Can I Cut It?

In general doctors are a politician's dream: hard working and intelligent but conformist. Yes, we are akin to clever sheep. We tend to be easily steered by barking managers and politicians and continue to try our best no matter what pen we find ourselves in. At most we muster an objectionary sound, but not in unison. Clever? Just foolish enough to be shepherded into any corner.

I think of myself as a show-sheep, jumping through hoop after hoop to impress, only to find out I too will make the slaughter-house.

I have dedicated several years of my life to pursuing a career in surgery. One cannot belittle the easily forgotten hurdles of getting into and out of the Southampton Medical School sheep-dip. But now, carried on a wave of enthusiasm I decide I can make a difference: I want to be a surgeon. I compete for the surgical jobs, trying to make the quality of my Merino wool look better than the next up-and-coming lamb. I sit and watch my interviewers, suddenly understanding why the phrase 'counting sheep' exists as I try to rouse them by reeling off my strengths.

I realise I need something else! I go on every course in the book despite massively exceeding my measly annual study budget of about £600. Surely the tax man can help? 'No, any essential courses will be paid by your employer'. The fact that to do the essential courses and exams costs more than the annual budget matters not. I push on and am awarded the prestigious pat-on-the-back by Royal College of Surgeons at my first attempt but I need to keep going, I need to stand out.

I work in a competitive voluntary (yes these words do belong together in surgery) post at Oxford University demonstrating anatomy to the prize lambs who I am sure will soon overtake me. I have no money so sleep in the back of my van unless I choose to take the 113 mile journey to my wife to share the single bed she has managed to pay for at the hospital she managed to get a job at.

Eight months later, with some luck, we escape to pastures green, manage to get on the housing ladder and work in the same city of Brighton. Success! Well, for a short while, yes, but the shepherds soon notice our escape and throw a spanner in the well-oiled works. Known as Modernising Medical Careers to the shepherds and Mangling Medical Careers to the sheep, the MMC spanner randomly alters the assembly so most of us fall off as it comes to a grinding halt. Strangely, I cling on, suspended between a malfunctioning production line and the prospect of escape.

Having no fingers, sheep are not skilful at clinging on so after a year I become weary. I try to get back on but I find out repairs to the production line will take at least another 2 years. Do I continue to cling on to this uncertain future? Not I. Not any more.

I think the wise person retires before dismissal but they have had their way: another statistic removed from the neck of the bottle of surgical trainees. I have proved I am no more than a sheep and have diligently been led by the barking dogs.

It appears that when I let go, only yesterday, I fell into the nearby childrens animal farm also known as the general practice training pen. I was welcomed with open arms and cuddles and am promised that I will be looked after for the next 3 years. What a relief. I have green grass. At the moment.

Admitting you're not perfect!

This morning I had an informal conversation with a consultant colleague. We were talking about the importance of admitting you don't know something or admitting you have made a mistake.