Review of the iTampon

January 27, 2010

So Apple have released a new thingymabob. It’s called the iPad, which sounds like a feminine hygiene product for the girl who has everything else Apple branded, and looks like a comedy oversized iPhone, such as you’d give an elderly person with clumsy fingers and failing eyesight but still wanted to keep in touch with them in case they had a tumble, and had far, far more money than sense.

Now I’ve never been a massive Apple fan. God I want an iPhone, but that is because a) my current phone is a bit poo b) it runs all the medical applications I want and c) I am in love with this game. But the Macbook just seems like what it is, an overpriced laptop running a fairly slick but still fundamentally Unix-derived OS, and the screens although exceptionally large and clear significantly pricier than the same thing without a silver half-eaten apple stuck to the front. So this review of the iPad by The Lay Scientist really appeals to me (as the commenter at the foot of the page said, “this blog post is so full of win that it physically hurts”.)

I wonder if there’ll be one in the Apple Store after my steeplechase tomorrow I can go play with…


Funny or offensive?

January 27, 2010

Cerebrovascular FAIL

Suspect stroke? Act FAST (or diagnose as “??chest infection”, and book an urgent…)


Google knows *everything*

January 4, 2010

…. Including, but not limited to, your taste in hookers.

I always found the Street View cars quite visable...

And he’s not the only one been busted by Google!


More “don’t be a wanker and drive” videos

December 30, 2009

Following the Welsh don’t text and drive video, somewhere-in-America [check out the mad geography skillz] brings you the “don’t drive buzzed” videos. Putting aside the fact I had to look up what buzzed driving was, these are quite effective. Less shocking than the Welsh advert, instead relying on humour [or should I say humor in this case?] to get the point across, but effective nevertheless. Via Tom B:


Christmas music

December 29, 2009

Slightly creepy, but will remind me of this Christmas (or more exactly, sat in a car park in Middlesborough listening to Joe McThingymajiggy sounding like he was about to cry on the radio). Via Area Trace No Search:


Serious science: Ooo look, that goat fell over!

December 23, 2009

I’m currently trying to take advantage of my two week break and learn all the material I should have learnt last term. It’s not going as well as I hoped.

Today was the turn of how muscles worked, and in particular I got going on how action potentials trigger muscle contraction. As with just about everything in physiology, it’s down to ion channels, far too many to mention. In this particular case, the handout refers to those responsible for allowing a current of chloride ions across the membrane, and how if they are absent or malfunctioning, you get a condition called myotonia congenita.

Being the inquisitive sod I am, my choice was between getting up and walking across the landing to dig out the Bible, or look on wikipedia. So I went for the lazy man option. And came across this video illustrating the condition. Isn’t science great?


Time for an intellectual retreat

December 15, 2009

So Geekologie was commenting on this year’s “ultimate” Christmas present in Japan, robot dopplegangers. Creepy as sin. Now apparently, the company which make them also created this abomination, the robotic secretary.

Now to me, being in Japan and dressed in a short skirt, it (as the great Brian Blessed would put it) sounds like a wanking machine. So I headed to the manufacturer’s website, and found this:

Robot prostitutes? Truly, the age of machines has come

Robot prostitutes? Truly, the age of machines has come

Need I say more? I am appauled Japan, appauled and aroused.


Trauma whore

December 14, 2009

For me, it was a fantastic learning experience. The seamless interdisciplinary teamwork, the entire emergency medicine system working together, and even the chance to catch up with an old tutor in addition to the medicine, examination and diagnostics on display and for me to get involved in.

For you, it was one of the worst moments of your lives. Your child, blood covered and comatose, head strapped to a table in the middle of resus. Tubes in every orifice (including a couple we’d made) and an array of machines breathing for them, pumping blood in, and beeping angrily. With no idea of what happened, what was happening, and most importantly, what was going to happen.

I tried to retain my humanity, to act sombre and quiet, controlling the urge to ask questions, to get involved, to be inquisitive. Overwhelm the desire to grin and shout, “Yes, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life!”

I think I did a pretty good job of it.

*****

The next day, I went down to CT to have a look at the scans and the radiologist’s report. The lady on reception offered me the imagery on CD, so clutching the disk and a couple of printouts I headed out the door excitedly, to review the scans with my colleagues. And ran straight into you.

We looked into each others’ eyes for maybe a second too long, but it felt like an eternity. Mother’s sad, resigned look; the almost accusatory stare of father, like it was my fault that their child had ended up this way; the sheer panic and distress etched into the teenage sibling’s face.

I bowed my head, ensured the print-outs were angled away from you, then tightened my grip on my stethoscope, and hurried away. Because I had no idea what to say.


Getting involved

December 12, 2009

I spotted the response car a roundabout back. The driver behind me didn’t, as evidenced by his sudden braking and veering into the side when it appeared round the bend. I pulled over into a T-junction, blocking off the old man who was about to drive straight into the path of the RV, letting it past. Thirty seconds later came more sirens, once again causing the driver behind me to do something stupid, and an ambulance came flying past, which I followed into the carpark of Tesco. The van kept going, lights blazing – without either that luxury or the parking exemptions, I decided to park nearby and walk through the queue of stationary vehicles, all aiming for the spots closer to the store.

As I strolled over, I saw a congregation of interested bystanders, illuminated by the paking light of the ambulance and open boot of the car. Getting closer revealed a man on the ground, someone shining a pen torch in his eyes, surrounded by a panic* of relatives. I recognised one of the crew, who was just ambling around the front of the ambulance, and stopped to say hi before leaving them to dealing with the gang of interested Tesco workers who kept appearing from the store. As I walked in, two pushed past me, one with a, “‘Scuse me, it’s an emergency”, before screaming, “I need a big pad of a paper and a pen!” at customer services. Not to be outdone, their sidekick followed with the favourite bugger-off-out-the-way of, “and they need a glass of water!”.

As yet more over-excited employees poured through the door, I got on with my shopping. I listened to an argument between a couple over their Christmas shopping budget, the mother despairing over her seemingly ADHD riddled child, the man on the phone to his mother. Everyone in the store seemed to be involved in their own little drama, from the family and bystanders outside to the Tesco staff clamouring to be the hero in the emergency outside to the shoppers, each with their own problems. It was quite fun to just drift through it, my only issue being finding the bananas.

I tried to chat to the lady on the checkout with the sad tired eyes, her badge proclaiming that she’d started with the company two years before I was born. She didn’t seem impressed, her only effort at conversation being how tired she was having been on since nine in the morning. I kept my mouth shut about long shifts, paid, and left.

As I was walking out, I heard a massive commotion by the door. Three young girls, screaming incoherently about something. “Probably relatives”, I thought, before one ran past and grabbed a carrier full of food from one of the checkouts. In all the excitment to get outside and see the flashing lights, they’d left a bag of shopping behind.

I manoeuvred my way around the employees at the entrance, clogging the way in and out, and started towards my car. The patient was now in the back of the ambulance, the response car driver trying to tidy up while dodging relatives and other interested parties. Someone appeared to be taking the wrapper from an oxygen mask as a trophy.

Putting my shopping in the boot, I ended up behind the RV leaving the carpark, the two of us following the red H’s on the roadsigns to our destination. As I peeled off into the staff residences, the ambulance came past me on lights, heading for A&E.

I parked up, and went upstairs to my flat. I stuck the kettle on and unpacked my food into the fridge and cupboard before pouring a nice big mug of coffee. That’s my little panic over. I changed my shirt, clipped on my ID badge, and cleaned my teeth, before throwing my stethoscope round my neck and heading towards my night in the Emergency Department. Guess I’ll find out what all the fuss is about now.

* Is this a good collective noun?


Africa is a mortally wounded skull, and other stories

November 27, 2009

Have you ever wondered why Italy is shaped like a boot? This is just one of the many mysteries that I try to uncover as we search our heavenly Father’s creation and His written word. There are many other recognizable shapes as well that we will look at, especially animals. I hope you’ll enjoy them.

So begins God’s Geography, where the shape of each and every continent is explained with reference to the Bible. Africa, for example

is the most obviously shaped continent on Earth. It’s shaped like a gigantic skull that is mortally wounded, and sporting a horn on its forehead.

Bet you hadn’t spotted that!

I’m hoping this is a fake – if so, very clever. But if not… Well, at least it’s a bit of entertainment. Discovered via Seaneen