it is really design to confuse the public after all... especially lawyers if they happen to check our mortality records. Ehem.

Case 2:

"Oh btw Nurse Danielle, this SOB is an active IVDU has a VSD with a severe IE. Chart the antibiotic STAT"

***

LOL = little old lady

DOA = dead on arrival

BOOP = bronchiolitis obliterans organising pneumonia

COPD = chronic obstructive airway disease

SOB = shortness of breath / son of a banker

1/52 = 1 week ago

PE = pulmonary embolism

ARDS = acute respiratory distress syndrome

ACS = acute coronary syndrome

IVDU = intravenous (illegal) drug user

VSD = ventricular septal defect / very short dick

IE = Infective endocarditis

The final flight

A bizarre thought came to me during my last oncall, while my hand was underneath a pendulous non-lactating left mammary gland of a 40 year old lady in the ER, palpating for what seems to be an elusive apex beat. Yes, I'm brilliant at multi-tasking.

It occurred to me that Hospital is like an airport.

The Departure Hall is so efficient that you will never have to worry about missing your flight. When your time is up, trust me you will be on that plane. On the other hand, the Arrival Hall is filled with tiny bald humans with an average body weight of 3kg.

I've been spending a lot of time in the departure hall lately.

This morning I accompanied 2 young men boarding their final flight. One of them was a 28 years old with colon cancer. His fiancee sat closely and whispered the word of love to his ear. I noticed their 'old picture' together on her hand phone screen showing him in his earlier days. He looked fit, tough and mean unlike the frail cachectic man before me whose breathing was rapid and laboured, mumbling words that remotely resemble any spoken language.

As the familiar feeling of morbidity filled the quiet room, I held his hand and delivered the morphine hoping to ease off the pain.

It was time to let go.