With only four wards and 120 beds, which are rarely full, we knew that work life would be pretty different. It is a somewhat strange mixture of some aspects that are much more basic than what we were used to and others that are more advanced. For example, ultrasounds and CT scans when required will be done within two hours and that's with an apology for the delay, where in the UK you can wait a couple of days for these. In contrast, if you need any imaging or blood tests overnight, even a simple x-ray, you would have to call someone in to do so, so often people with injuries are simply told to return in the morning. In the UK there is a 24 hour x-ray service.

We were treated in our first week to a traditional Maori welcome - a Pohiri. The hospital do this once a month for all new employees and everyone from office staff to the chief executive turn out to welcome new employees. Our ceremony was led by a large blind Maori gentleman who introduced us to the tradition of the ceremony and the importance of it in the Maori culture. The ceremony took place in the hospital chapel, we were welcomed in by a group of women (of all cultures and races) performing a haka-esque chant/song/dance before being shown where to sit. We have since found out that our current landlady was one of those women welcoming us. We sat opposite the 'tribe' welcoming us which included theatre staff still in scrubs and consultants. The men sit in front of the women to 'protect' them, although Greg isn't sure he can offer much protection to some of the larger Maori women. The ceremony took place largely in Maori and included speeches and songs. The new male staff are all expected to make a short speech which Greg naturally carried out effortlessly, oozing charisma as he did so. Following this it was time to individually introduce yourself...to every single person. Introductions involve pressing noses with the men and kissing the women on the cheek. Greg had trouble with the nose to nose coordination as his is located slightly East of his face. Claire on the other hand was simply trying not to fall asleep on anyone's nose as she had just finished a night shift. The whole experience was the most interesting and personal welcome we have (and likely will) ever receive to a new workplace.

On the wards, as we've said, there were many similarities. However one aspect of UK hospitals which has disappeared is the cheeky/slightly inappropriate things that appear on the wall. In the UK there are such strict rules about what can go up that you can no longer get away with a bit of fun on the wards. In New Zealand however they still manage it. For example on the surgical ward (yes, there is only one), the wall behind the nurse's station is decorated for all to see, public, patients and staff. It is decorated with the names of the responsible consultants and the junior doctors who work for them (seems fair enough). However beside each name the nurses have decided to put up a photo of whichever celebrity they feel that person most looks like. Sure enough after only one day of work our names were up with our own celebrity doppelgangers. Greg is the devilishly handsome Chris O'Dowd and Claire is the beauty that is Clare Danes. Both fairly accurate, Greg feels. Another example is the 'Oh Buggar chart'. A chart on the wall for all the little mishaps that would leave an endless trail of pointless paperwork in the UK. With this chart however someone simply jots it down so everyone knows not to make the same silly little mistake. Obviously serious stuff is still treated as such but there's no need to blow the small things out of proportion. Any NHS workers reading this will shiver in horror at the thought of adverse incident forms.

We were starting to get used to the way things work, but as is the nature of surgery (which we were both working on) in any hospital it can be somewhat unpredictable going from being very quiet one minute to running around the next. On one morning Claire had just about finished seeing her patients when she received a page 'Please assist Mr S in theatre asap'. Claire sprung into action, handed her pager over to someone, grabbed her socks (a must have when wearing someone else's theatre clogs) and hurriedly walked towards theatre, got into scrubs, found some vaguely fitting theatre shoes and headed to find out where she was needed. She peeped through a window of theatre one and saw Mr S, with a patient on the table. Claire, already panicked by the addition of the words 'asap' on the pager, was now feeling even more rushed. She hurtled into the scrubbing room, a room in which you wash your hands/arms several times in an attempt to become sterile before putting on your sterile gown and gloves. In such a rush she was now fumbling with everything, she was starting to sweat, the mask was on, the hands were clean and after much fiddling her gown and gloves were now on. She confidently turned around to enter the theatre and start assisting, only to find an empty theatre, no patient, no Mr S, no nursing staff. Claire stood still for a moment, perfectly scrubbed and gowned up, before saying out loud to herself 'should I just un-scrub then?'. She ripped off her outfit and pushed it to the bottom of the bin, before heading to the theatre coffee room, attempting to walk in looking calm and casual. Mr S was there, 'thanks for coming down, I need you to hold the camera for the next case'. It was then that Claire realised it was a New Zealand 'asap' and not the urgency she had been used to.

Meanwhile Greg is frequently being torn in two directions, being both the house surgeon for orthopaedics and for gynaecology...two, quite frankly, polar opposite specialties. One moment he is requesting hip and knee x-rays, the next he is at the business end of a hysterectomy.