15th May 2000

For some reason I've got a Hymn running through my head repeatedly. "Now is the time for the Church to arise and proclaim him, Jesus, Saviour redeedmer and Lord". Not a clue why.

I made a mistake yesterday and accidentally washed some whites with a blue shirt; I had been so confident the washing machine was empty and I popped a white shirt and a white coat in after bleaching them for that crisp white look, and, well you can guess the rest. After re-bleaching the shirt it's gone back to white, with the faintest suggestion of a hint of baby blue. It's actually quite cool, it looks white in sunlight but just barely gives a sense of blue under flourescent light. The white coat on the other hand is a different matter. I can't possibly wear a coat that's not glaringly white on the wards. I'll stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone else is painful to the eye; that's the reason I was bleaching everything in the first place, because I'd been slowly turning yellow and beginning to stand out.

One of the things that bugs me is how all the medics keep their coats immaculately rumple-free. I fold my coat up and chuck it in my bag like everyone else and the next day I look like I've been put in the washing machine, repeatedly. Does everyone else iron their coats everyday? I'm not prepared to do that! They ought to give us wrinkle-proof coats. Funny how in preclinicals I longed for the day I'd wear the coat, now I long for the day I put it away and just walk around with my stethoscope around my neck like all the doctors do. This coat thing is a hassle. Of course, then I'd have to iron my shirts properly every morning, not the one-two job I usually make of it.

I watched a coronary artery bypass graft (CABG) with aortic valve repair (AVR) on friday morning. That's open-heart surgery for those not in the know. It wasn't half as squeemish as you'd think, all very quick and professional and calm. Everyone was remarkably calm throughout. When the heart was exposed it dawned on me how perfectly the human body (and other organisms too) was created. There's a perfect little space that encapsulates the heart called the pericardial sac that I'd never really been able to visualise till it was cut right open in front of me. The surgeons sewed a bit of saphenous vein from the leg into his heart to bypass his blocked coronary arteries (his being the patient, an elderly, grandfatherly gentleman as the tend to be) and along the way they packed his chest with a little bit of slushy ice to keep the heart cold. Apparently whilst the heart is stopped it has to be kept cold to keep metabolism to a minimum, since without blood flowing through it it's at risk of oxygen deprivation like everything else organic. For some reason the slush made me feel faintly queazy but I got over it fairly rapidly. Strange how blood does it for some people, cracking over the chest does it for others, and packed ice in the thoracic cavity does it for me. After they'd finished with everything and restarted his heart there was a bit of a flurry because his ECG trace was abnormal. The surgeons were visibly upset and saying things like "but he came in with a normal ECG" and obviously blaming themselves. (there were two of them). They ordered the perfusionist to keep increasing his blood supply though, and in the "final stretch" to return his supply to normalthe heart suddenly resumed normal activity and the ECG went back to normal. The senior surgeon started making orgasmic noises (ooh! arrh, yeessssss!) that would have done Revlon proud... he outdid that blonde beauty from the advertisement by about a minute... before remarking that saving people was better than sex, and I looked at him and saw a man who is undeniably comitted to his job, and enjoys it. I wonder if I'll ever be as fulfilled working as a doctor someday? Or will I just be another discontented GP wondering what if I had chosen to do this and this instead of being lazy and choosing the option that made me the most money whilst giving me the most freedom for a social life and holidays. Only time will tell.

It's 8.00 am on a beautiful Monday morning. The sun's high in the sky and shining in full force into my living room, and it actually feels warm through my window. I'm reminded slightly of Singapore, and I think I rather miss home.

Anna's been writing about her dreams again; she has a remarkable ability to remember them and sometimes they kick off this slight sensation of deja-vu in me. Not that I've had the same dreams, but rather the sensation she describes, that factual surreality that is so blatently believable when you're dreaming, and so refreshingly absurd when you're awake; I know I've had that before, many times. Usually just on waking, and somedays I even remember my dreams but they start to fade once I'm awake and they're gone by the time I get home from the hospital. Only the most bizarre, or pleasant dreams stick. I remember a rather strange one I had where I was walking through, a dream? life? with a friend by my side. I don't think I ever looked at her, since she was standing right at my shoulder, or perhaps trailing just a little behind and somehow in the dream I didn't think to turn back to see who she was, but it didn't matter because I knew who she was anyhow, in a visceral sort of way. (ie in my gut) I was leading her by the hand and we walked through many places, first an airplane hanger with the sun low in our eyes and a fine mist and drizzle coming from the roof of the hanger (weird), from which we walked out the large open doors and found ourselves in the lobby of an old chinese inn that looked to be pre-war Singapore. We talked to the owner for a second at his desk (strange that I remember this dream so clearly) and then we walked through the desk, and then him (right through) and then the wall into a coffeeshop with singleted "uncles" sitting around speaking loudly in hokkien and drinking their beermugs of coffee, as they do back home. Sat down for coffee and found ourselves walking through the drizzling-hanger again. I wonder what a psychoanalyst would make of that.

I had that dream years ago when I was still in the army. More recently I've had others where I was a hunter and had to hunt down and shoot someone although I really didn't want to; that was a mere week ago, and I can't remember it at all.