am on call again tomorrow. i called in sick for the first time ever today. it was a difficult decision because i felt absolutely dreadful (and was arguably a public health hazard) yet i didn't want to be seen as skiving, particularly as i had been on holiday all of last week. i suppose it is quite ironic that i should have fallen ill while on leave.
it is now evening and my cold is much less fulminant, my head clearer for having slept for much of the day. i was amused to overhear the cleaners going "sshhhh, she's sleeping" in loud stage whispers outside my room as i sat in bed reading. my day of reading (last 3 issues of BMJ, verses from the Bible, last few chapters of The Life of Pi, photography magazines) and dozing has been much more refreshing than my trip to york. in fact, my holiday left me with an inexplicable feeling of emptiness. i barely finished 2 rolls of film (on a usual holiday i easily burn a roll of 36 a day), the 'therapeutic massage' did nothing for me (i am too self-conscious and ticklish), and the guilt that followed the purchase of a new winter coat made me determine not to spend any money on myself for a long time to come. perhaps it was a good holiday in the sense that it made me long for work again?

I love meeting people, and I love a good story, particularly one with vivid description, in the vein of Garcia Marquez. it may seem that medicine and stories don't have much in common, but in fact, a good story is the basis of all diagnosis and treatment. as a doctor you are privileged to obtain from the patient their most intimate details - bowel and sexual habits, what the voices say, what their grandmother died of and so on, and your job is to arrange them to form a coherent story, or 'history' as we say in medical parlance. and, of course, your very listening to the story is the beginning of the patient's treatment. despite all the attendant pressures, i like the role of 'doctor'. outside of work i can be a bit of a social misfit - it can often be a strain to so much as ask a stranger's name, nevermind finding out things about them. but in the hospital i can nearly always say the right lines with confidence. perhaps that is what i miss when i am on holiday.

postscript:
Mr. K was eventually discharged with a diagnosis of Munchausen's syndrome.