Morbidity

...Well, that was surreal.

Phone rings; gentleman with a fairly heavy accent telling me that his relative, a patient of Dr Slater's, died recently. "I want to know," he said to me, "how long she will be in the mortuary at [hospital] because we are planning for the funeral".

Well, firstly, I always thought that mortuaries were where the body gets prettied up for the funeral. When it's in a hospital, and it's predominantly used for storage and autopsy, don't you normally just call it a morgue?

Anyway, that isn't the point. If you want to know how long the coroner's going to hold the body, ask the coroner. Call the morgue. Don't call the oncologist whose job it was to help the patient have a longer, better quality life. When they're dead, there's not much more a doctor can do for them, and following them to the bloody morgue is not part of the job description.

Thing is, I wasn't even sure I understood the question at first, and there is no delicate way to say, "I'm sorry to sound insensitive, but I have to make sure I understand; your relative died and you'd like to know when the morgue will release her remains for the funeral". There is also no delicate way to say, "I'm sorry, we don't have that information; call the morgue".

Sometimes this job is reeeeeeeeeeeeally fucking depressing. And that's coming from someone who even thinks of herself as occasionally morbid.

Postcards from the Edge

Dear Dr Propper,

You tell me that you asked me for blood test results on a group of patients whose letters you gave to me this morning. When I cannot find the letters immediately, do not look at me like I'm stupid. The reason I could not immediately lay hands on your letters or indeed remember you ever giving them to me is because you didn't. You did not put them directly in my hand, for one thing, but the damning thing is that you stuck them on my desk face-down and didn't tell me they were there. Big blue Post-Its do absolutely nothing if they are facing the cheap wood of my desktop, as I do not have x-ray vision.

You're scatty, and you blame it on me. There's a lot of shit I accept as a part of this job; you treating me like you think I'm incompetent because no level of competence can cover your scatty, addle-brained, flakey, inconsiderate carelessness is not a part of it. If you think I'm so disorganised, try lasting five minutes without me.


Dear clinic receptionists,

When you're booking a patient in for a follow-up appointment and they tell you they need transport, book the fucking patient in for transport! Do not just tell them that you have and then let them ring transport to find out that there was no such booking made. It means that they will ring me and I will have to clean up your mess. I resent having to make the time to do something that is, strictly speaking, your job.


Dear patient,

Secretaries are forbidden to give you your test results directly, as they may misinterpret and open themselves to legal action. If you want results, ask a doctor.

Oh, you're going to see a doctor today! Wonderful. However, it's one I hardly ever see, as I am not his secretary. Therefore I cannot make sure he has your results. If you want them, ask him and he will send someone looking for them, if they're not already in your bloody notes. That's what he's there for. Make him do his job with that bitchy tone of yours, because I can't seem to manage no matter how much I yell.

Yours with all due frustration,

The Secretary

Director's Cut

Courtesy of nadriel, ( Comment stats thing )

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