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Oct. 14th, 2004 10:56 amThere are distinct problems with being the only person in England who doesn't own a brolly. I was late for work anyway because I slept in (but it's Thursday and no one cares), but then when I got to Old Street, it was bucketing it down. Couldn't get on a bus for love nor money, so I walked. Got into the office completely soaked. I'm going to catch such a miserable rotten cold...
I'm having a total crisis of conscience here. I keep getting phone calls from this patient's daughter. The patient is coming in on Monday for an outpatient appointment. The first thing the daughter said on the phone yesterday was, "Oh, we don't think my mother's strong enough to go through with this yet. Can we reschedule?" I explained that clinic dates will be hard to come by on 25th October and 1st November due to consultant absence and that the consultant in question insisted on this date. I offered patient transport in order to get this frail elderly woman to the hospital and spare her some stress, as I figured that was the problem.
It wasn't. The problem is that the family have made the decision to withhold the diagnosis from the patient until they feel she's ready. They wanted to delay the appointment -- the first step to treatment and improvement of quality of life and survival -- until they felt that their mother was strong enough to hear the news. Not so much physically (I told them flat-out that Dr Propper had insisted on this date and to change it would be extremely detrimental to the patient in the long run), but mentally. I'm sorry -- I don't care if the daughter's a psychologist. Who the fuck does she think she is to make that decision? As far as I can tell, she hasn't even asked her mother if she wants to know anything about it. And now she's rung back saying that she and her brother want a private word with the doctor before the patient comes in. More secrets and lies. Jesus H Christ, do they think their mother's that stupid? She's going to a medical oncology outpatients appointment -- do they really think she's not going to figure out what's going on and fear the worst? Either these people aren't even remotely preparing their mother for what's to come or worse, gearing her up to expect the worst and raising her stress levels sky-high, which is not good for the patient! Sometimes I just want to slap people.
And further on the "Sometimes My Job Sucks" hour, conversation with the third and least liked of my consultants:
Consultant: So how's things?
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thessalian: Blech.
Consultant: 'Blech'?
thessalian: It's all I can manage. I'm soaking wet, not feeling very well ... but at least I'm on top of things workwise.
Consultant: Oh, right! Good! I don't really care about how you're doing personally.
...The honesty's sort of nice, but still.
Game last night was interesting, if angsty. At the start, Alison was the only sensible damn member of the party, false modesty aside. Throw (Knife) is a fantastic skill to have when you want to take out a bomb-carrying Rilasciare agent from a theatre box, plus her having the good sense to stay well away from the carnage means that she is now the only completely healthy member of the party. Axel still has his broken leg, Pietro took even more of a wounding when he fell off the chandelier (and even more of a wounding when Alison took a swing at him -- next time I want to hit him for saying something stupid, I might want to avoid using Uppercut), and Francine, Sir Oswold and Richard got blown up (particularly Richard -- he was practially holding the bomb when it went off). Then she rather ceased to be sensible about the one thing that she's almost never sensible about; Pietro. This is a perfect example of playing against type, because by this time, I'd have dumped his sorry arse and gone for Richard if I was desperate to be in a relationship. Anyway, she spent most of the next day in tears and there was sulking and Pietro challenged Richard to a duel over the fact that he slept with Alison, which reduced Alison to a whimpering wreck. Francine damn near abducted Alison after that -- took her to lunch and let things calm down. Surprisingly enough, though, Alison and Pietro were having a civil conversation when the session finally broke up. So see? Angst.
Tonight will be a relaxing night. Leftover chili if my stomach's up to it (plain rice if it's not), ice cream and Sims 2. I wonder if I can bunk off out of here early today -- I need a break.
I'm having a total crisis of conscience here. I keep getting phone calls from this patient's daughter. The patient is coming in on Monday for an outpatient appointment. The first thing the daughter said on the phone yesterday was, "Oh, we don't think my mother's strong enough to go through with this yet. Can we reschedule?" I explained that clinic dates will be hard to come by on 25th October and 1st November due to consultant absence and that the consultant in question insisted on this date. I offered patient transport in order to get this frail elderly woman to the hospital and spare her some stress, as I figured that was the problem.
It wasn't. The problem is that the family have made the decision to withhold the diagnosis from the patient until they feel she's ready. They wanted to delay the appointment -- the first step to treatment and improvement of quality of life and survival -- until they felt that their mother was strong enough to hear the news. Not so much physically (I told them flat-out that Dr Propper had insisted on this date and to change it would be extremely detrimental to the patient in the long run), but mentally. I'm sorry -- I don't care if the daughter's a psychologist. Who the fuck does she think she is to make that decision? As far as I can tell, she hasn't even asked her mother if she wants to know anything about it. And now she's rung back saying that she and her brother want a private word with the doctor before the patient comes in. More secrets and lies. Jesus H Christ, do they think their mother's that stupid? She's going to a medical oncology outpatients appointment -- do they really think she's not going to figure out what's going on and fear the worst? Either these people aren't even remotely preparing their mother for what's to come or worse, gearing her up to expect the worst and raising her stress levels sky-high, which is not good for the patient! Sometimes I just want to slap people.
And further on the "Sometimes My Job Sucks" hour, conversation with the third and least liked of my consultants:
Consultant: So how's things?
thessalian: Blech.Consultant: 'Blech'?
thessalian: It's all I can manage. I'm soaking wet, not feeling very well ... but at least I'm on top of things workwise.Consultant: Oh, right! Good! I don't really care about how you're doing personally.
...The honesty's sort of nice, but still.
Game last night was interesting, if angsty. At the start, Alison was the only sensible damn member of the party, false modesty aside. Throw (Knife) is a fantastic skill to have when you want to take out a bomb-carrying Rilasciare agent from a theatre box, plus her having the good sense to stay well away from the carnage means that she is now the only completely healthy member of the party. Axel still has his broken leg, Pietro took even more of a wounding when he fell off the chandelier (and even more of a wounding when Alison took a swing at him -- next time I want to hit him for saying something stupid, I might want to avoid using Uppercut), and Francine, Sir Oswold and Richard got blown up (particularly Richard -- he was practially holding the bomb when it went off). Then she rather ceased to be sensible about the one thing that she's almost never sensible about; Pietro. This is a perfect example of playing against type, because by this time, I'd have dumped his sorry arse and gone for Richard if I was desperate to be in a relationship. Anyway, she spent most of the next day in tears and there was sulking and Pietro challenged Richard to a duel over the fact that he slept with Alison, which reduced Alison to a whimpering wreck. Francine damn near abducted Alison after that -- took her to lunch and let things calm down. Surprisingly enough, though, Alison and Pietro were having a civil conversation when the session finally broke up. So see? Angst.
Tonight will be a relaxing night. Leftover chili if my stomach's up to it (plain rice if it's not), ice cream and Sims 2. I wonder if I can bunk off out of here early today -- I need a break.