You can run but you can’t hide

Blissful few days off between nights for the wedding of one of my best mates. Spent the day with a couple of friends attempting to turn their garden shed into a desirable destination for their wedding night (as that’s where they are spending it). Which mostly involved trying to dissuade to boys from scattering the bed with condoms, and trying to decide if the stain on the drape that j has provided is semen or not.

Then I actually managed to slip in a swim in the sea with a mate, and a surf with the bride. Amazing to finally get to use my new home to its full potential, instead of getting glimpses of fields out of the hospital windows.

Waking up on the boys’ sofa on the morning of the wedding I realise that I although I may have escaped the hospital physically, I can’t escape it mentally as I’m lying here running through emergency scenarios in my head. What happens if someone chokes on a chicken bone at the buffet? Encourage cough, back blows, heimlich manoeuvre, CPR…. Heart attack? Call 999. CPR with rescue breaths until ambulance arrives. Child drowns? Ditto… Bridesmaid slashes wrist with wedding cake knife? Steal best man’s tie and use it as tourniquet…

Surely other people are lying in bed worrying about normal things like what to wear or who’ll they’ll get off with? Was I such a catastophist before I started medicine, or did medicine turn me into one?

Also (not) looking forward to the slew of medical questions that inevitably pour forth at these events. I have lost count of the number of boobs I have had to feel for lumps in the bathroom of parties and j has already spent his ‘will you check my testicles’ card a while back. It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s just that most of the time I don’t know the answer, and so I’m permanently fobbing people off with the ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, but if you’re worried, it’s probably a good idea to see your Gp’ line. Apologies in advance if that’s not the answer you’re after…


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