So, off again to pastures new and cold. I will attempt to keep a more thorough record
of my adventures this time, having now confirmed that my memory is as bad as I
suspected as many thoughts and memories of Tanzania fluttered out of my
mind to be replaced by important information from the world of celebrity – how
much has Kate Middleton spent on her wardrobe this year? (considerably more
than me), the real reason Katie left Tom (he’s pretty weird) and how to lose
those extra 2lb (eat less, do more exercise – damn those magazines are good). Unfortunately I also now know what TOWIE is,
but luckily I have 18 months to forget this.
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| View from Plymouth balcony |
I’m now ensconced in what will be my cabin for the next 4
months surrounded by a lot of half unpacked bags and a road bike on a turbo
trainer (how long will the novelty last I wonder). I’ve spent the last 5 months in Plymouth
living in the best house in the world ever (see picture) while learning to be
the doctor equivalent of a jack of all trades and master of none. If I’m being honest this probably isn’t what
I’d be looking for in a doctor treating me but since I will, at times, be the
only doctor for a few hundred miles, there will be little choice in the
matter. I suspect that at some point I
will have to have a conversation along the lines of:
“So you’re good at this then?”
“well....”
“Have you at least done it before?”
“I think we should concentrate more on the fact that there
really isn’t another option and less on my previous experience of taking teeth
out.”
“But have you at least taken teeth out before?”
“Technically?
Yes. In a human? No.
But I totally rocked at getting them out of a dead pig (not entirely
true) and their teeth have really, really long roots! Like I said, best option right now so it’s
probably best if we just get on with it.”
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| Practising dental anaesthetics on each other |
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| Pig dentistry |
In reality, it's not quite as gung-ho as all that, and all the
doctors working at British Antarctic Survey bases or on the ships are supported
by a number of senior doctors and dentists back in the UK. Advice and support (i.e. hand holding via the
telephone) is easily available for any challenging cases and medical and dental
screening is carried out on everyone heading South. My medical workload so far has been minimal
and has mainly involved pre-emptively
prescribing myself an eclectic combination of clinically proven seasickness
remedies alongside some hokum stuff involving ginger and silly looking wrist
bands (highly successful so far). I have
also spent a lot of time on my knees scrubbing the floor of the surgery in the
vain hope of making it look less grubby.
I have pretty much failed at this (damn non-slip flooring) but I have
done a lot of sorting and ordering of medical provisions which has made the
slightly OCD part of me very happy. More
about ship life to come but a couple of pictures for now.
 |
| My cabin (made to look remarkably spacious by the fish-eye lens!) |
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| Ship surgery - all clean and tidy |
 |
| Immingham dock just prior to departure |
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| Early morning departure through what initially appeared to be an impossibly narrow channel |
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| Sunrise as we head into open water |
