Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Dreaming (or lack thereof)
Am I the only person in the world who has stopped dreaming? I've gone months, if not years, without so much as a faded memory of a dream on waking. I'm not totally regretful, as my uninterrupted, dream-less, corpse-like sleep is wonderfully refreshing but it'd be nice to quote Martin Luther King and mean it.
Nocturnalism
I'm convinced my night shifts are coming around quicker and quicker. As my second night of seven draws to an end, the minuscule portion of my brain that remains functional finds itself wholly diverted to dreaming up breakfasting possibilities. I subsist on two meals a day during nights - ascetic in principle but truly gluttonous in practice.
Breakfast takes on a whole new guise post-nights. Rather than a meagre means of preventing a potentially embarrassing ward round collapse, or worse still, a mid-ward round tummy rumble and filling the gap before a far more substantial lunch, breakfast in fact becomes lunch. My standard Sunday breakfast becomes a daily phenomenon for seven days. The resultant slumber is blissful.
However, with breakfast usurping lunch and sleep denying brunch an opportunity, my otherwise religious devotion to Philpotts is put to one side during a week of nights. Philpotts is not merely a lunch venue, it's a lifestyle choice. I simply cannot resist the opulent deli surroundings, the granary baguettes smeared in olive oil but most of all the bespoke smoothies. It is said you know you're in trouble when your local chip-shop owner knows your order before you've opened your mouth. My smoothie technician has me sussed out.
Having succumbed to different (admittedly delicious) smoothies for several consecutive days, at a certain point last week I decided to exercise some more will power. I marched to the sandwich counter avoiding eye contact with the predatory smoothie man with the gold capped front teeth.
Smoothie Man: Good afternoon sir!
Me: (Already resigned to yet another experimental beverage) Hello!
Smoothie Man: Not enjoying a smoothie today sir?
Me: (Talking as though possessed) What's today's special?
Smoothie Man: A lovely combination of kiwi, pineapple, honey and bio-yoghurt...try some.
Me: (Knocking back the taster). Give me a regular. You've really got me worked out haven't you?
Smoothie Man: Hahaha. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, do you buy smoothies for the taste or for the health benefits?
Me: If I'm brutally honest, it's for the taste and I retrospectively claim the health benefits.
Smoothie Man: Oh, I see. (Pouring in some honey). I can't actually partake of this drink you know sir.
Me: Why's that?
Smoothie Man: (Leaning forward and glancing side to side in a conspiratorial manner) I was diagnosed with diabetes last week.
Me: You can still have honey as part of a balanced diet.
Smoothie Man: Really?
Me: Yes. In fact if you crank up your exercising you can actually get rid of your diabetes.
Smoothie Man: No way! You see that lady across at the other counter? The one with the sad face. She has diabetes. I aint gonna let that happen. I'm gonna grab diabetes by the neck and overcome it. (Flashing a golden grin).
I picked up the smoothie, fleetingly cursed my lack of resilience and protractedly pacified my ravenous tastebuds.
Breakfast takes on a whole new guise post-nights. Rather than a meagre means of preventing a potentially embarrassing ward round collapse, or worse still, a mid-ward round tummy rumble and filling the gap before a far more substantial lunch, breakfast in fact becomes lunch. My standard Sunday breakfast becomes a daily phenomenon for seven days. The resultant slumber is blissful.
However, with breakfast usurping lunch and sleep denying brunch an opportunity, my otherwise religious devotion to Philpotts is put to one side during a week of nights. Philpotts is not merely a lunch venue, it's a lifestyle choice. I simply cannot resist the opulent deli surroundings, the granary baguettes smeared in olive oil but most of all the bespoke smoothies. It is said you know you're in trouble when your local chip-shop owner knows your order before you've opened your mouth. My smoothie technician has me sussed out.
Having succumbed to different (admittedly delicious) smoothies for several consecutive days, at a certain point last week I decided to exercise some more will power. I marched to the sandwich counter avoiding eye contact with the predatory smoothie man with the gold capped front teeth.
Smoothie Man: Good afternoon sir!
Me: (Already resigned to yet another experimental beverage) Hello!
Smoothie Man: Not enjoying a smoothie today sir?
Me: (Talking as though possessed) What's today's special?
Smoothie Man: A lovely combination of kiwi, pineapple, honey and bio-yoghurt...try some.
Me: (Knocking back the taster). Give me a regular. You've really got me worked out haven't you?
Smoothie Man: Hahaha. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, do you buy smoothies for the taste or for the health benefits?
Me: If I'm brutally honest, it's for the taste and I retrospectively claim the health benefits.
Smoothie Man: Oh, I see. (Pouring in some honey). I can't actually partake of this drink you know sir.
Me: Why's that?
Smoothie Man: (Leaning forward and glancing side to side in a conspiratorial manner) I was diagnosed with diabetes last week.
Me: You can still have honey as part of a balanced diet.
Smoothie Man: Really?
Me: Yes. In fact if you crank up your exercising you can actually get rid of your diabetes.
Smoothie Man: No way! You see that lady across at the other counter? The one with the sad face. She has diabetes. I aint gonna let that happen. I'm gonna grab diabetes by the neck and overcome it. (Flashing a golden grin).
I picked up the smoothie, fleetingly cursed my lack of resilience and protractedly pacified my ravenous tastebuds.
Monday, March 12, 2007
March in March
Join the medical workforce on March 17th and protest against the massive employment and training crisis that we are now facing as a result of failed Department of Health policy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
