Here’s a fact that I’ve found
This one I’m sure will astound
It’s just fifty-four
Hours, no more
But really, I am slowing down
Synopsis: I’m a family practitioner from Sioux City, Iowa. On sabbatical to avoid burnout, while my non-compete clause ticks away I’m having adventures, visiting family and friends, and working in out-of-the-way places. On assignment on the North Island of New Zealand, I’m living in an apartment attached to a clinic in Matakana, north of Auckland.
ANZAC day commemorates the Australia-New Zealand Army Corps losses, first in WWI and then in later wars. It’s not my holiday because I’m not a Kiwi, and I volunteered to work the clinic today. This year the coincidence with the Easter weekend gave the country a four consecutive days off. I tacked my fourteen hours today onto the fourteen I did on Good Friday and the twenty-four I worked the day after. I worked at a reasonable pace, and got at least one break a day; today I took a morning and afternoon tea break and went out for both lunch and supper.
Yesterday evening I stopped being able to stay awake at 8:00 PM and went to bed; I slept soundly till 4:30. Breakfast followed shower. Without the anticipated traffic I arrived twenty-five minutes early.
Holiday business continued; as of 6:00PM I’ve seen twenty patients and done (or not done) phone prescriptions for 4 more.
‘Two patients have studies pending which I hope prove me wrong.
I looked at one patient whose dermatologic problem has failed to clear for nine years, and instantly disagreed with the previous diagnosis, in part because of inadequate response to medication. I prescribed a skin creme, handed over my card, and requested a post or email if a cure resulted.
I treated six patients non-pharmacologically.
I lost track of the number I told to quit smoking and drinking.
I made four patients better before they left; I cured one.
I did no defensive medicine.
When I went out to eat I walked down Wellsford’s main street in the rain, glad of my duck-hunting jacket and my cap. I heard a couple speaking Spanish outside a cafe; I threw six words into their conversation and made them smile. I wanted to stop and chat, to find out where they were from, and the forces that had acted on them to be here in this place at this time, but I walked on so I wouldn’t breathe their cigarette smoke.
They had left by the time I returned; the nurse departed at eight and I spent the next two hours on-line researching my next placement. When I turned out the lights and set the alarm at ten, I had worked fifty-two hours, twenty less than I usually work on Easter weekend.
Pouring rain lengthened the drive home by twenty percent. With light traffic, I fought the urge to break the speed limit along the straightaways. I arrived in Matakana, the town was dark and quiet, and, like me, tired from the long weekend.
