Wednesday, January 11, 2006

A Beautiful Mind

I have always been a little saddened by the dearth of talent amid the medics. At the beginning of each new job I arrive bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to meet my new co-workers. In the preceding days I've dreamt of Ryan Philippe or Alex Zane look-alikes that I can drool over at our Sodhexo luncheons. The reality is inevitably heartbreaking. The vast majority of doctors are, sadly, minging weirdos.

The Young Professor is one of our registrars. He lives with his mother. I could stop there...but I won't. He wears tweed suits that, combined with his unruly, grey, wavey hair, makes him look far older than he actually is. He flits about the ward like a manic dandy. He speaks with such pressure that he trips over his own words and degenerates into a frustrated stutter. The slightest problem might sent him into a frenzy of twitching and eye-screwing as he reprimands anyone and everybody for their preceived mismanagement. Worst of all, he never, ever leaves the bloody hospital: he's in early; he leaves last; he even came in on Christmas day when he was supposed to be off! Don't get me wrong: he's one of my favourites - the eccentrics always are - but there's no getting away from it; the boy sure is bizarre!

How on Earth I am supposed to climb the career ladder when people like The Young Professor are already clinging on to the higher wrungs? Yesterday my own reg suggested I start a research project and my heart sank. I don't want to stay behind late and work on some pointless research whose only goal is to feather my CV; I want to go out and dance and drink before I'm too old to do so without consistuting a repulsive spectacle. Yet, on the other hand, I do want to progress and I do like neurology so I know I probably should. Sometimes I wish I were a barman or a shop assisstent who never thought about work again as soon as they walked out of the door. Instead, I'm writing this to put off making my presentation for the Grand Round on Friday. At the same, in the back of my mind, there is the ever-present, gnawing guilt that stems from having forgotten to do something for a patient today. It's like you never leave work, like it never stops, like you're always on call. In the words of a great philosopher: I want to break free!


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I used to think I'd stop dancing, etc., in public when I was too old to - but then I got too old to, and I just didn't care, so I still do it.
It's the ONLY way to be!

Who cares what anyone else thinks; stuff 'em if they don't like it.

8:16 pm  
Anonymous cath said...

Anyway, my point was, plenty of time for dancing later on in life as well as now.

8:25 pm  
Blogger The Venial Sinner said...

Yes, I do agree. I figure I probably should stop when I get older, but I doubt I will. There's nowt else to do after all. Slugdom here I come!

9:52 pm  
Anonymous cath said...

Well, the gentleman I know who gets the MOST hot loving is around 50 and gets about like you wouldn't believe - and doesn't have to pay for it either.

It's not necessarily downhill after 30 - it depends on how much energy you have, I think.
Although his energy levels may be chemically enhanced to some degree.

10:24 pm  
Blogger Name withheld to protect the guilty said...

If you can further your career and look at yourself in the mirror in the morning and like your life, then hats off to you.

That being said, if you can't, then enjoy life! What's the quote? "Nobody on their death bed ever said 'I wish I'd spent more time at work.'"

1:25 am  
Blogger Shiny Happy Person said...

Much sympathy.
Enjoying your blog, and trying to keep up with all the other miserable fuckers of British doctors on blogspot. Grim satisfaction in knowing I'm not the only one.

8:45 pm  
Blogger The Venial Sinner said...

Yeah, I try not to be too miserable about anything for fear that the wind changes and my face stays that way.

7:07 pm  

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