Archive for the ‘Trust me, I'm a MedTech’ Category

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This will be a vent post.

I was in a good mood this morning – you know, ‘cause it’s Wednesday, which means V, Eastwick (read Matt Dallas) and Satisfaction on tv; it’s public holiday on Friday; and I‘ve finally decided what colour schemes I want in our new house (Country Mushroom).

But then I had to go tweet about not having anyone to pick on ‘cause my colleague is on leave. So karma sent Justin Bieber’s ugly brother. To visit my lab.

Do I come into your place of work and comment on all I see and think? No. No, really I don’t. I’ll make comments afterwards over a cup of coffee and express my disgust for the layout, the outdated OS and the fugly choice of uniform – even though I loved the colour on the wall and even asked them what it’s called (Dark Truffle) – but I won’t insult your work place. ESPECIALLY if my only exposure to your chosen profession is Hollywood’s version of it. (Seriously, the only laboratory in a movie that looked the real McCoy, was the lab in Cast Away. Yes there was a scene in a lab there. His wife managed it. Go watch it again)

So little mister I-can’t-even-say-thank-you-for-the-crepe-paper-lei-you-painstainkingly-made-for-me-a-month-ago-with-which-i-won-the-dance-competition sashays into my lab. Says ‘Weird’ about 5 times. Called me Tannie (my eye is still twitching about that one). And comments on my choice of PPE. (or lack thereof). I told him to sod off in 5 languages. I gave him the evil eye over the black rim glasses, intimidating him (I know this works cause I’ve practiced in the mirror ) “Seun!” This means boy, and is the worst insult I can give someone without them knowing that I’m insulting them. I’m passive aggressive that way. Cause he called me Tannie!

But that wasn’t all that ruined my Wednesday. It started with a phone call. From a 3rd year BSC Microbiology student’s mother. Her Mother. Called me. Looking for a job. For her daughter. 3rd Year BSC student. Right there already you lost any brownie points you might have gotten. If MY Mother had to phone companies on MY behalf looking for a job?! Pure fiction that is. Told her we don’t have any vacancies. (We really don’t!)

When I was 3rd year (yes, I’m going there), I had found not 1, but 2 jobs, had a flat and bought my first vehicle (a scooter is still a vehicle – mine was yellow and called Jaundice). My mom paid the insurance (it was an all incusive deal). When I was 3rd year I combed my own hair and wiped my own bum. When I was 3rd year I acyually said ‘I’m down with that’ during an interview, and STILL got the job.

Let me add fuel to the fire already raging in my stomach. I know this woman who has a brother. He got married now in this year. He and his wife bought a little house. This is the first time on their own for either of them. They bought a fish tank. Want to collect tropical fish. They have dinner at his mom’s house 4 times a week cause food is just so expensive. but they bought a Fish Tank. They’re going on holiday with his parents. In the same car. So that they can have minimum expenses while on holiday. But they still bought a Fish Tank. With fish.

I.Want. To. Scream. And of course I’m jealous. I would love to have dinner at my Mom’s once a week, but have to settle to seeing her once, maybe twice a year.

So ja, my Wednesday got widdled on. And I haven’t even touched my lunch yet.

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Kids pick up everything you say – it’s not a myth. It’s true. Ok, they pick up what you chat with other people, but they are selectively deaf when you ask them to pick up their toys or socks or make the bad… you get what I mean.

Like a good little scientist, I have proof to support my statement.
Yesterday afternoon I fetched Amelia from her day mom. Told her (day mom) that I don’t know how we’re going to get into the house because Henk came to fetch my house keys at work today. So I’ll have to deposit Amelia through a window and coax her to get the spare key… or hopefully Henk managed to catch one of the 5pm home guys to put the keys in our mailbox on their way home.

Conversation over, we headed home, and as I was parking Henk arrives in his bakkie too – He had left work early. We all piled into the bakkie and went to check out the building site that will soon be our new home.

En route – out of the blue – Amelia pipes up :” Pappa. Sleutel. Haal.” (Daddy. Key. Fetch.). I was almost speechless. I mean, what else is this child picking up from our everyday conversations?!!

So no more TTC talk – unless it’s in code. No more swearing (I’m trying my best, for fu… darnit) and NO SKINDER’ing. Like I ever gossip. But did you see who was pushing Linda’s trolley at Spar yesterday?

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I could have worked on some posts last night. Including a crafty one or two, and a Postcrossing one, and working on my next #pint, and fixing my list books That I’m currently reading.
I had downloaded all the relevant pics from 2 phones already and was busy sorting them.
Lili was happily playing in the kitchen with her fridge magnets.
It would have been a productive evening. I managed to get Lili in bed by 20:00 and she didn’t put up much of a fight this time.
Then I got a call out. At 20:09. And Henk was still at work and I couldn’t get hold of him to come home for an hour. So I phoned my friend and colleague to help out. She was already in her PJ’s. She should have said no, but she didn’t. How cool is that. Pulled on her tracksuit, brought a book along and chilled at my house while I processed a CSF.

So I’m going to make her a thank you present… need to get to the bead shop again 😀 And going to try again tonight to work on my posts.

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Since I’m feeling mizz today and not in the best of moods, I thought I’d spread the gloom a bit and share with you one of my pet peeves.

As with all rants, a bit of background: We have a crackpot of cultures in South Africa, all trying to live in harmony most of the time. (Some might call it a cesspool, I call it over-flavoured potjiekos)

Allow me to interrutp myself and air another pet peeve – Spellchecker in MS Word assuming that I want the American spelling of flavor, versus the rest of the English speaking world – flavour. Right. Done. Scratch that one off the agenda. I found the button to change the language – now it must just stay changed.

Where was I? Cultures. So, in our continual effort towards love, peace and most importantly harmony, we all learn about each other’s practises and traditions and wot not. One in particular drives me up the wall and over the fence. Some African cultures see it as proper manners to ALWAYS first ask: “How are you?”. Seriously. First question over the phone, at the information desk, dialling a wrong number: “How are you?” In all my Hostess and Tourism training and being taught phone etiquette is primary school, THIS has never been mentioned. The proper way is to introduce yourself first, AND THEN only to ask how the other person is… if it is relevant. It annoys me endlessly. 

It has gotten so bad that if I get an anonymous phone call on my private line, and the first thing I hear is “How are you?”, I spend the next 10 minutes telling them exactly HOW I am. Cause most of the time it’s a tele-sales call and I would have talked to them for 10 minutes anyway before hanging up. {I love tele-sales people… They taste like chicken}

So, now I’m probably coming across as rude over the work phone. Unless I can hear who is on the other line (like my boss), then I ‘ll politely reply that it’s going well, how are you. If I don’t know who the heck you are, you’ll get an honest answer (closer to stuffy and I have a headache) and I’ll continue on asking how I can help them. What gives you the idea I’ve had a few of these calls today?

Ok, my point is: Only after you identify yourself will I ask: “How are you?”. And I have a dr’s appointment at 14:15, cause even though I know EXACTLY what’s wrong with me and can probably give a more differentiated diagnosis, I still need a script from the GP in order to get the right meds.

So what is YOUR pet peeve this week?

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Got home all nauseous. Tried to make chicken stir fry something add a packet – bleh, couldn’t handle it. Told Henk to get his own food – I’m not hungry. Got knocked out at 8pm. Soon as Lili was fed and ready, downed 2 cold purple pills with Coronza C. I hit the sack – tried to pass out, but little fingers were pushing my buttons. Seriously. She thinks the moles on my body play magical musical notes – of course I encourage this by making magical musical sounds whenever she presses them, but not then, cause I felt miff/not smurfy/ flu’y/not lekker. She kept on pressing über nose mole and the Cindy Crawford wannabes. Only sound was ‘ uuuuhhrg, Mamma slapies’. To which the reply “s-aapies”. alll-most cracked a smile at the cute, but was way too miff. And when button pushing didn’t work, she combed my hair. My fringe actually. With a wooded brush. A round wooden brush from when Mommy still had long hair (yes, that happened). Think I got a bruise on my forehead.
Henk had to put her to bed – he even changed a *gasp* dirty smelly poo nappy. And commented on how cool the PnP nappies were cause they don’t leak \o/
Then he wanted to take my temperature. With his thermometer. I told him to go flutter off, I’m ill.
But Mommies aren’t allowed to be ill. So today I’m better. Still don’t like the idea of raw chicken that I have to cook tonight, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

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I get a phone call today at work; friendly lady on the other side. This is what I hear (In brackets is what was actually said – but I heard it wrong)

Friendly Lady: “Hi, I’m Friendly Lady phoning from the salaries department, Paarl (Payroll) ” {this is where the misunderstanding starts} “How are you today?”
Tracy: ” Fine. Sorry, do I know you? Have we met? ” {I worked at Paarl laboratory for about 2 weeks}

Friendly Lady: “No we haven’t met. We made an error with your salary this month. We paid you too much. 5000 hours overtime too much  ” {this is about twice my annual salary}
Tracy: “… ”

Friendly Lady: “Hello?? ”

Friendly Lady: “Can you help us fix this? ”
Tracy: “How did my overtime claim get to you guys?”

Friendly Lady: “We do everyone’s claims ”
Tracy: “In Paarl?! ”

Friendly Lady: “Yes, in Paarl (Payroll) ”
Tracy: “Funny, I didn’t know that. Now when did Paarl start doing salaries and admin and finance stuff ”

*  *  *

Ok, so it was one of those ‘had to be there’ moments. But the whole Paarl vs Payroll is hilarious as our HQ is in Johannesburg – 2000km away; I think Paarl Lab can probably fit in their lunchroom.

I still got to pay the money back – Wonder if I can apply for our home load using this pay slip? 🙂

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Resident Cat

This is TB (or Tazz, or kitsie), our new resident cat. Two days ago some kids brought him (we hope it’s male – three of us inspected and ventured an uneducated guess – I’ve only ever owned female cats) to my colleague’s flat and left him in the parking lot. One the way to work my colleague heard a funny noise coming from the engine. Turns out the cat had climbed up from under the car for a night snooze.

At work, short-arm-me delved around under the bonnet and untangled little TB from the depths or the Toyota Tazz. Always resourceful (I swear we can serve 3 course meals for 3 days on our lab’s kitchen content) we fed him some runny Pronutro and weak watery milk. Poor thing was famished and wolfed it all down. Now we needed to find him a home. Phoned around a bit and the local DBV said (in so many words) that if they took him in, they would have him put out (read killed). I phoned around a bit more.

X-ray neighbour lady across the road said that she’s been thinking of getting another cat since hers had passed away. Only catch is that she can’t have it at work until 5pm, would we mind minding it. Just as I assured her that we’ll keep him until home-time, TB made a bee-line for the hospital courtyard (Our lab is on the same premises), and of course the yard is fenced off – by 5 metre high fences – 2 of them.

TB the kitten didn’t come back when he got hungry; we left him some food and water out at the same spot we originally fed him. This morning still no TB. X-ray lady’s husband was more upset about losing their new per than his wife – felt really bad that I let him slip through.

The new hospital doctor called around teatime asking if we wanted a cat. Ecstatic, my colleague relayed the story and asked her to bring the kitten over. Turns out one of the patients had the kitten and promptly handed it over to the doctor while she was doing rounds. Trying to find it a home, she had some adventures of her own including ice-cream bowl full of cat pellets strewn on the floor and 2 lacerated thumbs, one belonging to the office’s occupant – TB was very hungry. 2 tetanus shots later, and the cat was back at the lab, this time inside the lab. Pesky was trying to sneak in so much anyway.

At the moment he’s content playing with toes and chasing after timer strings. His new owner will fetch him this afternoon: Now to avoid anyone stepping on him, getting stuck behind the incubator or growing an extra tail.

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