Some of these were originally published online at my old
website which lived at now defunct Geocities. Recently, after having ventured
into the e-book publishing, it became somewhat a mission of me to retrieve those
files from the CDs lying in the basement of my home.
When I was searching for a title for this work related to
the life and professional stage of the narrator, many words came to my mind.
However, those were used many times and transformed to be a cliché.
Then I remembered about the scut work.
“Scut work” is a term possibly over used by the junior residents till the millennium, and I
doubt whether people from other vocations would understand it’s meaning well or
not.
As per Merriam Webster Dictionary, SCUT WORK is defined as:
routine and often menial labor. First
known use: circa 1962
There were painful memories and not so painful memories. My
hope was to bring those back with a coating of absurd humor which readers might
enjoy.
Few days ago while talking to a colleague, who was
reflecting on some incidents from his past, amazingly I felt that there were lot of similarities. Life however, changes
over time.
With all the new regulations came into effect limiting the
number of hours trainee doctors spend in the teaching hospitals and the improvements in the ancillary support,
the term Scut Work will hopefully disappear in to oblivion.
This collection of short stories or novella - whatever you
may want to call it- is based on various times, random incidents, spanning
various countries, cultures, and fictional dreams with a common thread of human
misery.
(Here are some sample pages from the book)
The Identity
The Identity
Christmas night in hospital was festive. There were ward
clerks sitting with elfin ears and nurses walking around with Santa’s hat and
Residents with rain deer antlers, speakers singing “Jingle Bells” and
“Christmas Tree.”
What that meant for me who was on call, the hospital
Cafeteria was closed.
The glass shutter was
painted with fake snow and a large Christmas tree was blocking the entrance to
the vending machine area. This was however my last resort to get some calories
to survive till the next day when the street vendors would open their carts
again.
In the city, you learn the usual habits and quickly get used
to the short cuts and develop the ‘acquired taste’ faster.
I went outside. The road was covered with slushy snow which
was three days old by then, as were the soggy orange parking tickets stayed as
decorations over the windscreen of the vehicle near the hospital entrance.
People imagined that if they had already earned one ticket, which gave them
immunity from further onslaughts by the parking inspectors.
Anyway, there were the Lebanese food vendors still making
gyros and falafel sandwiches for the taxi drivers. While paying for the food, I
noticed my pager (beeper) went off.
Call from the ED. I
jumped over the puddles of melting ice, my toes frozen, fingers numb from
holding the polythene bag with food in the frigid air, negotiating oncoming
traffic in between the taxis to the ED.
At ten o’ clock, the emergency room was not at all empty,
but had full of usual action.
There were city police bringing people in handcuffs, an old
demented homeless guy in a stretcher, touching everyone who went through the
corridor, nurses constantly calling for people to various rooms, fire force
officers in smoked out yellow overalls coming out of the elevator laughing and joking.
My patient was a clean shaved young man who was very polite
and comfortable in a bed which was separated from the next one with hanging
curtains. I looked at his name and other details; he was eighteen years of age.
(to be continued.......)
The Transport
We managed to squeeze in to the elevator with few other
people. I was the only person with a white coat and a name badge.
The elevator seemed to be going very slow.
Two senior ladies in the elevator looked at me and then at
the patient. "What is wrong with him?" one of them asked. I said to
her that he suffered a severe neurological injury in the past.
They wanted more details;
their face said. I looked at the patient.
He was getting another one of his seizures again. His mouth
started bubbling with froth and the elevator beeps were engulfed in the low
saturation alarm of the pulse oxymeter. I adjusted his oxygen tubing hurriedly
as we pushed him through the hallway which had the directions to Pediatrics
floor.
The nurse at the desk stretched her neck over and tried to
read my name.
I introduced myself
and told her that I was bringing one of their patients back from our facility
after a gastro-enterological procedure.
“You must speak to
our Doctor here." The nurse said.
The doctor was however standing nearby and watching this
drama through his thin bifocals.
"Hi Doctor... we are not expecting any patients from
your institution. We never send anybody there today." He said.
I looked at him as if he was speaking in an alien language.
I asked him "Is this St. Joseph's Hospital?"
He replied “Yes."
"Please have a look at this paper and see whether this
patient is yours."
He glanced at the paper and said "This patient belongs
to St. Joseph's Hospital, Washington County."
"So?" I asked him.
He said calmly.
“Doctor, I am sorry, there must be some sort of mix -up because this is the St.
Joseph's Hospital of Franklin."
I was lost for words. The child was still frothing and
stiffening in the stretcher. I was miles away from our hospital and many more
from our destination.
Somehow I gathered some courage and then asked the ambulance
crew to hurry to our destination.
While I was
rechecking the patient's vitals and listening to his chest, the technicians
were making some secret plan. Probably they did not want to admit that they
made a mistake in locating the hospital or they were searching for an excuse
that their dispatchers gave them the wrong directions.
"Doctor, we cannot proceed with an unstable patient, we
have to notify our HQ."
"What do you want from me? Do you want me to admit this
child in this unknown hospital if I can, and stay with him till you feel free
to send another transport team to transfer him if he becomes stable?"
"You have to understand Doc...We are not equipped to
handle this." The crew said apologetically.
I was totally lost.
I did not know the
patient. I did not have my credit cards or money... I was never in a situation
to admit somebody in the hospital.
I did not know who
his next of kin was...
But I knew one thing. This child's life was my
responsibility. I was the only person responsible. Not the EMTs. Not the senior
resident. Not the sub specialist who did the procedure. Not the parents who
were waiting miles away in that small rehab center. It is me. If I could
stabilize him, the ambulance crew would take him.
I had an idea. I asked for the directions to the emergency
department and pushed the trolley as fast as I could. The crew followed my
suggestions like robots.
The doctors and nurses allowed me inside and quickly
arranged whatever was needed..
(to be continued)
The Interception
The waves were trying to separate the two boats apart.
I was holding on to
the hand rail at the side of the deck. My glasses became misty while I tried to
balance on the undulating vessel.
My stomach was rumbling with the churning of the sea. The
afternoon sun was mercilessly burning my back.
The Filipino boat workers were asking me to jump in to the
other boat.
“Oh… no!”
I am not going to do
that. I am here to save a life; not to lose mine I said to myself.
The journey had started one hour back. I boarded the supply
vessel to get to the oil tanker anchored offshore. I had a mission to attend to
a sick seaman on the ship. The shipping agent was not sure whether he could
make it to the port.
It was a sort of kidnapping that he cleverly started the
boat while I was just talking to him in a boat anchored at the port.
Agent said, "Doctor, we better go in this boat and
intercept the other boat; that will save lot of time."
I never expected the trip would be like that. The two boats
were pushing each other to stay side by side like two wrestlers; but they were
changing heights according to the wave pattern.
I saw the patient lying in a stretcher on the deck of the other
boat. (to be continued.....)
The Scut Work: Short Stories
List Price: $7.99
A Collection of Short Stories.
These are based on medical fiction and humor spanning many countries, times and cultures with a common thread of misery in the time of illness, suffering and death.
5.25" x 8" (13.335 x 20.32 cm)
Black & White on White paper
150 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1481160865 (CreateSpace-Assigned)
ISBN-10: 1481160869
BISAC: Fiction / Short Stories
