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Work at the hospital has had its moments of excitement in amongst the dull grind of everyday quietness. It is, like the mood of a bipolar person, from one extreme to another. Night shifts, for example are not unlike a Jekyll and Hyde type character. On one hand you have the ease of a small hospital with very little happening on the wards and the occasional A&E attendee, on the other you have the full ICU and multiple trauma call in A&E with no in-house radiology or blood services to assist you...oh and it's just you and one other doctor. One particular night will stick in Greg's mind for a while, when the other, more senior doctor, on with him decided at the start of what looked to be a busy A&E night, that he wasn't feeling too well and would rather sit this one out. Greg, being the walkover subordinate that he is, dutifully agreed that it was probably best he have a lie down while Greg takes care of the whole hospital. Greg's feelings of resentment soon passed at around 4am when his colleague reappeared in the A&E department quietly requesting to be admitted and could Greg please call the on-call surgeon? One quick admission and telephone call later and the colleague was being whisked off to theatre to have his gallbladder taken out. In the words of Spike Milligan, "I told you I was ill".
On another occasion Claire was on a late shift and was called urgently to theatre. Greg had given her prior warning that there was a potential orthopaedic case and that the surgeon on call that evening had a reputation for being a little brash occasionally. Adamant not to provide any fuel to a fire, she hurried towards the operating theatre. After having asked what the appropriate attire would be for this operation, she proceeded to put on her surgical gown and face mask with added plastic eye visor. The hip washout proceeded and rapport between Claire and the surgeon seemed to be going well, so well in fact that he asked her to move the leg in a way that mimicked the patient dancing. Keen not to upset, Claire obliged. Unfortunately the vigorous dancing moves she was pulling off caused the tubing for the rinsing machine to come loose, in turn causing the kind of spray you experience when you put your finger over the end of a hose. Only this was not just tap water, this was hip juice. Startled, Claire watched as hip juice headed for her face and hit her visor, before, in slow motion, running down the visor, over the face mask and down the inside of her surgical gown. Keen not to make a fuss, Claire eased her dancing motions as the hip juice dribbled and then dried within her cleavage.
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Matchbox Mates Life on the other side in too many ways!!Too hip! Apologies to hip patient but such a good story...sorry, am smiling! Go Dr Claire!!
downhall storage Hip juice sounds very groovy