The allure of pens
It’s Pathology Week, not only at Southend Hospital, but all across the UK and possibly even its remaining colonies. This year’s celebrations have neatly coincided with the monthly cycle that is Renal Week: On the first Wednesday and Thursday of every month all the renal patients have a blood test. This adds another 200 pieces of work to the 2200 blood samples that we process on average daily.
In celebration of National Pathology Week (nobody celebrates Renal Week) we received deliveries of specially branded pens and bugs (pictured above), as well as some rather flimsy bags and postcards. Initially we left the pens out on the counter of the reception for visiting members of the public to take. When it became apparent that staff from other parts of the hospital were dropping by in ever increasing numbers to help themselves, we were forced to relocate the pens to a drawer.
Since the department was going to be under public scrutiny I decided to write us some authentic dialogue that we could act out when the tour parties came around:
PATHOLOGIST ONE: “Trop Ts are clearly the best blood tests!”
PATHOLOGIST TWO: “I disagree. An Amylase test is far superior to a Trop T.”
PATHOLOGIST THREE: “Hey guys, cool your jets! Let’s resolve this argument like scientists:- By submitting peer reviewed articles to reputable medical journals.”
PATHOLOGIST ONE: “That’s a great idea. I’ll get the coloured pencils!”
PATHOLOGIST TWO: “My picture of an Amylase test is going to rule!”
I rehearsed it while on reception with Angie. The part of Pathologist Two was played by Barbara, who had come down from the Microbiology lab to gather the post-noon influx of urine samples and MRSA swabs. Later I rehearsed it again with Steve and Pauline. It might have been this flippant attitude that saw me banished downstairs for an hour of paper-shredding during the first public tour. I was on my lunch hour during the second one.
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Today a woman turned up at the counter asking whether this was the right place for her to obtain a Death Certificate. Since the Ear, Nose & Throat Clinic is one floor down from us, and people searching for that department occasionally wander up to the Pathology Lab by mistake, I assumed that she was after a Deaf Certificate.
“No, a Death Certificate,” said the woman patiently.
I apologised profusely and had just about smoothed things over when Sarah, who had caught the middle part of the conversation, returned to Reception.
“Did you say that you wanted a Deaf Certificate? You need The Ear, Nose and Throat Clinic.”