The hell of needlestick injury

Sometimes you can feel that bad things are gonna happen. The small clues are there, you feel the déjà vu feelings but you choose to ignore it.


My car was chased by some stupid dogs that morning, I was unable to eat my breakfast due to overflowing workloads and patients who keep pulling out their branulas (God bless them), and while taking blood from a new patient I had a flashback of a close call from almost getting a needle prick injury.

And then it happened.

I pricked my thumb while pulling away the blood bottle from the vacutainer’s end; did not notice that the needle was already protruding from the rubber tubing.

Then everything else was a blur.

I remembered washing and squeezing everything out from my thumb under running water for ten minutes, informing the nurse, notifying my specialist, going to ED to register my name and had my blood taken, clerked my own history into the file as ED was freaking busy then went home.

The specialist started me on HAART straight-away because the patient was HIV positive with hepatitis C.

So now I am on HAART and have been shitting my guts out thanks to the side effect.

I got a free leave, my viva was postponed.

Housemen, welcome to the hell of needlestick injury.

News from Sabah HO.

1. Second month into working, still no salary.

2. Working hours start at 6 PM and stretches into infinity.

3. Over – working.

4. Come October, maybe salary too will come in.

5. UMS convocation, or to be more specific, the medical school convo day, will be on the 10th October.


Good luck to you guys...

Induction and BTN

This is a fully – paid holiday from the government before they squeeze everything out of you when you start working as a doctor.


Everyday, 7 AM down to breakfast after a night of partying in your room with friends, air – cond and soft bed. Go into the hall for lectures on life as a doctor where non – doctor people make it sounds so wonderful to become a doctor with all the incentives, holidays and salary talks. All that is applicable only when you are an MO. What a joke.

Then come BTN, we have this old grandma who stares down her nose at us, made belittling remarks to reduce these freshly grad doctors to nothing but school children that need reprimanding form time to time. Some political talks dressed up as inspiring and eye – opening lectures then commenced.

Eat. 6 times a day, condensed milk drink a must. A heavy tea time of Malaysian cuisine (noodles, rice) before a heavier dinner at 7 PM.

8 PM more lectures while your full stomach digested everything and pulled all the blood from brain to gut, making you dream while sitting awake of the bed waiting in the room. Supper at 10 after lectures. Go back to room. Short party, small talks and gossips.

Sleep.

Life is good pre – doctor days.

HO talk, talk.

After 2 months of abandonment, I’m finally back.

God, life can be horrible sometimes.

I’m now a working, independent lass trying to survive on my own cash.

And a lass who has lost 3 kg in my months stint of working life.

Goodbye life as medical student, now everyone calls me doctor, that heavy – duty title. Heavy – duty as in long – lasting on your feet as long as you are in the ward taking care of other people but yourself.

The day starts at 5.45 AM. 6.15 AM out of house to drive the 20 minutes drive minus jam to Hospital Sungai Buloh. Arrive and punch in, scan and compare previous time and smile if I managed to surpass previous time or curse if I made it slightly later. Hey, it’s one of those minor things that add glimmer in working life for me.

By 7 starts the HO round tracing all bloody results, making frustrating phone calls for untraceable results then updating daily progress. 8.00 AM MO appears for MO rounds while me the HO pushes the laptop cart along to type down whatever dictated for the day. Then Specialists drop by for the Word of the Day. Until 12 PM you settle whatever tasks set for the day, more blood-taking, type referrals, call up lab for more results, push everything to be urgent, get yelled by those frustrated by your pushing, deals with shooting up/dropping BP and blood glucose and desaturated O2, do some smooth talking to get consents for CT scans/MRI/procedures, and pray that you will somehow manage to have lunch.

Unfortunately, when you are about to leave for lunch, the relatives approach you because it’s also visiting hours when it is the only time they can meet up doctors for a chat. You smile and try to explain in the easiest plain Malay/English you could think up while your eyes dart to the clock from time to time.

Then afternoon rounds commence. Repeat morning doings. Pray that you can go home at 5 PM. Pray that the road won’t be congested with other people going home at 5 PM too.

5 PM. That stable patient suddenly collapsed; BP drops, consciousness going down the drain, heart rate shooting. You poke her everywhere trying to get one bloody line to get in resuscitation fluid. MO come, commence full blast resuscitation. By the time you sign the death cert, it’s 8 PM. You are post – call. Punch out, blast the music in your car and drive home, praying for a longer night to sleep and rest.

Morning comes, another repeat.

This is, my noble profession life for now.