This weekend, I have…
- Sat down for half an hour with a patient, their partner, and a pharmacist to come up with a robust, flexible management plan upon which we were all agreed.
- Done my medical detective schtick.
- Talked more than either of us would have liked to oncology on call.
- Taught three medical students. Given one of them a logistically impossible task of the FY1 bureaucratic nightmare variety, and got to see him accomplish it and then grin so much I thought his face might fall off. Because teaching that impossible is relative is still teaching.
- Been thanked.
- “I have to ask you some daft questions. Do you know what year it is?” “2014.” “Who’s the Prime Minister?” “That bastard.”
- Via well-timed phone calls and much help from other people, found alternative diagnoses that made more sense, were truer to Occam’s Razor, and led to changing treatment for the better.
- Had important conversations.
- Been called Madam Doctor. Lots. In bad French, once. Madam Doctor, comprendes oui?
- Genuinely saved someone’s life, which is a thing that I get to say less often than you might think.
- Had fits of giggles when I walked through an A&E waiting room that contained maybe fifteen patients who were all intently watching Casualty.
- Drunk not enough.
- Got home on time not at all.
- Got better at being a doctor than I was on Friday morning.