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Posts Tagged ‘fun’

Pessed.

I’m reading the latest issue of MO, a peer-reviewed medical journal that we receive regularly in our practice.  As I have a nervous habit of reading anything available to me while I’m outside with my coffee and cigarette (yes, I know), it wasn’t long before I found myself reading a clinical review on Female Urinary Incontinence. 

Riveting. 

Actually, it was.  As someone who has had one child already with a view to more in the distant(ish) future, I really only thought that urinary incontinence was secondary to bearing children and nobody else.  Save the elderly, where anatomical regression seems to be par for the course.  Pelvic Floor Muscle Training (PFMT), Bladder Training and Oestrogen Therapy seem to be first-line management techniques and, if that doesn’t work, then you look at second-line which would involve either a specialist referral or Tension-Free Vaginal Tape (TVT), Vaginal Pessaries and Botulinum Toxin Treatment.

Pessaries!

Pessaries, for all your pessing needs.

 
I decided, halfway through, to look at the references because the treatments seemed to be escalating rapidly in horrific names.  Tension-free isn’t what I’d be feeling if I had to go to a doctor for urinary frequency and/or incontinence, amirite?  Anyway, I found reference to an intravaginal device called the “Contiform”.  Apparently, it comes in four sizes.  Four sizes.  Small, medium, large and… gross?

That’s all I really want to write about this, because I have a load of chores to do before I get on with the rest of my day.  I’ve wasted this crisp winter morning watching Dropkick Murphys and Grandaddy film clips and checking out Jason Lytle’s website, and playing some MW2 while The Kid was sleeping in. 

I need to pee, but I’m sure I can hold it if I need to.  Win!

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Oh hey, you’re okay.

July 12, 2010 1 comment

I’ve been checking out some blogs here on WordPress and aside from the hate mongering that seems to be prevalent (woo, Freedom of Speech!), there are some pretty impressive bloggers out there.  I would link but I’ve only really been peeking so I’ve no real right in linking at this point.  There are so many categories and sub-categories that people tag their posts in so I’m going to be completely general and list the ones I have seen frequently.

It’s good to see that the bleeding hearts-type blogs are still around.  Make-ups, break-ups, malicious intent and sobbing into the keyboard surrounded by the what-if crap of dreams gone bad.  Girlfriends cheating on boyfriends who are cheating on their wives who are paying personal investigators who post the clips on YouTube without the clients knowing.  You know I’ve been there, done that.  Well not to that extent, but you know, the over-personal dash.  Sometimes I wonder why I bothered at all as it’s largely served to bolster my ever-increasing anxiety and insecurity about my writing.  I don’t really know where this blog is going to go these days so I’ll settle for idle musing for now.  And observation.  I like to watch.  I like to watch you bleed, mwuahahaha!

There are those who write about my third or fourth love, food.  Few have been exceptional where either their cooking skills, photography skills or a clever combination of both have rivalled those in popular cookbooks.  Some have been flat-out catastrophic but hilarious, photos of goals and photos of actual “finished” dishes resembling more of a Pro Hart vomitus than anything intended.  Most would put Cake Wrecks to shame.  I’m secretly envious of their courage to post such horrible foodstuffs online and put their name to it, a part of me secretly wants to try their food, and a larger part of me wants them to try again and get it right for the glory of faceless textual applause.

There’s plenty of the self-righteous religious right which seems to ignore the separation of Church and State and ties in fluidly with the aforementioned racist blogs, thinly veiled as disgust at the current Obama administration.  It’s not worth mentioning really, as it only gives credence to unfunny irrational thought.

There are those who seem to have a special interest topic and brood disturbingly over them.   Murderers, knitting and pets seem to be popular subjects here.  Commenting feels intrusive.  So does heavy mouth breathing.  I limit both whilst reading these types of blogs.

Finally, there are the people who love to rant.  I miss ranting, but I feel I don’t have the energy for a flat-out ragefest anymore.  Is that sad?  A part of me misses hating everything but there’s a nicer new part that enjoys the little things.  Having said that, there are a lot of jerks out there.  Some of them are funny and share their fury online in blog form.  Some of them are the ones who have breathless, veiny, high blood-pressure-y nonsensical diatribes about them. 

Keep writing, guys.  I’ll try to, too.  Your vitriol and enthusiasm make my day.

Fruit mince lie!

July 11, 2010 2 comments

I’ve decided it’s time to bake an apple crumble.  The Cub has an exhibition to host in Darling Harbour this week and The Kid is with her dad and grandma during the school holidays so there’s no real point right now unless you’d like to come over sometime over the next weekend?  Just don’t be creepy like this dude.

I’ve always been more into meat pies than I have been fruit pies or, worse still, fruit mince pies.  While I love pie crusts when done right, I do not feel I will ever have the confidence to bake a pie from scratch.  Nor do I have a nifty little window sill with gingham curtains and an outside flowerbox in which to cool said pie, so I’m not considering it.  Thinking of pies that aren’t savoury in nature makes me uncomfortable, as I feel that the fruit (mince?) pie is largely Amercian and only serves to give me false hope when I’m invited over for pie.

Apple crumble, however, is doable.  I like soft apples.  I like crumble.  Wait, what?

Unrelated observation:  There are a LOT of flagrantly racist WordPress blogs out there now, huh?

Mummaflippin’ Sandwich Day!

July 11, 2010 1 comment

As mentioned before, I took a sideways promotion at work.  Essentially, I do all the troubleshooting with my boss, get to wear the stupid red Fire Warden baseball cap whenever the alarm goes off (with disturbing frequency, it seems), and listen to woebegone stories of Workers Compensation patients.

I heard through the grapevine (being the accounts lady with whom I share an office) that the boys (owners of the practice) are out of their recession slump.  Our chairs are sagged with the hydraulics gone and need urgent attention as we look like bedraggled semi-corporate Whack-A-Moles sitting in our seats.  We need to call someone in to repair some carpet work near the photocopier so that we’re not tripping over it daily, running the risk of falling face-first into the corners of our desks.  The practice needs to employ two highschool students to do the menial tasks so that the fully qualified can attend to in-house triage or, at least, hire one more staff member with a view to full-time work.  I desperately need more hours to pay the ever-increasing bills but shit, everyone needs that.  I’ve made some loose plans through work to go into study which is what I’ve wanted to do since the day I left home but haven’t had the opportunity.  Now that The Kid is older and a little more independent, I find my time opening up to the point where study can actually be a possibility.  Unfortunately, the guys at work cannot pay for me to study at this point but I’ve heard that if I hang around for another 5 – 10 years (WTF), they can re-assess their finances.  It looks bleak, seeing as I’m also the Personal Assistant to one of the partners of the practice, the one going through a malicious divorce and is shuffling practice money around to survive, so I know exactly where the money sits for both the immediate and long-term future of the practice.  Gah. 

So what do I ask for above all else?  A Sandwich Day.

I knew this was a risk to take, as it didn’t just mean sandwiches.  See, a few years ago, there was an almighty exodus in our practice where two essential workers had had enough and, prior to their explosive exit interviews, the owners attempted to quell the fires by hosting a sandwich day.  Catering was organised and sandwiches as far as the eye could see were placed in our not-right-now-but-spare-at-the-time dental surgery.  Gourmet sandwiches overflowing with grilled seasonal vegetables, lazy tongues of meat poking out of bready blankets and spicy sauces.  The downside was that the two people who had threatened to leave were the ones who had missed out by poor shift organisation, a practice free-for-all which had other departments scabbing food in their pockets and an even poorer attempt by the bosses to “surprise” the staff by leaving the catering delivery time open.  It was immediately delicious but overly awkward.

I wasn’t really thinking Big Picture when I asked for a Sandwich Day, more that my stomach had called warfare of the gastroeosophageal refluxy kind at the time of the meeting in which I decided to raise the issue.  My immediate boss said that she’d take it to the boys. 

One week later:  Surprise pay rise.  Whaaa??  I asked about my Sandwich Day and made it very clear the pay rise cannot be reneged.  Suckers.

One week later:  Sandwich Day plans.  I check the catering website and organise an emergency meeting to discuss staff food intolerances and allergies.  It emerges that I am welcome to eat sandwiches if I can put up with excessive flatulence all around and/or prepare to work pretty much alone as most will end up recovering in our treatment beds.  Everyone is gluten intolerant beyond digestive enzymes supplied by our Dispensary.  The caterers do not provide a gluten-free option.  I am sad.

UNTIL I FIND THAT THERE ARE ANTIPASTO AND GOURMET MEAT PLATTERS AVAILABLE.

The photo above is the closest visual depiction of the joy I feel about the alternative.

Pay increase and a free feed on a day where all relevant staff have a couple hours overlap and I have an office to retreat to in the event that all the joy of the modern world overwhelms me?! 

This is what I’ve worked all these years for.  Study can wait another five, right?

On Medical School

July 7, 2010 7 comments

More than the suicide rate, more than the failing health secondary to the overwhelming stress of first year Med, more than placement in a Macquarie Fields emergency in-patient, more than failing, I am afraid that if I pursue a career in medicine I will no longer find drawings of penises on any given surface funny.

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