thessalian (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thessalian) wrote2011-11-22 11:15 am
thessalian) wrote2011-11-22 11:15 am
Lack of Planning on Your Part...
...does not constitute an emergency on mine!
I am being shifted to yet another new department next week. It's a bit like Pass the Parcel. Still, I'm not precisely sorry. I cannot get out of this one fast enough. Today is one of those days where I just want to kill EVERYONE.
So I'm working my way through the backlog (it started mid-August. I have got us to mid-late October. I think I'm doing well) when I get approached by the consultants' lone registrar. He points out to me a list of letters that are absolutely urgent and must be typed RIGHT AWAY. Fiiiiiine, I'll abandon the backlog and type the letters that are soooo urgent that they simply cannot wait.
- One of them is dated 26 October.
- Half of them were dictated ad hoc despite being clinic letters and thus have no information attached to them on the system, obliging me to dig through notes for appropriate addresses.
- Half of those have had the notes taken away, or never had any delivered in the first place.
- One doesn't even have a name or a hospital number, as the consultant decided to see a patient who was never booked into clinic in the first place and just randomly dictated a clinic note without really attaching it to anything. So he dictated a name that I'm not sure I'm spelling right and that was it; no hospital number, no date of birth, nothing.
Don't get me started on the lady from our sister hospital insisting that of course I can get medical records, notorious for sitting on its collective tuckus and being as unhelpful as possible, to deliver a set of notes that might not even be in medical records in the first place to my office (which is in a different building) within the next ten minutes. Or the multiple patients who insist I am 'not being very helpful' when I do not take 'I will give the doctor the message' to mean 'I will track him down, nail his feet to the floor and then hold him at gunpoint until he returns your phone call'. Or the fact that we have swapped radio stations to Magic. Or that the women with whom I am sharing an office are now singing along. Or that conversation that the clinic clerk who passed through here yesterday was having with the rest of the office about how "I got no problem with gays; some of my best friends are gays. But I don't hold with what they get up to in the bedroom; it grosses me out" and how famous people coming out are only doing it for the publicity and "then there are the ones who just can't make up their minds..."
Someone please explain how my brain hasn't just plain blown up by now...
I am being shifted to yet another new department next week. It's a bit like Pass the Parcel. Still, I'm not precisely sorry. I cannot get out of this one fast enough. Today is one of those days where I just want to kill EVERYONE.
So I'm working my way through the backlog (it started mid-August. I have got us to mid-late October. I think I'm doing well) when I get approached by the consultants' lone registrar. He points out to me a list of letters that are absolutely urgent and must be typed RIGHT AWAY. Fiiiiiine, I'll abandon the backlog and type the letters that are soooo urgent that they simply cannot wait.
- One of them is dated 26 October.
- Half of them were dictated ad hoc despite being clinic letters and thus have no information attached to them on the system, obliging me to dig through notes for appropriate addresses.
- Half of those have had the notes taken away, or never had any delivered in the first place.
- One doesn't even have a name or a hospital number, as the consultant decided to see a patient who was never booked into clinic in the first place and just randomly dictated a clinic note without really attaching it to anything. So he dictated a name that I'm not sure I'm spelling right and that was it; no hospital number, no date of birth, nothing.
Don't get me started on the lady from our sister hospital insisting that of course I can get medical records, notorious for sitting on its collective tuckus and being as unhelpful as possible, to deliver a set of notes that might not even be in medical records in the first place to my office (which is in a different building) within the next ten minutes. Or the multiple patients who insist I am 'not being very helpful' when I do not take 'I will give the doctor the message' to mean 'I will track him down, nail his feet to the floor and then hold him at gunpoint until he returns your phone call'. Or the fact that we have swapped radio stations to Magic. Or that the women with whom I am sharing an office are now singing along. Or that conversation that the clinic clerk who passed through here yesterday was having with the rest of the office about how "I got no problem with gays; some of my best friends are gays. But I don't hold with what they get up to in the bedroom; it grosses me out" and how famous people coming out are only doing it for the publicity and "then there are the ones who just can't make up their minds..."
Someone please explain how my brain hasn't just plain blown up by now...