Bliss

Someone once said that ignorance is bliss.

Guess that explains why I am so happy all the time; all the ignorance.

Take Thursday as an example: I was in the operating theatre with the anesthetist on Thursday afternoon, helping out by inserting IV lines, managing airways, injecting drugs and inserting big tubes down victims, er, patients’ throats. While the patients were under, I was happily asking questions about how this drug worked, and what happens when you pressed that button. (Bad things, it turns out. You have never seen so many people sprint towards a machine to flip a switch back to ‘Breathe’ from ‘Off’. Guess that’s why the switch is red with a ‘Do Not Touch’ label on it. But I digress.)

Anyway, we get the last patient of the day onto the table and put the tube down his throat. The doctor goes to adjust the tube and the end – literally – falls of in his hand. All of a sudden, people are running everywhere, talking excitedly, finding equipment, tripping over cords, grabbing back-up parts, adjusting machines, sprinting to other theatres to get pieces, injecting more drugs. And where was Bryan the Med Student through all of this?

Standing in the way, thinking ‘Wow – this is neat! I wonder what’s happening?’

Seems that when that bit fell off, it turned into an anesthetic emergency, as the hose from the breathing machine couldn’t provide air to the patient. Yes, I now realize the emergency, but at the time I honestly thought we could just tape the two pieces back together – after all, the patient was having a short procedure, and as far as I can figure, you can fix anything with duct tape.

Hey, nobody ever said I was the sharpest tool in the shed…

But I knew something was really wrong when I looked at the anesthetist as things were settling down – we found a new tube with all the pieces in good-working order, got it inserted into the patient and made sure he was still moving air – and he was sweating, shaking, and white as a ghost.

And he’s from India.

With that, it’s the weekend. I don’t have any major plans for the weekend, just relaxing, enjoying the nice weather – 80 degrees and sunny – and maybe some studying, if the mood strikes. Not to mention getting a new roll of duct tape….

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 list!
Bryan

At the Polo Match

PJ's

Just call me ‘Hef’.

As in Hugh Hefner. After all, the similarities are astounding. First, we both walk around all day in our PJ’s. Next, we’re both surrounded by women for hours at a time. Finally, guys want to be us. Let me explain.

I started anesthetics this week, or the art of putting people to sleep. Since the majority of work is done in the operating rooms, you have to wear scrubs all day – which the anesthetists all call pajamas. Never heard a surgeon doing that. So I throw on a pair of shorts, head to the hospital, and get into my PJ’s, and then walk around all day, looking impressive. (I never thought anything could be more powerful than walking around with a stethoscope, but wearing scrubs tops it. You walk with a slight rush and everyone clears out of your way, assuming you’re late for open-heart surgery. Never mind the fact you’re just trying to get to the front of the lunch line. But I digress.)

Then there are the hordes of women. I mean, a cute doctor-to-be running around in his PJ’s? And I’m walking beside him? While it would be nice to say it’s the swimsuit models flocking all around, it’s more that most of the surgical nurses are female, and they are assisting us in prepping patients for surgery – putting in IV lines and such. At least they’re in their PJ’s, too…

And, hey – what guy *wouldn’t* want to saunter around in his ‘jammys all day? Maybe Hef had it right…

But I did see something rather disturbing this week. And I mean *really* disturbing – the kinda thing that nightmares are made of. I was in theatre (the operating kind, not the acting kind) and had just intubated a male patient. Another med student was going to put a urinary catheter into his, uh, well, you figure it out. So he tried. Then the junior surgeon tried. Then the chief of surgery tried. No luck for any of them.

OK, guys, you are all encouraged to skip the next few paragraphs.

Because then they pulled out the implements of destruction. The team started by inserting a very *large* metal rod to open up the blockage in his, uh, you know. Now, I didn’t ask to measure, but from where I was standing, it looked like the rod was about the width of a flagpole. And that was just the first size they tried.

Which means they then tried the next larger size.

They did everything short of getting out a hammer to get these rods past the problem. Now remember where this rod was going: Into his, uh, hoo-ha. They pushed and probed and prodded and grunted and forced and strained and still had no luck. After many failed attempts with the surgical flagpoles, and some blood from the patient, they finally called the urologist. Who, after several attempts with the afore mentioned catheter and metal rods, decided he needed backup and called the head of urology. The Chief finally got past the stricture by doing what any male would do: he broke out the high-tech power tools and proved – once again – any place in the human body can be reached with the combination of a large needle and brute strength. But my classmate – the med student who started it all off with the failed catheter about 3 hours ago – had the best line:

“His Mr. Winky is going to be sore when he wakes up…”

OK guys, you can come back.

And with that, it’s the weekend. As I’ve started a new rotation, I’ll have a bit of studying to do to get up to speed, along with catching up with classmates, plus getting started on my last paper of the year. Not to mention ironing my silk PJ’s and smoking jacket…

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 List!
Bryan

42 Weeks

42 Weeks

Can you believe my time in psychiatry is done?

Alright, enough comments from the peanut gallery – you know I meant my time as a med student. While it’s been a fun 6 weeks – I learned lots and saw some interesting people and really enjoyed my time – I don’t see myself become a psychiatrist. I know this disappoints some of my friends; not only for the loss in their dating lives (Sorry, DD), but in the chance I may help them figure out their family. But until either telling someone to ‘Pull yer socks up, mate’ or administering a swift kick in the pants becomes accepted therapy in mental health, I think I’ll look elsewhere for employment.

Not that I am against trying those two therapies whenever possible…

No matter how much fun I had, though, and how much they wanted me to stay on the psych ward (There was mention of a restraining order to keep me from leaving – not sure if that was because they liked me so much or they thought I needed some help. But I digress.), I knew it was time to leave when one of the patients started talking about how she was hallucinating these spotted fish dancing the polka in her room, and they kept dancing until a French chef came in with a sword and cut their heads off.

I figured I should call Pixar Studios to see if I could sell the idea to them – turn it into a cartoon and make a mint…

Speaking of making a mint (King of the Seque, I tells ya), did you hear of the Australian mum-to-be who tried to sell the naming rights to her unborn child on eBay? For a starting price of AU$1 million, you got to attach your corporate name to her kid for a period of 5 years, during which time it – with mum – would be available for appearances, press conferences, media blitzes, publicity tours and so on. As you can imagine, this created a huge controversy over here; some folks even thought she was trying to sell her *kid* on eBay. I knew she wasn’t:

$1 million is *way* too much to pay for a kid.

But it gave me an idea: Why not (yet again) try to get a sponsor for this little adventure I call medical school? The emails, along with the blog, has created a ton of media exposure! I figure I could shill, er, promote a company’s products and no one would ever notice. I could slip in mentions about how I used my Canon camera to take the wonderful pictures you see while wearing my Polo shirt and drinking Dom Perignon. Or how my Under Armour really helped my morning workout! Maybe how I had my Ansell-gloved hand in someone’s, er, body cavity while wearing Spotless brand scrubs! Perhaps I could bring up how putting KY-Jelly on the Welch-Allyn speculum made the, uh, exam easy.

On second thought, maybe not such a good idea.

And with that, it’s the weekend. I start Term 2 on Monday, Anesthetics – more on that next week. For the weekend, I will catch up with some friends who are leaving Adelaide, and see those who are coming back into town. Not to mention enjoying my Coca-Cola while watching the polka-dancing fish…

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 List!
Bryan

Lecturing to my classmates

Medical School Can Be So Hard

Study

Study

I can’t believe they actually expect me to *study*; for heaven’s sake, I’m a *doctor*!

Did I forget to tell you? No more papers to write expounding on the marvels of leeches as medical therapy; no more exams to stress over; no more psychotic patients to deal with. And at about 10 months early; I’m very advanced. Let me explain.

Patient notes are considered a legal document. They can be subpoenaed by Satan, er, lawyers in court cases involving patients and their care. This is made very clear to us as aspiring doctors; make sure to document everything; don’t forget the time and date; and most importantly, don’t write something down in the notes you wouldn’t want someone’s mother to read.

(This led to an interesting court case a few years back: a junior doctor wrote in the notes that a pediatric patient was a ‘FLK’ – or funny-looking kid – due to his serious medical condition. He proceeded to lose his house, his car, and most of his wages for several years after the FLK’s parents saw the notes and their Satan, er, lawyers got done with the junior doctor. But I digress.)

Anyway, back to me (my favorite subject). I was on the phone a last week, talking to a physical therapist about one of my patients. I *clearly* identified myself as a med student; I even wrote in the patient notes my position: GEMP IV, or fourth-year med student. Well, Miss PT came and saw my patient and wrote – in the notes – that per her conversation with **Dr. Canterbury**, she was going to do a few things. So, there you have it folks: a legal document has me listed as a doctor.

Now, I just need to get someone to write in the notes Bryan Canterbury, President of the United States of America, and we’ll all be *much* better off…

To be honest, though, seeing that ‘Dr. Canterbury’ in the notes scared the stuffing outta me. I mean, jokes aside, has it occurred to anyone that I am three papers, one exam, and a few rotations away from being a doctor? I can sign sick certificates, determine competence and – most importantly – prescribe whatever I want?

Has anyone notified the authorities?

On an administrative note: I’ve followed the suggestion of a friend and started posting these wonderful little missives at a Web Log, or a blog. If you miss a week, or just want to see a wonderful picture of me, look at http://downunderdoc.blogspot.com/ . I’m going to try to put up the miscellaneous picture during the week in addition to these little updates from the Down Under Doc.

Again, has anyone notified the authorities?

And with that, it’s the weekend. I have an exam this Thursday on the finer points of psychiatry, not to mention a paper due on Friday by 5pm. So I’ll spend this weekend studying, writing my paper, and catching up with a few friends who are coming back into town. Not to mention getting my new ‘Dr. Canterbury’ stationary printed up…

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 List!
Bryan

DownUnder Doc