Today, as I promised I would, I had a good day. I was disarmingly charming. I made some child come alive with the sweet cocktail of 50% dextrose for her hypoglycaemia and her parents thought I was a magician. Not a skilled doctor of course. So after we did what we needed to do for her, I decided to play a game we all know all too well. Called 'telephone', you whisper conspiratorially into an ear and sees what comes out the other end. Today I decided to explain to the nurse what the numbers on either side of an infusion bag of fluids meant. First, admittedly quite wicked on my part, by testing them endlessly to see who knew the answer. Then the playful part which meant they had to each pass on the info to the next shift and three shifts later, I would have the pleasure to check on my morning ward round what came out the other end, so to speak! Discover if the infusion numbers meant how much in the patient and how much left in the bag or if one of the exasperating Medical Assistants wore red women's knickers.
Well well, no surprise there, the message was not passed on. Why am I not surprised? Silly optimism. Optimism is the fool. Naïve at best and harebrained at worst.