Acopia

Sometimes people come to hospital who aren't, strictly speaking, sick. These people are often old, crumbly, living alone, not eating very much or very well. They're often a bit whiffy, wearing bizarre clothing and rambling or confused.

They get admitted to Gen Med with a very special St Vincent's diagnosis: Acopia.

As in, not coping.

I had an acopic moment this afternoon.

I'd arrived at work AT 6:30 this morning, toured the ICU so I could update our patient statuses, presented a ward audit in front of the entire team of Cardiothoracic surgeons (to quiet derision and open scorn), done the ward round, gone to clinic, come back to find that every other doctor (in a team of 6) was in theatre and run the ward alone for 5 hours.

Halfway through our evening round I cracked it. My co-resident had just turned up and said, "Aw, you can go if you like Sam." I think he meant once the ward round was done. Oh well.

I thrust my patient list into his hands, turned on my heel and left. Walked straight past the senior boss and, picking up my bag, straight into the lift.

I am at home and it's still light out. I've eaten. I'm wearing soft pants. Acopia is not so bad.

Look, my job is still awesome (I got to put in a chest tube yesterday, which involved inserting my finger into a patient's ribcage and wiggling it till I felt a lung) but it's also exhausting. When a girl gets a bit whiffy, confused and starts rambling, it's time to go home.

As a side note, our acopic patients often do really well. With a good feed, some clean clothes and a bit of TLC, they perk up nicely. Then we send them to nursing homes to live out their days. Something to look forward to.