Question Answered

After another seemingly long month and a half alone at the clinic, support has arrived in the way of another doctor coming from the states. Originally from New Orleans, but most recently having worked in Georgia at one of the Family Medicine residencies, she was a much anticipated arrival. Yes, because she fills the void of a much needed second doctor for the clinic, but more to determine her origins. Was she Caucasian American or African American? It makes not one bit of difference to the clinic or the community, for there is a decently large percentage of immigrants from Zimbabwe and other African countries to New Zealand escaping persecution. However, it would open a new chapter in the hiring practices of the clinic, and something they are bound to encounter more regularly as they continue to employ locums from the states. It was definitely a hot topic of debate for many weeks since we all first talked to her by phone conference back in February. So with much anticipation, I went to meet her at dinner last Sunday night, and walked in to find a very pleasant African American. Now with several encounters between us during the last week, I know she will fit in quite nicely to the clinic. However, the community response has been quite interesting as they struggle with the political correctness of what to call her and how to address her. More interesting to me is her response to the lackadaisical ways of New Zealand and discovering that nothing happens with quite the rapidness as in the states. Hopefully, having gone through the same struggles only 15 months ago, I can assist with her acclimation into New Zealand life, as much as she assists others in adjusting to her. Welcome.

A Note of Appreciation

As many of you may or may not know, I’m currently interviewing for jobs up in Hamilton, a much larger city of 125,000 about an hour an a half south of Auckland. It’s a move to be closer to my kiwi bloke and test the waters of cohabitation. It also comes with a lot of mixed feelings. When I joined the staff of Ruanui Health Centre over 15 months ago it was in turmoil (and I don’t use that word lightly). They were disorganized, lacked a desperately needed second doctor, triage of patients involved overloading the present doctor with double booking appointments multiple times throughout the day, thus making the workload horrendous, and there was a lot of political infighting amongst the different staff and between the clinic and its governing body. Let’s just say it was not a pleasant place to work. Yet, with a lot of perseverance and ingenuity from new staff that came on board, the clinic slowly turned around. They are now committed to having two doctors on staff at all times (even if that means getting a retired physician in to help out), the nurses hum with the triage of patients and with accomplishing their own personal clinics, and the staff as a whole enjoy coming to work. Sure there are still moments of disagreement, but as a whole it’s a lovely place to work. Staff are smiling, joking with each other and most importantly, patients are being looked after well and are very pleased with the way they are cared for both from the clinical staff and from the community staff. They feel like they’re being surrounded with support. In essence, we’ve all become one “family” looking after each other. Given this change, you can probable appreciate my reservations in leaving this working environment. It’s something that’s become dramatically clear as I’ve interviewed at different practices in Hamilton. Don’t get me wrong, most clinics are well run and have a jovial environment, but none have come close to capturing that all encompassing feeling of support. So as I negotiate salaries and psychologically prepare myself for my move to Hamilton, I want to express my appreciation for all Ruanui Health Centre is doing for the people of the community and all the support they’ve provided me. Thank you.

The Great Beyond

If ever I thought New Zealand was an unpopulated country, it was verified in my recent trip to Great Barrier Island. Having a long Easter weekend (still loving the extended statutory holidays here), Jason and I took the chance to fly up to visit his sister, brother-in-law, and their four kids (all 6 years and under!). Approximately a 30 minute flight off the eastern coast of Auckland, Great Barrier Island is one of the last vestiges of nearly undomesticated living. With no central power, water, or sewage, it’s reminiscent of Waldorf Island in the San Juan chain off the Washington coast. Here the roads are mostly unpaved, except in short 200-300 meter sections going through the tiny townships (a slight problem when driving our Mazda Miata rental). Power is generated either via suns rays or wind. Water is collected from the sky and filtered. Its true old school living. However, there are pleasures in visiting such a sparsely developed area: acres of natural forests and pristine white sandy beaches. We enjoyed several walks through the hills (I won’t call them mountains as the highest point is only 621 meters tall), one to a natural sulphur pool chain, and time picnicking on the beaches. I would be lying if I didn’t admit some the walks were to escape the chaos of four young kids running around our feet. Yet, we enjoyed plenty of time drawing pictures, making collages, and showering the kids with chocolate Easter eggs (always a fun venture in hyperactivity). I think Jason’s sister also enjoyed having some adult company around to converse about more then just chooks, dogs, tricycles, and arguing over a child’s desire for chocolate.

These are the lessons I learned in this latest adventure:

1. I will not be having four children. No matter how far apart they are spread. After this past weekend I’m thinking that one child might be too many.
2. Central power is a good thing. I’m all for an eco-friendly environment and I realize it might be draining our national rivers, lakes, and streams, causing pollution and general temperature rise, but I truly enjoy having enough power to run a toaster, microwave, and even leave a light on to read a book. Yes, I’m a little spoilt.
3. Water pressure is nice. There’s nothing worse then having to take a cold, dribbling shower.
4. Sealed roads are the next best thing to sliced bread. Take away the fact that we had the least ideal car for travelling back roads; driving 50km on dusty, washboard roads just isn’t fun in any vehicle.
5. Civilization has its perks. Petrol costs $1.50/liter vs. $2.20, bread and milk is found easily and cheaply instead of needing to be carted in by a visitor from the mainland, and there’s more to do then get drunk at the local pub. (I’ll spare you my soapbox about the time of day drinking starts here or that locals feel drinking while boating, and sometimes even while driving, is okay because, “Nothing’s happened so far”.)

The Grape Man

More appropriately he should be called the grocery man, but it just doesn’t have that ring. I’m referring to Jack, one of my elderly male patients at the clinic. This is the man who brought me home grown lemons when I first started at the clinic, shot a duck or two for me during the fall, and again cascaded me with bag after bag of beautiful, fragrant lemons again this past summer. The nurses call him my elder boyfriend. (A term that occasionally puts feelings of consternation and anxiety into my actual boyfriends head.) I call him the best patient a small town GP can have. Just when I thought his offerings were over, he upped the ante this year by offering grapes. Now these aren’t just any grapes. These are the thin-skinned, full flavored, tightly clustered, picturesque grapes you see being fed to the Greek gods and goddesses on ancient monoliths. No doubt about it, they are the best grapes I’ve ever tasted. So bountiful is Jack’s offering I have to (begrudgingly) give away multiple clusters to nurses because I simply can’t eat all of them myself. Savoring my last bundle yesterday I was thinking surely this would be the last I would see of this god-forsaken gift as fall was rapidly approaching. Yet, as if on cue, who should drive into the car park of the clinic today, bountiful bag of produce in hand? Jack, The Grape Man.