Loving the job, but hating it's downsides

Today I took two emergency calls, among the billions of other calls asking for routine things like appointments.

One via the bat-phone, our bright red phone that is specifically an emergency line. You answer it expecting the next thing you do to be calling an ambulance, or at the very least, the on-call GP. Most of the time, I'm sorely disappointed that it's just someone who's punched the wrong number on our switchboard.

However, today it was real. Today I took a call from the daughter of an old chap who had angina. He was, apparently, white, clammy and breathing heavily.

Normal procedure is to transfer the call through to the on-call GP, who either calls 999, goes out to see the patient, or tells them to take Gaviscon (or similar).

The line was engaged.

There's nothing in my protocol for what to do if I can't get hold of the doctor, for whatever reason. So I did what I thought; I told the daughter to put the phone down, and dial 999 now.

It's apparently fortunate I did, rather than wait for the doctor's phone line to become free to get a second opinion. He's in hospital now. That's the last I heard.

With it being a Friday, the first news I'll get will be a Notification of Death later next week, or (hopefully) a discharge letter.

I felt great for a while, because after I told the GP what had happened, she praised me on how I'd dealt with it and said I'd done the right thing. My manager echoed those same sentiments later. I would like it in writing, preferably, so I can show my other manager (the arsey one) when I have my appraisal in a month or two.

The second call didn't come via the bat-phone. I wasn't expecting it to be how it was.

At that time of day, it's all calls for blood test results, or afternoon appointments. So a little old lady telling me that her friend is very unwell indeed does not fit with what I expect.

From what she tells me, and the little I know of her friend's medical history, I think it's a stroke. A fairly major one, at that.

Once again, I attempt to transfer through to the GP. Fortunately, this time she picks up. I hand over all the info I have, and minutes later, I get a return call asking me to print off a Home Visit sheet - she's going out to see this old girl immediately.

I went home shortly after, so once again I won't know til at least Monday what happened.

The GP agreed with my diagnosis on both occasions, which put me on top of the world (briefly). Yes, I realise that those are barn-door diagnoses, but give me some credit - I'm not even a first year yet.

It just irks me that the highlight of my day is two people being seriously ill. I know that it means that they will now get the treatment they need, but I don't like the way it makes me feel - that someone needs to be ill for me to enjoy my job.

It does make me hope, however, that I will still be as enthused about working in Medicine and helping to save lives in five, ten, twenty years time as I am now.