Confessions of a GP Read Free Page B

first job as a doctor was to order a Chinese takeaway. Consultant surgeons have a wonderful way of ensuring that their junior doctors don’t get above themselves.
    Over the next hour my pager started going off increasingly frequently until it built up to what felt like a constant chorus of bleeps. Jobs that would take a few minutes for me to do now, took an hour back then because I was so new and inexperienced. I decided that the cocky doctor role didn’t suit me so I went for the pathetic vulnerable new doctor approach. It worked and the nurses soon began to feel sorry for me. They offered to make me tea, showed me the secret biscuit cupboard and helped me find my feet. Just as I was beginning to gain a little confidence, my pager made a frightening sound. Instead of the normal slow, steady bleep there was a stream of quick staccato bleeps followed by the words ‘Cardiac arrest Willow ward…Cardiac arrest Willow ward.’ To my horror, that was the ward that my consultant covered. That meant that I should really be there. I started running. The adrenaline was pumping, my white coat was sailing behind me as I zipped passed people in the corridor. I was important. It felt great! Suddenly, as I got closer to Willow ward, a terrifying thought dawned on me, ‘Oh my God. What if I’m the first doctor there!!!! I’ve only ever resuscitated a rubber dummy in training exercises. I’ve never had to do the real thing.’ To my left was the gents’ toilet. Doubts began to race through my head. ‘Perhaps I could just nip in there and hide for a bit. I can reappear in a few minutes once the cavalry has arrived.’ It was tempting, but I bravely decided to keep on running and meet my fate.
    Lying in a bed was a frail old lady with her pyjamas ripped open and her torso exposed. She was grey and lifeless and I can remember her ribs protruding out of her chest wall. A couple of nurses were frantically running around looking for oxygen and the patient’s notes, while another nurse was doing chest compressions. To my relief, a remarkably relaxed-looking medical registrar was standing at the head of the bed and calmly taking charge. A monitor was set up and it was clear even to me that the wiggly lines on the screen meant that the patient needed to be shocked. A few other doctors soon turned up and I was pretty much a spectator as they expertly performed a few rounds of CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) followed by a set of shocks. It was all very dramatic but the woman didn’t seem to be making any signs of a revival. Thinking that I had managed to escape my first cardiac arrest as an onlooker only, I began to consider sneaking away, aware of how many mundane jobs were waiting for me to be done on other wards. Unfortunately, the relaxed-looking registrar spotted me and called me forward. ‘This one’s not coming back; shall we let the house officer have a go with the defibrillator?’ I had just done my CPR training and it was all still clear in my mind. This was my big moment. For some reason, I had it in my head that if it was me who shocked her, she would suddenly come round. What a great story that would be, I thought as I stepped up to the bed. The one thing that the instructors had really emphasised in the resuscitation training was the importance of safety. I had to make sure that all the doctors, nurses and oxygen masks were clear of the bed before shocking the patient. I stepped up and took the paddles. Lifting them out of the machine I carefully placed them on the woman’s chest. Looking all around me, I started the drill: ‘Oxygen away, head clear, feet clear, charging to 360, shocking at 360.’
    BANG. My adrenaline had been pumping but I hadn’t expected that. I had stayed on my feet but had been thrown backwards with a jolt. That never happened with the dummies. I must have been looking slightly dazed and the registrar glanced over at me with faint amusement. ‘You’ve electrocuted yourself, you prat.’