On call in Onco
(Guest Post)
I wake up from my slumber and grab my cell to see what time it is. I think the buffer created by the snooze option has made me lazy. Finally, when I gather enough ATPs to drag myself out of bed, I am welcomed by an azure sky and singing sparrows. I get ready for the day and hang my AKU card whose only utility is opening doors.
As I enter D2, I am to fight, sorry, print out profiles. The day is kicked off. I can hear Dr Zarka (Onco fellow) ensuring whether the follow ups are complete. I am sent on the hunt for red folders as if I am a bull. Meanwhile, the round has started. The onco team is looking forward to Shehzad’s sketches.
Someone politely knocks the door. The seeker hesitantly opens the door. He is one of the attendants. He wants to know the exact junction in time and space when the attending will be visiting his patient. I assure him that we’ll be there anything like storm.
I re-join the round. Dr Bushra (our senior resident’s) mutilated pager rings. The voice on the other side of the phone informs that a new elective admission has just landed. Dr Bushra doesn’t lose a nano second to ask, “Confidential aa gaye”, even when she knows that it hasn’t.
urpose of my visit and has pulled up his pants. He firmly questions the usefulness of multiple labs. He also makes a unique offer. He says, “Dactor saab, peshaab jitna chaheye lay lo, khoon ki baat nai karo”. I counsel him. It works. I have shown him light at the end of the tunnel. I re-join the round.
Concurrently, I call the counter to reinforce for the confidential. I listen to a well rehearsed, banal reception, “D2 ward, Karim”. Now, it is time to draw blood again. I cannot sleep until I’ve drawn a liter of blood. I appreciate an uneventful blood draw. The attendant has a query, “Result kab tak aye ga”. This is a question almost every attendant wants to know. I ask the porter to drop the sample to the lab and the same reply I listen everyday, “Dr Danish, koi aur sample to nahi”.
He complains, “weakness bohat hai, koi teeka laga dey”. To date, I have been searching for ‘thakawat ka teeka’. I have a suggestion, all doctors should keep a stock of Red Bull to dispense instant energy.
Now, I settle down for the discharge summaries. Having done with it, it’s lunch time. The hospital makes sure we get lots of protein, so they have dal every day on the menu.
Round orders are almost done. The team has assembled in the conference room. As responsibilities are handed over, a tired Dr Shehzad says, “yeh patient to ap ko pata he ho ga”. The ladies are having a discussion on the lawn fever. I suppose very soon we’ll find Sufi Soap Lawn billboards.
She is hardworking and has a passion for oncology – the emperor of all maladies, as dubbed by Siddhartha Mukherjee. Dr Bushra is pro-organic. Dr Shehzad is well known for his sketches and his hematological inclinations. I love his jubilant smile and his pursuit for excellence. Dr Sara has sound knowledge and dexterity at procedures.
Before Dr. Zarka embarks on consults, a tete-a-tete with her is essential and refreshing. The team has left for home and we (Dr Bushra and I) have started our battle with time. We unequally divide follow ups and make sure we get an hour’s sleep to keep ourselves functional. The call reverberates with pages, both genuine and irrelevant and interesting encounters with patient and their many relatives are made.
But at the end of the day, this is the charm, this is our life.
Danish is currently doing his internship. He recently completed his rotation in oncology.
The hospital makes sure we get lots of proteins.
I wake up from my slumber and grab my cell to see what time it is. I think the buffer created by the snooze option has made me lazy. Finally, when I gather enough ATPs to drag myself out of bed, I am welcomed by an azure sky and singing sparrows. I get ready for the day and hang my AKU card whose only utility is opening doors. The stage is set
As I enter D2, I am to fight, sorry, print out profiles. The day is kicked off. I can hear Dr Zarka (Onco fellow) ensuring whether the follow ups are complete. I am sent on the hunt for red folders as if I am a bull. Meanwhile, the round has started. The onco team is looking forward to Shehzad’s sketches.
Someone politely knocks the door. The seeker hesitantly opens the door. He is one of the attendants. He wants to know the exact junction in time and space when the attending will be visiting his patient. I assure him that we’ll be there anything like storm.
I re-join the round. Dr Bushra (our senior resident’s) mutilated pager rings. The voice on the other side of the phone informs that a new elective admission has just landed. Dr Bushra doesn’t lose a nano second to ask, “Confidential aa gaye”, even when she knows that it hasn’t.
Target killing
The team moves to the bedsides, and we have a stat lab. I can also see Dr Shehzad sparing a moment to add new meds. I rush to draw blood. The patient has realized the purpose of my visit and has pulled up his pants. He firmly questions the usefulness of multiple labs. He also makes a unique offer. He says, “Dactor saab, peshaab jitna chaheye lay lo, khoon ki baat nai karo”. I counsel him. It works. I have shown him light at the end of the tunnel. I re-join the round. Insider’s story
The team, after the round, has gathered in the conference room where attendants are not welcome. Round orders are organized and delegated. A nurse wearing thick spectacle has entered the room to relay a complain of D204B. I ponder why a 6 feet tall man is being referred to D204B. Doesn’t he have a name? Anyhow, the patient is uncomfortable with the Foley’s. Dr Bushra replies, “Foley’s DC kar do”. The nurse emphasizes, “order likh dey”. A word, nurses most frequently use of “policy”. Policy, policy, blah, blah, blah… all thanks to defensive medicine.Concurrently, I call the counter to reinforce for the confidential. I listen to a well rehearsed, banal reception, “D2 ward, Karim”. Now, it is time to draw blood again. I cannot sleep until I’ve drawn a liter of blood. I appreciate an uneventful blood draw. The attendant has a query, “Result kab tak aye ga”. This is a question almost every attendant wants to know. I ask the porter to drop the sample to the lab and the same reply I listen everyday, “Dr Danish, koi aur sample to nahi”.
Of energy and proteins
I make an initial visit to our new patient.He complains, “weakness bohat hai, koi teeka laga dey”. To date, I have been searching for ‘thakawat ka teeka’. I have a suggestion, all doctors should keep a stock of Red Bull to dispense instant energy. Now, I settle down for the discharge summaries. Having done with it, it’s lunch time. The hospital makes sure we get lots of protein, so they have dal every day on the menu.
Round orders are almost done. The team has assembled in the conference room. As responsibilities are handed over, a tired Dr Shehzad says, “yeh patient to ap ko pata he ho ga”. The ladies are having a discussion on the lawn fever. I suppose very soon we’ll find Sufi Soap Lawn billboards.
A jolly good fellow?
Dr Zarka is eating pakora curry with her apron’s pocket overflowing with papers and her smart phone. It is a crater where she can dump all stuff, for me it is like ‘ummro’s zambel’.She is hardworking and has a passion for oncology – the emperor of all maladies, as dubbed by Siddhartha Mukherjee. Dr Bushra is pro-organic. Dr Shehzad is well known for his sketches and his hematological inclinations. I love his jubilant smile and his pursuit for excellence. Dr Sara has sound knowledge and dexterity at procedures.
Before Dr. Zarka embarks on consults, a tete-a-tete with her is essential and refreshing. The team has left for home and we (Dr Bushra and I) have started our battle with time. We unequally divide follow ups and make sure we get an hour’s sleep to keep ourselves functional. The call reverberates with pages, both genuine and irrelevant and interesting encounters with patient and their many relatives are made. But at the end of the day, this is the charm, this is our life.
Danish is currently doing his internship. He recently completed his rotation in oncology.
