Sorry that I don’t know your name. I’m writing this letter knowing that you won’t ever read it. I’m hoping by the virtue of me describing what happened this Saturday afternoon, it’ll serve to at least bring me closure and stop the angry rewinding and replaying in my mind.
At 3:30, I was bleeped by a nurse to do a discharge letter and discharge medication for a child. I let her know that I would do the letter as soon as I could.
Then you called a moment later.
I’m not sure what kind of day you had or what the situation was on your end, but equally you could say the same to me. So, when you said I needed to make this child a priority, I thought that was unfair and unnecessary. Every discharge letter that gets thrown my way is pushed on me because it’s urgent. It’s a Saturday and pharmacy closes before 4 (essentially giving me less than a half an hour window). When I’m waist deep in tasks, it’s unhelpful to tell me to leave what I’m doing, to do what you deem a priority. You had no idea what my workload was like, you failed to see beyond what needed to be ticked off your list.
You were unkind for telling me off for asking the nurse to look in the BNF for the antibiotic dose. I didn’t ask her to. She offered. And when she offered, I said she could. I don’t see where I went wrong. I didn’t ask her to prescribe it or to give a prescription. A nurse is more than capable to look in a book. But I didn’t argue with you. I got the sense that there would be no point. You clearly had a bone to pick.
I came up to the ward, leaving behind a stack of unfinished tasks and finished the letter. You bleeped me again: I had prescribed the formulation that the ward didn’t stock. And you wanted me to come back and prescribe on the bottle.
You were relentless.
Part of me wants to think it’s because you cared so much for the child at the end of all this. But I don’t think that explains everything. Because if it was truly that, if you really wanted to get that little girl home you could have prescribed the right antibiotic formulation, something you’d have done a thousand times. You could have written the prescription on the bottle, it would have taken you less than a minute. If that child was your priority you wouldn’t have instead dialled my bleep, countless times, to try to get me to leave everything, again, to come back up to your ward to jot a few words down. If you just did it yourself, you would have saved you and me a lot of time. I’m not sure why you needed to pick on every single thing.
I would understand more if it had come from a nurse. They get their own pressure from bed managers. But from a doctor who has been in the position I was in, who has been a junior doctor carrying the load several doctors normally would, I would have expected you to get it. To get that I’m one person and I can’t do everything at once.
At a time when everyone’s feeling the stress, you rely on your colleagues more to motivate and encourage you. But you gave me a metaphorical kick in the teeth. You were demanding and unfair. Again, I don’t know what type of day you had and I probably couldn’t imagine the stress that comes with being a paediatric registrar. But I hope that when those stress inducing situations arise, that you’re treated with more compassion and respect than you showed me.