Ahmed

Seeing that I am currently unemployed, whilst I await registration in the UK, I thought that I would go back to my medical days in South Africa and share a few stories.


I was working one night, when a patient named Ahmed, phoned the Casualty (Ahmed: pronounced AGGGGGGhmed, like Jeff Dunham’s creation).

“Heello. My Eengleesh is not good. My name is AGGGGGGGGhmed. I do a test. It say my chromosomes are beeing XXY.”

MEDICAL INSERT:

“Klinefelter's syndrome, 47, XXY, or XXY syndrome is a condition in which human males have an extra X chromosome. While females have an XX chromosomal makeup, and males an XY, affected individuals have at least two X chromosomes and at least one Y chromosome.[1] Because of the extra chromosome, individuals with the condition are usually referred to as "XXY Males", or "47, XXY Males.

The principal effects are development of small testicles and reduced fertility. A variety of other physical and behavioral differences and problems are common, though severity varies and many boys and men with the condition have few detectable symptoms.”

(Courtesy of Wikipedia)

BACK TO AHMED…

“This meens that I have leetle testostareen and a small peenis. I want to make a lot of babes, but I need a doctor to help me.”

“Well, Ahmed, this is the Emergency unit and we only deal with emergencies. I can refer you to a doctor, who can help you, during working hours.” I explain.

I am not sure what possessed him to phone me at 21h00 on a Friday night? Possibly trying to get it on with a babe, to make babes?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouDRDzqTu0M

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

xoxo

Books

Check out my books page for my latest book review.

xoxo

Beautiful Bath

Yesterday I went to Bath for the day. Bath is one of my favourite places. Full of beauty, history and writing. Persuasion, Vanity Fair and Remains of the Day were all filmed there. Bath was the inspiration for Charles Dickensons' Bleak House and Jane Austen's Persuasion and Northanger Abbey.

"...for a fine Sunday in Bath empties every house of its inhabitants, and all the world appears on such an occasion to walk."

                                                                           Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

I didn't go to The Roman Baths, as I've been before. But for anyone who hasn't been, it's a MUST.

River Avon

Bath Abbey

xoxo

Breast Cancer

It's October and Breast Cancer Awareness Month! So this weeks tips are all about the breast exam. I know there are only a few days left in October, but make the most of them and examine your beloved boobies. Send this to all your female friends! Breast cancer is very serious and not just reserved for women over 40. You can even get it in your 20s. So prevention is the best cure. I know a lot of women who have had breast cancer and are survivors and sadly, a few that weren't so lucky. So, please PLEASE pass the message along!

STEP 1

 Stand in front of the mirror with your hands on your hips. It's a good idea to do a breast exam at the same time every month and not too close to your period, otherwise they'll be sensitive. Look at the shape, size and colour and make sure it all looks normal. Make sure both sides are symmetrical, unless your boobs are naturally a different size. Warning signs: dimpling of the skin, inverted nipples,                         swellings/lumps, redness.

STEP 2

Repeat STEP 1 with your arms raised.



STEP 3


Look for a nipple discharge: blood stained, yellow, white or clear.


STEP 4

Lie down on your back and with your left arm up behind your head. Take your right hand and palpate your left breast. Use the pads of your fingers only, not the extreme tips. Move around in a circular motion, covering all the area, including up to the collar bone and in your armpit. If you feel a lump, see if it is mobile (moves when you push it) and how it feels.

STEP 5

Repeat STEP 4 in the shower.

STEP 6

THE END!

If you notice anything abnormal, head over to your local doctor immediately!

Happy Breast Cancer Awareness Month

(.Y.) Hooray for boobies!

 Fake (+)(+)

 Perfect (o)(o)

 Perky (*)(*)

 Cold (^)(^)

 and even Grandma's \./\./

 Big ( o )( o ) or small (.)(.)

Save them all!

japanese human tetris

Just a short post for today. Found this clip about 3 years and absolutely LOVED it! Enjoy.

xoxo

Cocaine and a minor

So a few people have read my list of Things I've Done and asked how did I manage to give a kid cocaine. For those of you who haven't yet heard the story, you might be shocked and horrified, but as nothing bad happened, it actually turned out to be pretty funny afterwards.(This is quite a long post, so be patient.)

SCENE: Busy casualty at 20:00pm on a Saturday
Enter Mom with 6 year old boy, who cut his chin after falling off a swing-thing at the Spur.

Examination revealed a 2cm laceration on his chin ie. really small cut, but needs stitches.
I set about getting everything ready and asked the sister to get me some medication to sedate him slightly as kids tend to freak out when you give them stitches.
Now, this is how I actually caused the problem. I often help the nurses when its busy, or they are lazy, by doing their jobs. Stupid, I know, but I like to get things done quickly and sometimes its just easier to do it yourself.

I see a syringe by the bedside, assume it's the sedation, and pop the liquid into his mouth (RETARD move 1)
I insert the stitches and send them off home, asking them to come back in two days, for a wound check.
Sister is meanwhile searching for something, muttering "where is my LAC?" I have no idea what LAC is and ignore her. (RETARD move 2)


About 2 hours of utter chaos pass by, with me seeing patients at a rapid rate, when I get a phone call from the little boy's mom.

"I don't know what you gave John (not his real name), but he hasn't shut up and won't go to sleep. He's driving me nuts. What should I do?"

"Bring him in and I'll have a look at him," I answer while going "shit, shit, SHIT!" in my head.

I suddenly put two and two together and find the sister.

"What is LAC, and did you find yours?"

"It's lignocaine, and no I can't find the syringe."

OK, firstly lignocaine is a local anaesthetic which in private, they put onto the wound to numb it, instead of having to inject the child.
Secondly, it shouldn't be given orally, but such a small dose, shouldn't cause major problems.

BREATHE.......so this isn't too bad.

Mom brings the child back. I explain what happened, admitting my retard moves. I then look at John.
He is wriggling, non-stop. Hyperventilating. And rambling at a rapid pace.

"Mom, mom...I have to tell you a secret. Its about my chin. Blood is going to explode out of it, if I don't whisper....Mom, mom...I have to tell you a secret..."

(imagine this on repeat)

"It's almost as if he's on a high", I thought to myself. "Strange!"

He seemed to be fine, beside the constant chatting about blood and his chin. I give him some real sedation, which doesn't end up working and they end up going home after about an hour. (Retard move 3)

Two days later, I get an email from the head of the unit, asking me to write an incident report on what happened with John Green on the night I saw him. I write a report of exactly what happened. I get a reply immediately.

"Firstly, LAC is not lignocaine only, but Lignocaine-Adrenaline and Cocaine.."

OH HOLY SHIT!

"...The mother did want to sue, but I have convinced her not to, and told her it was an honest mistake. Secondly, you should have admitted the child for observation given the extreme nature of the medicine he was given."

"OMG I'm going to get fired," I think to myself.

If you screw up in the Government sector, nothing will happen to you. You could kill a patient, a no one will bat an eyelid. This is private, where fortunately, there are consequences for your actions.

Nothing ended up happening to me and I definitely learnt a lesson. I now have a brilliant story for dinner's with friends.


xoxo



So I'm starting a new thing, with having tips on Tuesdays. If you have any suggestions of stuff, let me know!
I thought I'd start with a tip that many of you have heard before, but that few actually do, myself included.

The Va-Ja-Jay Exercise:

Step 1 - when you are sitting on the loo having a tinkle, remember this tip!
Step 2 - mid-tinkle, stop tinkling (if this makes sense)
Step 3 - hold count for 5 seconds
Step 4 - resume tinkling
AND THAT'S IT!

This will ensure that when you are 40, have had 3 children and are marginally overweight, your beloved vajajay will not be dragging on the pavement behind you. No-one wants to walk around with their bladder, rectum or precious vajajay hanging out for the world to see. This also prevents incontinence. So, next time you hear a funny story and have a giggle, you won't wet your pants. Or when you sneeze, urine won't be dribbling out behind you.

Do it!

xoxo



The Big Move - Part 2

I was woken up by bright, fluorescent lights, a trolley hitting my elbow and a perfectly assembled woman asking if I wanted a hot breakfast or a continental one. At 3.30 am I can hardly stomach the smell of food, let alone eat it. Why do they always wake you up to feed you 3 hours before you land? Do the airline gremlins meet in secret and discuss when would be the worst time to shine the intense, luminous glow directly into your retina.

“Exactly as they start to nod off,” grunts the one with the hairy wart on her chin.

“No, no…3.55 hours before we land, so that they can’t fall asleep again,” adds the smelly one.


So, I was woken up when the gremlin people had determined, after my 5 second nap, which strangely had left me with a crick in my neck. We landed in Doha….do where? you might ask…anyway. It was a smouldering 33 degrees and there I was in my winter knee high boots, coat, scarf, 3 layers of tops and my precious 3 items of hand luggage. The perspiration was literally streaming off my face and down my back….charming at 6.00am! We had exactly 25 minutes to get off this plane, into the terminal and onto our connecting flight, no time to freshen up or stretch my legs properly.

At the security scanners in the terminal, millions of Arab people in turbans queued on one side and everyone else was in another queue. I couldn’t quite fathom why, but filed in behind the “everyone else” line as I thought I might be too conspicuous in the other, sans turban.

We eventually made it onto our flight with milli-seconds to spare and mentally prepared ourselves for Leg 2 of the trip, which was only 7 hours long.

I finally arrived at Heathrow airport and on the drive out of London, was welcomed with words such as round-about and traffic light, instead of circle and robot.

Welcome to my new home!

xoxo

The Big Move - Part 1

So I am finally in the UK, after a very stressful last few weeks. The day we left was filled with shouting, arguing and sitting on my suitcase to in an effort to try to squeeze in the last few precious items. For those of you who know me, you will know that packing my life possessions into one small suitcase, is not an easy feat. I had everything in my suitcase, including a baby to smuggle drugs in :)

We finally arrived at the check-in counter, 13kg overweight. Tears and promises that we were in fact immigrating, did not convince the check-in man to let us off paying a penalty for the extra kilograms. He directed us to another counter to pay the fee. Stupidly, he gave us no receipt of any kind and we decided to skip paying large sums of money and instead hopped off to the duty free section. RETARD!

Lots of tears and promises to stay in touch were made, as I madly pulled my arms around my family, trying to hold the tears back. I made my way to the plane, packed like a Sherpa from Nepal, with not 1, not 2, but 3 hand luggage items. One was my beloved laptop, which didn’t count as a bag, as it was a necessity, although I had crammed every available nook and cranny with books and illegally copied DVDs. The next was my handbag, and what female do you know that doesn’t carry a handbag around ALL the time? It is also not a bag, but an appendage of my body. And the third was in fact my hand luggage bag, which contained everything that couldn’t be squeezed into aforementioned suitcase.

I eventually flopped down into my seat, cursing myself for wearing knee-high boots, (which I had strategically chosen, as they consumed the most space) 3 layers of tops and a woolen coat. As I surveyed the space that I was to spend the next 11 hours in, I thanked my parents for their short stature. Coming in at a dwarf-ish height of 1.53m, this was one of those rare occasions, where I could revel in the fact that I was often referred to as “mini me”.

I settled down to watch back-to-back episodes of “Friends”, “House” and “Arrested Development”. While I was happily sipping on a glass (plastic cup) of red wine, whilst eating my singularly portioned dinner, the man in front of me decided to slam his seat back and into my cup of wine. I ended up with my crotch stained red, not a great colour/position for a female. I thanked my lucky stars for my inability to pack everything in my suitcase, as I had a spare pair of jeans in my bag. After awkwardly changing in the too-small-toilet-that-stank-of –urine, I ambled back to my seat and continued my TV marathon of insomnia.

xoxo

Headaches - Part 2

After my disastrous massage experience, I decided to go back to basic medical science.


What causes headaches?

1. Stress – well I had already deduced that I was under a lot of stress with the whole living-with-boyfriend/parents-studying-for-a-huge-exam factor, but was that enough to cause these searing flashes of pain?

2. Neck tension – which was not alleviated by before-mentioned obese “therapist”

3. Intracranial pathology – now this was the scary one. Words like “brain tumour”, “arterio-venous malformation” and “encephalitis” sprang to mind. Let’s skip 3. For the time being!

4. Visual acuity problems –AHA! I wear glasses for reading. It is quite strange to be far-sighted in your late twenties, as all the people I know that need glasses to order off a menu, are grey and wrinkly. I tried to calculate when I had last been to the optometrist……..2005. SHIT! How could I be so stupid? Obviously it was my eyes.

I booked an appointment and merrily went on my way for my miracle healing to begin. My old optometrist had moved/vanished/died and I was seeing someone new, let’s call him George for simplicity purposes.

“So what can I do for you?” George asked me as I entered his office.

“Well, I’ve been getting headaches for the last few months and I wanted to rule out the common things first,” I casually answered, whilst still cursing myself for realising this so late.

“OK, well let’s have a look at your old glasses and then test your eyes.”

George took my specs and muttered something under his breath after analyzing them. He then began to do my eye test.

“It seems to me that whoever prescribed these old glasses, thought that you had astigmatism in the right eye. You don’t have that, and are in fact short sighted. How many hours a day do you wear glasses?”

“Um…I wear them at work and then when I am studying at home, so around 6 hours a day.” I answered.

“OK, well that could be the reason for you headaches. I’m going to give you completely new glasses, which you can wear for driving and watching TV.”

So what retard gave me the wrong glasses? If I could remember his name, I would hunt him down, cut off his scrotum, and send him to optometrist’s hell. I made do with going home and retelling the embarrassing tale to my friends and family, with my wallet considerably lighter.



xoxo

Headaches - Part 1

For the last 3 months, I have been getting headaches.

 Not just a minor throbbing in the temporal area, but something that feels like a full-on explosion, like acid seeping between my grey matter. I started treating myself with normal painkillers, and eventually, after my boyfriend complained that my “headache” was an excuse for EVERYTHING, I decided to do something about it. I ingeniously deduced that it could be caused by stress due to a culmination of things:

1.       Doing shift work which results in a zombie-like, sleep deprived state when you don’t know what day of the week it is, let alone the location of one’s own ass hole.

2.       Temporarily living with my parents in an attempt to save money before relocating to the UK. Whilst it seemed like a good idea at the time, after 5 months of not having my own space, it can get a bit tiring.

3.       Having my boyfriend live with me AND my parents. Great way to get over the make or break stage, as he discovers the inner workings of my family unit and exactly where all my issues stem from.  

4.       Studying for the biggest exam to date.

4 reasons should be sufficient for you to comprehend the dilemma.

My quick fix for stress:        

A MASSAGE!

Undoubtedly the best way to relax and de-stress. Going for massages has become my coping mechanism for dealing with the crap of the last 4 years. At 03:30am, whilst stitching a drunken man, whose friend decided to stab him with a broken bottle because he drank some of his precious beer, the mere thought of having a massage the next day, saves me for the next few hours of mayhem.

I book myself for a 60 minute back and neck rubdown at a local place that I’ve never been to.

 Before I continue with this little story, allow me to digress quickly to the lessons of this post:

LESSON 1. – do NOT go for a massage at ANY place, especially if you have never heard of it, or never heard anything about it. A lot of people like to think they are beauty therapists and skilled in the art of manipulating your back and wallet.

So back to the story….. I arrive for my massage on my day off, in between my study break. As I approach the institution, I notice that it is a hair salon- slash-beauty salon-slash-coffee house.

LESSON 2. – if it’s not a spa/beauty salon on its own, it isn’t one at all.

There is an obese woman sitting outside smoking. Being in the medical field, I’ve seen a lot of overweight people. The word “obese” is not something that I casually throw around. For me it is a word that I strictly reserve for the > 150kg category.

I realize 5 minutes later that this is my therapist. She leads me upstairs to a little room with an appropriate massage table and my hope to unwind is restored. She begins the treatment and after around 3.45 minutes, I feel her lean her one arm on me. She was actually resting her massive limb on top of my back. All I could see for my little hole, were her podgy shins in too tight shoes. She started to sigh a few times and even cracked out a yawn. I could not believe it…

“I’m sorry, is this a tad tiring for you? Is performing this menial task, exhausting your lump of a body? How dare I just lie here and fork out well-earned cash, whilst you slave away. How rude of me! ”

This is what I prepared to say, but thinking something and having the balls to say it, are 2 completely different things for me. It would’ve all been OK if the massage had been good, but someone poking me with a sharpened stick could’ve been equally unpleasant. I painstakingly endured the next 50 minutes of feeling as if a concrete slab was crushing my left side and arrived home with my headache increased ten-fold.

xoxo