currently feeling -
lethargic, waiting for my first night shift to begin
currently addicted to -
procrastination
recent most funny moment -
my mate dan’s two minute phone interview with the head of orthopaedics from a queensland hospital included: “can you operate?” delivered in a growling, entirely serious tone
favourite airport-travel routine -
haven’t been to airports for a while, but id probably try to fit in a pint at the irish pub
most prized possession -
im not big on material possessions. so im going to go with the feeing in my gut
current mantra to get me through the bad times in life -
it can always get worse
currently inspired by -
fear
most entertaining online read when u have nothing else better to do and need a laugh -
xkcd
favourite blog -
minnie min
most excited about -
beer and sleep
just digested -
plain boiled rice, tinned tuna and spicy bamboo shoots from a jar
7.2.10
16.1.10
f*crap
so it begins -
- with a series of weekend lectures that threatens to overwhelm me,
- tense trainees, eyes rimmed with lack of sleep, debating minutiae,
- frantically trying to form study groups and organise study sessions,
- downloading lectures, signing up to journals i know i'll never read,
- not knowing, worried about not knowning, worried about worrying,
- feeling guilty guilty guilty about everything and anything but still
- spending endless hours procrastinating on facebook and wikipedia,
- laughing at horror stories about med reging in the country but
- knowing that it'll be me soon+gasp gasp gasp+
time for more coffee.
another customer arrives at the hotel alfred
- with a series of weekend lectures that threatens to overwhelm me,
- tense trainees, eyes rimmed with lack of sleep, debating minutiae,
- frantically trying to form study groups and organise study sessions,
- downloading lectures, signing up to journals i know i'll never read,
- not knowing, worried about not knowning, worried about worrying,
- feeling guilty guilty guilty about everything and anything but still
- spending endless hours procrastinating on facebook and wikipedia,
- laughing at horror stories about med reging in the country but
- knowing that it'll be me soon
time for more coffee.
another customer arrives at the hotel alfred
23.12.09
there is no why
why do kids refuse to do anything for their parents? why do they feel that it's other people's responsibility to look after the frail elderly women and men that once did everything for them, gave them life, fed them, clothed them and brought them up?
a woman with mild cognitive impairment wants to go home. she is happy to adopt the team's recommendations regarding gaid-aids, home modifications and community services. all she needed was her children to meet her when she got home, make sure there was some food in the fridge until someone from the council could help her do her shopping in a few days' time, and ring her occasionally to make sure she was okay. but even that seemed too much to ask. they wanted us to send her to a nursing home. but why? when we finally got her home, she managed to lock herself out one night, went over to her neighbours for help, who called her son. he rang the ward and wanted us to readmit her. for what? call in a locksmith. call the cops. if all else fails go over yourself and let her in with the spare key. is that so fucking hard?
*
why do frail elderly people refuse to do anything for themselves? why do they give up their last shred of independence and dignity so willingly and throw themselves into a cycle of dependence that leads inevitably towards nursing homes?
a previously self-sufficient woman, living alone in her rented flat, walking without gait-aid and independent with her personal activities of daily living, is admitted with osteomyelitis. over the six weeks of inpatient stay for intravenous antibiotics and physical rehabilitation, she becomes fully dependent on nursing staff for personal care and mobility, declines physiotherapy and lies in bed all day, refuses clinical psychology and antidepressants for her anxiety and adjustment disorder despite their overwhelming impact on her level of function, and wants maximal nursing and community assistance for when she goes home. yet when push comes to shove (threatened with delayed discharge or placement into a nursing home), she demonstrates that she can perform at her premorbid level. so why does she insist on playing the sick role?
*
why do the frail elderly refuse to accept their declining physical health and diminishing capacity to look after themselves? why do they reject help and insist they return to the same conditions that brough them into hospital in the first place?
a man with urinary retention, faecal incontinence and poor mobility wants to go home. he doesn't understand why these things need to sorted out before he can go home, refuses to participate in therapy and dismisses all of our recommendations as "meddling". he says "i've looked after myself for eighty years and i can still look after myself just fine. i'll know when there is a problem, and until then, i don't see why i have to do anything about it". lack of insight? yes. but then at times he demonstrates an uncanny appreciation of his circumstances: "you have all the tools to rule over my life and i have no control over it. all i can do is be grumpy, and that's exactly what i am". and so there it is: absolute, glorious, undeniable clarity. so how come he still doesn't get it?
a woman with mild cognitive impairment wants to go home. she is happy to adopt the team's recommendations regarding gaid-aids, home modifications and community services. all she needed was her children to meet her when she got home, make sure there was some food in the fridge until someone from the council could help her do her shopping in a few days' time, and ring her occasionally to make sure she was okay. but even that seemed too much to ask. they wanted us to send her to a nursing home. but why? when we finally got her home, she managed to lock herself out one night, went over to her neighbours for help, who called her son. he rang the ward and wanted us to readmit her. for what? call in a locksmith. call the cops. if all else fails go over yourself and let her in with the spare key. is that so fucking hard?
*
why do frail elderly people refuse to do anything for themselves? why do they give up their last shred of independence and dignity so willingly and throw themselves into a cycle of dependence that leads inevitably towards nursing homes?
a previously self-sufficient woman, living alone in her rented flat, walking without gait-aid and independent with her personal activities of daily living, is admitted with osteomyelitis. over the six weeks of inpatient stay for intravenous antibiotics and physical rehabilitation, she becomes fully dependent on nursing staff for personal care and mobility, declines physiotherapy and lies in bed all day, refuses clinical psychology and antidepressants for her anxiety and adjustment disorder despite their overwhelming impact on her level of function, and wants maximal nursing and community assistance for when she goes home. yet when push comes to shove (threatened with delayed discharge or placement into a nursing home), she demonstrates that she can perform at her premorbid level. so why does she insist on playing the sick role?
*
why do the frail elderly refuse to accept their declining physical health and diminishing capacity to look after themselves? why do they reject help and insist they return to the same conditions that brough them into hospital in the first place?
a man with urinary retention, faecal incontinence and poor mobility wants to go home. he doesn't understand why these things need to sorted out before he can go home, refuses to participate in therapy and dismisses all of our recommendations as "meddling". he says "i've looked after myself for eighty years and i can still look after myself just fine. i'll know when there is a problem, and until then, i don't see why i have to do anything about it". lack of insight? yes. but then at times he demonstrates an uncanny appreciation of his circumstances: "you have all the tools to rule over my life and i have no control over it. all i can do is be grumpy, and that's exactly what i am". and so there it is: absolute, glorious, undeniable clarity. so how come he still doesn't get it?
21.11.09
hunting in the (sub)urban jungle
there is one in a tight white singlet and a short black silky sashaying skirt, trailed by her olds dressed much more respectfully, the father (sporting a careful moustache) in a checkered collared polo ralph lauren shirt and the mother clutching her louis vuitton handbag, no doubt with her chequebook tucked inside, ready to bleed for their ungrateful offspring.
another, his hunched shoulders and curly dark hair screaming WOG, flits from room to room, trying to escape his overweight, overbearing but nonetheless well-meaning mother. look it's a spot for your washing machine! the bathroom doubles as a laundry! he tries to escape but im blocking the door. excuse me. c'mon ma someone else wants to see the bathroom. i wait to see her spit into her hand and pat his unruly hair into place, but they turn the corner and leaves me alone to imagine the ensuing squirming and verbal barrage.
a couple with all the right questions, dressed in the uniform of young upstarts: he confidently decked out in a printed t-shirt, faded jeans and sneakers; she mildly overweight, slightly overdone with her make-up and wearing black pointy shoes. (shudder). the agent with the cheap suit and tie is cornered and forced to listen to their entire investment philosophy. he stutters explanations for why the floating floorboards seem to be lifting off the floor (something to do with a fishbowl accident) and why he does not have copies of the contract to sign right this second. they promise to ring him on monday and he looks like he's about to faint.
i make it to the final inspection with three minutes to spare. she is about to lock up. i try to get an impression of the place in thirty seconds but her pink push-up bra distracts me. i vaguely remember some music posters on the walls and a miniscule balcony that looks straight into the fence. as we walk out another belated hunter is coming up the path. she tries to keep her cool and fails. i avert my eyes (from her chest) and decide to call it a day.
i haven't had this much fun in ages.
another, his hunched shoulders and curly dark hair screaming WOG, flits from room to room, trying to escape his overweight, overbearing but nonetheless well-meaning mother. look it's a spot for your washing machine! the bathroom doubles as a laundry! he tries to escape but im blocking the door. excuse me. c'mon ma someone else wants to see the bathroom. i wait to see her spit into her hand and pat his unruly hair into place, but they turn the corner and leaves me alone to imagine the ensuing squirming and verbal barrage.
a couple with all the right questions, dressed in the uniform of young upstarts: he confidently decked out in a printed t-shirt, faded jeans and sneakers; she mildly overweight, slightly overdone with her make-up and wearing black pointy shoes. (shudder). the agent with the cheap suit and tie is cornered and forced to listen to their entire investment philosophy. he stutters explanations for why the floating floorboards seem to be lifting off the floor (something to do with a fishbowl accident) and why he does not have copies of the contract to sign right this second. they promise to ring him on monday and he looks like he's about to faint.
i make it to the final inspection with three minutes to spare. she is about to lock up. i try to get an impression of the place in thirty seconds but her pink push-up bra distracts me. i vaguely remember some music posters on the walls and a miniscule balcony that looks straight into the fence. as we walk out another belated hunter is coming up the path. she tries to keep her cool and fails. i avert my eyes (from her chest) and decide to call it a day.
i haven't had this much fun in ages.
15.11.09
brain drain
i haven't listened to music for ages. i used to, every day, on the way to and from work. my little ipod shuffle blasting at my half-deaf ears. these days i shuffle along (and sometimes, catch the tram, filled with guilt) still trying to wake up or slowly sinking back into a daze. i tell myself it's so i can pay more attention to my surroundings, see and hear what is going on in the world around me. but that's a lie - i am oblivious to it all. work. sleep. work sleep...
nor do i read or write any more. it's such a battle trying to describe a feeling, or recall a moment. its as if im banging my head repeatedly against a wall. my brain is lead; thoughts stifled just as they are born; instead of ideas and emotions bursting to express themselves, there is only emptiness behind my eyes. oh how far have i fallen since... i don't remember...
nor do i read or write any more. it's such a battle trying to describe a feeling, or recall a moment. its as if im banging my head repeatedly against a wall. my brain is lead; thoughts stifled just as they are born; instead of ideas and emotions bursting to express themselves, there is only emptiness behind my eyes. oh how far have i fallen since... i don't remember...
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