Thursday, 19 September 2013
So, things are rolling still. I should be hearing about my application next week. The University Medical Centre (UMC) was kind enough to inform me that I can expect a letter in week 39, but receiving and envelope with the UMC logo a week after the closing date almost put me in cardiac arrest. I mean, that could NOT be a good sign. I am still just doing my job and it still is a lot less fun or safe to write about. Remember the Paracetamol Girls? Three years on, and they've become the run-of-the-mill of my daily (nightly, weekendly, eveningly) job. Three years on, and I do not view them any differently than back then. I know more about them, it hasn't changed my view. Interesting. To be honest, 'I want to die' becomes less impressive after hearing it a few times. You learn to listen to what they really want... and some really want to die. Not the Paracetamol Girls, mind you. The ones that chill your spine are the really sick ones: severe depression, booming psychoses... roughly in that line. On this job I've been called 'names I can not identify myself with'. I've been threatened... and I've had someone who threatened to kill me come up to me and apologise... and thank me. I've phoned 112 for acute police assistance. I've had to pull a police officer off a patient who was faking coma to prevent him from resuscitating her... (of course, only to figure out she was faking and then regretting not being able to witness the resus... she wouldn't let him!) I've had to deal with the snake pit of gossip. I've dealt with other doctors and the ambulance service who don't take psych seriously. According to some at work, I would be able to become a psychiatrist. Thanks. Really. I just don't want to. I am really psyched about the prospect of becoming a GP!