In the period of 9/11 I worked as a general practitioner in Ireland. The day after the attacks, I was summoned to an Irish village pub. There had just been a funeral and in the pub where they drank to the dead man afterwards, an elderly lady had fallen. A little dazed, she sat on a chair with a tea towel against her bloodied head, hair pint of Guinness half empty on the table in front of her.
The wound was a bit frayed and a pub full of grieving Irishmen seemed less practical than the general practice. Unfortunately, everyone in the pub had already drunk some Guinness on the dead one, so I decided to take her in my car myself. On the way, she told her that her daughter lived in New York and she didn’t know if her daughter was safe – she couldn’t get in touch by phone. She had been awake half the night in fear. Finally, she’d had a few Irish whiskeys to sleep in, which was so effective that she overslept this morning and hurried off to the funeral without breakfast. After that, half a Guinness was enough to knock her off her barstool – resulting in my stitching job.
In the GP practice I stitched her up, made her a sandwich and then drove her back to the pub. I got a big kiss and the promise of a Guinness after my shift. That evening, while enjoying my Guinness, I heard that her daughter was unharmed.
A few years ago I also had a service in Utrecht where I wanted to take the patient with me. With the car of the emergency doctor’s office we made a visit to an elderly gentleman. He was in pain and had to go to the hospital − a 5 minute drive. But because of the pain he was too restless for a taxi and the ambulance service could only come for him after 45 minutes because of the crowds. “Then we’ll bring him in!” I said enthusiastically to the driver of the emergency post. But no. Strict rules. You are not legally covered if something happens then, the driver explained. Well, there’s nothing I like as much as civil disobedience, but I also don’t want to get drivers into trouble with my system rebellion. So with heavy heart I ordered an ambulance and we left, leaving the elderly man behind in despair.
You can guess which patient had more fun with my doctor. Work is more fun when you can throw in a bit of your individuality, can improvise, when it matters you there and not some random other with the same protocol.
The best things are unexpected. Personal freedom and adventure also make holidays so enjoyable. The best vacation memories are often of places you didn’t know existed and people you didn’t know you’d meet. When work leaves room for improvisation, escaping the constraints of the screen and deviating from protocols, it sometimes feels like vacation, free and adventurous.
Rinske van de Goor is a general practitioner