Justice in a jug. Watery justice.

There is a female bay on one of the surgical wards in our hospital. 6 beds, 6 women. Usually this is fine, people get on well, they chat, they eat, they sleep, they get better and, eventually, they go home. Sometimes, however, there can be problems.

2 nights ago, one of the patients, Doris, an elderly lady with dementia, spent the night shrieking, and making a fuss. This has an impact on everyone in the bay; no one had much sleep that night.

All the livelong night

This weekend, I worked the Freudianly named “graveyard shift” at Chesterfield hospital. Three nights, 9pm until 9am, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.

Whilst a great time to get some real hands-on experience, there is a key problem in working nights. It goes thus:

In the War(d)s

On Wednesday, after five years apparently spent preparing for the experience, I started work as a doctor in Chesterfield hospital. A real doctor. With a stethoscope and everything!

My first job is a four month stint in Cardiology, and my first ever day as a doctor was a 12 hour emergency on call. It was a sharp learning curve, with little prior explanation of even the simplest proceedings.