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Friday, December 7, 2012

The Scut Work




I started writing many of these stories about 10 years ago.

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




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

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