Post call

This is an experiment. Life always seems skewed after a night on call, and I've talked about it a lot with my hubby. But I've never written about it. He says that I'm grumpy, impatient and somewhat moody post-call. I have no idea what I am. Other than damn tired, of course.

So I thought I'd write a post-call entry today and then read it tomorrow. Just to see how the 'normal' me views the post-call me.

First let me talk about call. "Being on call" does NOT mean that I'm at home, maybe answering one or two pages from anxious mothers, sleeping peacefully in my own bed. While a resident, being on call means getting to the hospital at about 7am on day one and leaving at about 1pm on day two. Yes - that's more than 24 hours straight in the hospital.

And no, one does not sleep in a nice dark room in a quiet portion of the hospital all night while maybe one or two nurses page you about anxious mothers. As an intern it meant dealing with 2/3rds bullshit, 1/6th social chaos and 1/6th true medical problems. ALL night. As a senior resident, it means dealing with 1/4rth bullshit, 1/2 intern problems (eg how to deal with social chaos) and 1/4rth real Sickness. Of course, as an upper level the Sick patients might, at any time, stage a coup and storm the other three quarters of my time. Don't shoot til you see the whites of her eyes! Needless to say, everyone is up all night long.

So last night was a gem. Three intubated kiddos, two of which were Sick, and three regular admits. The Sickest child is likely the victim of abuse. And guess what! He's most likely gonna die. At one point last night, his intracranial pressure hit 80 mmHg.

That's bad. The goal is less than 20. Intracranial pressures of 80 = intracranial badness/impending doom.

Motherfucker. Some people just shouldn't be allowed to procreate.

On a more positive note, leftovers are good. Mmmmmmmmmm... meatloaf.