Accelerator

I must apologize to the great Immigration Department of New Zealand. After just bemoaning their slow reaction times, claiming 45 days to process my account, I received not one, but two emails today notifying me my status on the immigration website had changed. When I logged on to inquire, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my permit extension had been accepted and I am now allowed to work in New Zealand for another six months. I sincerely apologize, ImmigrationNZ. Although, not without reservation until I have my passport back in my own hands for safe keeping.

Yes, I have issues with admitting wrong-doing. I am working on that.

It's Official

It’s been an exciting few weeks for me in New Zealand. After several months of searching, interviewing, inspecting, and negotiating, I’ve finally found a new job and a new place to live in Hamilton. At times I wasn’t sure about the prospects and even less sure about the potential opportunities, but fortunately it’s all come together. This means in less then two months I will be moving four hours north to Hamilton, extending my stay in New Zealand, and hopefully not deterring Jason in my attempt at cohabitation. Throughout this process I’ve learned a few things:

1. Putting a price on one’s value is not an easy task. There is a national doctor shortage in New Zealand. This means that anyone who inquires about a position will be eagerly pursued. At one point I had four offers on the table, all asking me to name my price. What was I to say? I’ve only had two paid positions since finishing training. Both at equal salaries and so much higher then I’d been making during training I thought I’d hit the jackpot both times. Now, I was meant to name the pot. Easier said then done.

2. Real estate is hot commodity. Housing prices are booming these days, and investors are finding good value in buying properties and renting them out, hoping to turn a profit in the long run and get a tax break at the same time. This means those without the cash base or not wanting to buy currently are left fighting for the rental properties. On more then one occasion Jason or I would phone to inquire about a property listed that morning in the Saturday paper to find it’d already been rented. After a hot tip to look on TradeMe, the New Zealand equivalent of Ebay, we found a property that wouldn’t be available for several weeks and hadn’t hit the papers yet. Fortunately, we were able to view it and beat everyone else to the punch.

3. Immigration will always be the rate limiting step. Thinking I’d get ahead of the game, as soon as I gave an email acceptance of my new job, I started arranging my work permit extension paperwork. Sending it in over two months before my deadline to leave the country, I was kindly greeted with a friendly text, “Hi Jennifer, Thxs 4 your work appl received on 23/5/07. Your appl No is *******. We will be in touch within 45days. Immigration NZ.” This text is disturbing on a number of levels. One, the friendly nature of the text would imply that they might expedite my application. Especially since I’ve been through this process twice before. Second, think if I’d been a procrastinator? I might have been kicked out of the country before I was permitted to stay. Good thing I have a new place in Hamilton to hide out.

4. I will not miss my biweekly four hour car trip from Hawera to Hamilton. Now having made the trip two weekends in a row and nearly biweekly for the preceding seven months, I have memorized almost ever curve, town, and tunnel on the 300 kilometer journey. While initially it was fun to admire the scenery, as winter has approached and a majority of my trip has taken place under darkness, I’ve learned to time myself between destination points. Often grumbling as I’m trapped behind slow travelers, I’m equally lucky to follow vehicles that find the 100 kilometer speed limit a mere suggestion. And universally, I’ve found truckers are very kind at pulling over to let me pass. Still its four hours each way I’ll be happy finding something else to occupy my time. Oh, and perhaps keep me out of danger of obtaining another speeding ticket.

Healing Hands

This past week I have succumb to one of fall and winters worst enemies: the common cold. It was really inevitable. I see half a dozen patients with the same ailment every day; I’m bond to contract it at some stage. The threat first hit me on Monday afternoon with the beginnings of a mildly irritated throat, by sundown I was in fulminate pain. Over the next few days it progressed in the usual fashion with a persistently running right nostril, followed by a fauceting left nostril, culminating in the now melodious hacking cough. As happens with every such event for me, the virus has seeded itself in my larynx, preventing conversation at anything higher then a whisper. Oh, the joys. To say that I was a good, compliant patient that took the motherly advice that I so easily deal out on a daily basis to my patients would be, for lack of a better word, inconceivable. I still went to work, potentially infecting those patients who consulted me. I continued with my daily gym routine, although at a rather piddlely pace. And I marched through my daily chores as if some infectious agent had not inhabited my body. Admittedly, Wednesday morning I had a slight thought this vector of evilness might have overtaken me when I attempted to perform a procedure on a patient that I’d been doing monthly since I arrived and failed. The wife of said patient, one of the prominent elders in the community, was very forgiving and wished me to believe that the instrument was defective and not my handy work. I knew better. So when she returned today with her husband to repeat the procedure, she made sure that I received the medical treatment I so desperately needed. Being specially trained in Maori healing massage, known as mirimiri, she runs a clinic each Thursday with two other women trained in the same. The clinic is open to anyone with an ailment and is regularly filled to capacity. The idea is to connect the spiritual and physical aspects of healing, thus providing an additional level of recuperation. Today was my turn on the table. With no room for shame, I undressed in front of these three elders and climbed underneath a thin sheet. Starting with a simple laying on of hands in a carefully dictated fashion, the three then progressed to kneading nearly every inch of my body. The end result: fantastic! Not usually a believer is such complimentary techniques of medicine; I must admit I could feel the heat leaving my body. For the first time in the week, I actually felt better. Yes, the purest would say that the timing correlated with the natural resolution of my cold, but, for today, I’m choosing to credit the healing hands.

Farewell Gratitude

My motto ever since I started practicing has been: treat the patient how I would like to be treated. To me it’s a reminder to listen to the patient, attempt to get an understanding of their problem, and then make a diagnosis, instead of just labeling them from the start. It’s a rule I’ve stuck by and tends to work well for me, although occasionally leads to some prolonged consultations. Never mind.

Today, the magnitude of the motto, came to fruition. One of my dearest patients, someone whom I’ve come to know quite well over the last 15 months, came in for her last consultation before moving to Australia. She was someone labeled as a time consumer. She even had a warning that popped up on the computer stating this fact when I pulled up her electronic file. (Something I promptly removed.) During our first consultation she asked me if I knew about a particular disease. Accessing the archived medical school files, I said yes, although admitted that I could not lecture on the specifics of the diagnosis. Her response, “Great, you are my new doctor.” Admittedly, our first few consults did take longer then usual. Somehow in those first 12 months I convinced her to change one of her medicines around to help control her diabetes. Unbeknownst to me, it completely alleviated the severe muscle pain she’d been having for several years. While still somewhat deconditioned from her other disorder, she suddenly had a new lease on life. So when she came in to say goodbye on Friday, informing me that she was going to help her husband run a courier business in Australia, something that seemed out of reach given that the smallest movements used to make her wince in pain, all I could do was smile. Don’t get me wrong, I claim no credit at all for this medical miracle. It was purely a fortunate side effect in my book. Yet to the patient it was the greatest gift I could have ever given her. All I did was listen to her, understand where she was coming from, and attempt to control a disease process the best way I knew how.

The irony is that for someone who originally was one of my longest consults, but the end she became one of my quickest. Yes, we still ran overtime, but usually because we were socializing, not analyzing her medical problems. I guess my mom was right, always listen more then you talk and you’ll come out ahead every time.