Southern Cross Hospitals 2014-2025 Form

Hospitals attach those matching bracelets on mom and baby. However, I was still given the wrong baby!This was 2001 in a reputable hospital near Philadelphia. It was my second child so I knew the drill. A few hours after birth they took my son for tests and whatnot. I slept a little and woke to the nurse bringing him into my room. She told me he was doing well but was still spitting up a lot of mucus. Then she left. I thought, still? he hadn’t been mucusy when he left. He was wrapped completely in blankets with only his gorgeous little face visible. He started to whimper so I picked him up and thought I would try to nurse him a little. The whimper turned to a cough and then he began to choke on that mucus. I was alarmed. I turned him over, gently tapping on his back. Pressed the nurse button. A prickly feeling that something wasn’t right began to grow. As I patted the baby I quickly scanned the card on the bassinet. It said Andrew. I hadn’t named the baby yet, but Andrew had been a contender. I wondered if it was possible my husband had told them his name was Andrew without speaking to me? Decided it wasn’t likely. Andrew is still choking, I press the nurse button again. Then turn him slightly to see his ears. They were both perfect. My baby had had a strange fold in one ear. Now I know definitively that I am holding someone else’s baby, and this someone else’s baby is choking in my arms. All this takes places in seconds. As I’m about to go into the hallway on my rickety post-delivery legs to find help, the nurse rushes back in. She says she realized what she had done. She takes the baby. Resolves the choking (I don’t remember how). Apologizes. Apologizes again. I ask her if my baby is with Andrew’s mom? She says, no, no. But I can’t tell if she’s lying. She leaves and comes back a few moments later with my unnamed, ear-deformed, but otherwise perfectly healthy baby. I don’t tell anyone about the mix-up except my husband, but we don’t let baby leave my room without us after that. We decide not to name him Andrew.Baby Not-Andrew and his strange ear

It wasn’t me, it was DH.DH was active-duty military, which meant he went to the military hospital and saw military docs. He was a Drill Sergeant at Ft Sill, Oklahoma, gone all day, most evenings, often weekends; being On the Trail means never having to say “I’ll be home for supper”. For three years.Near the end of his middle year, he started getting sick. No fever, but nauseated, feeling like absolute crap, abdominal pains. The Family Medicine Clinic doc said “Gall bladder” and sent him off for a HIDA scan with CCK- a fancy way of watching the gallbladder work. Basically, you don’t eat, you go in and they put an IV port in you, then send you off to eat a nice, fatty meal- we chose burger and fries. Back at the scanning lab, they injected some chemicals and laid DH out under a huge metal pancake with a monitor attached. We watched as particles moved mostly this way, and some few that. Results were read by the Family doc- not gallstones, but, rather, his gallbladder didn’t work. He was sent up to the Surgery docs.But our surgeon, a Captain, didn’t believe the scan results- too unusual, he said. Can’t be it. By now, DH is vomiting daily, losing weight and turning an alarming shade of yellow. His bili count never went above three, but three is high enough- should be near enough zero to make no difference. The surgeon kicked him back downstairs, this time to Internal Medicine.Internal Medicine took a look, said “Gallbladder” and sent him to the surgeons. The Captain said, “Nope”, and sent him back downstairs. This went on for a year, with DH continuing to lose weight, feel like crap warmed over and vomiting all the time; every doctor that looked at him said gallbladder- except the surgeon. It was miserable.Then one doc gave him a script for a smooth muscle tissue relaxant, sublingual. I cannot remember the drug’s name, but I remember it worked like a charm. He could take one of those and feel almost normal for the rest of the day. Good stuff; DH was living on those things. The Captain got tired of seeing him, though, and so sent him to Brook- the Army Medical Center in San Antonio Texas. That lasted a month, and they scoped DH from stem to stern, including two more HIDA scans, a sinus scan, liver biopsy and a digestion timing study. DH is seven minutes slow digesting food. He was also still yellow, which fascinated the Brooks docs- they got daily bili counts. DH got sick of it all, signed himself out while being told his Commander would be informed (to which DH said, “Good- he called me yesterday to ask when I would be back online!”) and came home. The surgeon finally said, fine, he’d remove DH’s gallbladder.Day of surgery came, DH was scheduled mid-morning, but the way that hospital ran, he didn’t go in until nearly 3 in the afternoon. By the time he got to his room, it was suppertime, and the nurse asked the surgeon if she should get DH a tray. Surgeon said, “Yes, but he’ll probably vomit it back up.” I pulled out our handy-dandy prescription bottle of magical pills and said, “I brought these.” Surgeon replied, “Those won’t work anymore with his gallbladder gone!”Now wait a second. If the pills worked when you swore it wasn’t his gallbladder, why won’t they work just because you’ve taken his gallbladder? That makes no sense. Not to mention, it is because of you not believing actual laboratory tests- the surgeon once said to me, “I can send you down there and it would probably say your gallbladder was bad, too!”- that it has taken a year and a half to get his gallbladder removed, him being dog-sick nearly every damned day of it. You know what? Thank you for puncturing the holes in his abdomen and removing that little sack of tissue, but just go away now- your work here is more than done.And he’s had no trouble like that ever since.But, remind me to tell you about his brush with kidney cancer- THAT was another good one.

I’ll give you three examples from my own life. Your mileage may vary.First story: A long time ago I was in Boston wearing a suit (probably for a job interview). I was just out of college or about to graduate. One of my friends was with me and noticed the Federal Reserve Bank within walking distance. So we went in and acted like we belonged there. We went up to a random floor and walked around. That was all we had the courage to do. But I suppose we could have found a conference room, sat down, and others could have joined us. Who knows what mayhem would have resulted? We will never know. Nobody even noticed us nevermind challenged us. I’m sure these days it’s different.Second story: I was attending a concert by a Christian band Newsboys on their “Love Liberty Disco” tour where the concerts were in an inflatable dome set up in a parking lot. (It was actually pretty cool.)Looking for the “entrance” to buy tickets we (about 5 or 6 of us) walked around and found ourselves in some lunch area. Then we noticed the band’s bass player eating fried chicken. Oops. We were back stage.Being adventurous, we didn’t leave but instead doubled down. We said little and kept walking until we were in front of the dome by the entrance (but inside the ticket gate). We saw a group forming and joined them. Turns out they were radio station contest winners; we followed them into the dome and saw the crew setting up.Realizing that we’d be found out staying with the contest winners, we broke off and milled around the stage area. Then we began to worry and headed outside. On the way we heard “hey you! What are you doing?” We were busted. But it was the stage manager and he was short a few roadies. He said instead of standing around he needed help. A couple of us (not me) went and helped set up the stage.When that was done we fessed up. The stage manager escorted us to the ticket gate and we paid (from the inside) for our general admission tickets. Then we were the first to get in officially. It pays to stay cool, quiet, and to help when asked.Third story: A friend of mine was deathly ill in the hospital and was recovering from a traumatic injury. After he finally got out of ICU (40 days there) and stabilized, I wanted to take him out of his room, outside to breath the fresh air, to visit the ICU nurses, and maybe to the cafeteria. He had some equipment to keep with him but it was portable and battery operated if I could find a wheelchair.The resident finally came by and, after I pleaded, told me the patient was good to take a little trip if I could get the wheelchair. It’s a hospital, right? You’d think they were just sitting around but not so.I had been at this hospital for months visiting every day and learned some things. Like where the supply room was and how to fill out a requisition. I filled one out, signed for myself, went down to supply and got a brand new collapsible wheelchair assigned to my friend. I looked like I knew what I was doing and the supply person never blinked or questioned me.The nurses were amazed and laughing when I brought it up. We kept that wheelchair until my friend left the hospital. Nobody questioned who ordered it. In case you are going to ask: No, I have no idea if they charged for it.Most people will assume you belong somewhere if you simply look like you know what you’re doing.

There are many types of misconceptions about physicians.The worst type of misconception is what I would like to call the “conspiracy theorist” misconception. There are many folks out there who imagine that physicians get kickbacks (illegal) for everything they do, from giving vaccines to writing prescriptions to ordering lab tests. Nope. Sorry to disappoint. We get paid for the visit, and we get reimbursed for procedures. The same conspiracy theorists often speculate that we are “hiding the cure” for everything from cancer to diabetes, in order to…um…make you all sick so we can make money off of your misery. These people fail to make the important connection that if I had the “cure” for anything, I would be fabulously wealthy. Cures would be selling like hotcakes! We would not hide them, we would be appearing on Shark Tank looking for investors. And we would be giving them to ourselves instead of dying like the rest of you.Next up is the “perfection” misconceptions about doctors. People imagine that doctors don’t get sick, don’t get cancer, don’t die just like everyone else. They have NO IDEA what we are going through as we smile and care for them. Many of us are hiding chronic pain, cancer, loss, depression, and every other malady known to man. We just don’t tell you when you walk in to see us. In fact, doctors have the highest rate of SUICIDE among all professions. Mostly because we are not permitted to seem weak, fallible, or depressed, while at the same time being held to expectations of perfection that are impossible for ordinary humans to meet. There is an old saying that “nobody is perfect.” Doctors are not perfect, but if we do not perform perfectly, we could be responsible for someone’s death or disability. Every decision that you make, every single day, bears this burden. It is a heavy burden.Another misconception is that we are fabulously wealthy. Yes, in our mid life, we do make very good salaries. But people do not have the slightest idea of what happened to us before the good salary came along. We bought 4 years college, 4 years med school, we have enough debt to buy a nice house, then we go to residency for 3–7 years (11–15 total years of training), where we get the equivalent of minimum wage as we work 80–120 hours per week, and defer the loans we can’t afford to pay back. We give up our twenties. Yes, the best decade of our life and youth is absolutely sacrificed for the profession. We do things like sell our blood, sell our bone marrow, sign up for drug tests, sign up for cosmetic testing (ever wonder how “animal free” testing works? They test it on medical students). I rummaged through the trash for return bottles, dragged furniture off the curb on trash day. Now I make six figures. There are easier ways to make a buck. I am not fabulously wealthy. It hurts when people make sarcastic remarks about my “money” as people often do. “You are a doctor, give me some of your money,” is something I have heard (literally, those very words) multiple times. Typically with a sneer.There is one thing that is portrayed in the media that is absolutely true, though. We are all “super hot” and “mcSteamy + mcDreamy” gorgeous model worthy people who go through every day with perfect hair, buff bodies, witty banter, and oh yeah we have liasons in the broom closet with one another. Jealous? Of course you are.

Usually there is a one or maybe a two-page form. I don't think they are that difficult to fill out. They copy my insurance card and that's it. Generally they include a brief list of history questions and current symptom questions. If it is a current doctor, only the current symptom questions. As I am not the one with the medical degree, I hope they use those answers to put two and two together in case my sore throat, indigestion, headache or fever is part of a bigger picture of something more seriously wrong. The HIPAA form is long to read, but you only need to do that once (although you'll be expected to sign the release each time you see a new doctor or visit a new clinic or hospital).

Based on my UG days at JIPMER:First few days are a blur. Being in a new place, far away from home with new people is far more than frightening for an 18 year old.First few weeks fly. None of the subjects make much sense. Nobody cares about the other's existence. MBBS life is a do-it-yourself world.Ragging is banned. But some enthusiastic seniors still believe in taking impromptu interviews. If one is timid and shy (I was pretty much an introvert in my first year), it is a torture to go through it, even if it is just an interview.Even before one could grasp what college is all about, the first round of exams start.Failing is very easy in a medical college. It need not be an academic issue always. Sometimes, you might fail because you've done something unknowingly that did not go too well with the examiner.Attendance rules drive one crazy. In JIPMER, we had to attend morning lectures after overnight postings in final year, for the sake of attendance.Second year is far more interesting than first year. This is also the phase people start forming friends-groups and some start dating. The initial first year shock starts wearing off by third semester.Break-ups are common.Fifth semester is again a battle zone. It is 4 big subjects, out of which nobody ever opens forensic medicine till the end.Third year is the only breathable and the most memorable honeymoon phase of MBBS.PSM (Community Medicine) is a common joke among all. It only becomes important during internship when one realises the importance it holds in every competitive exam *sadly* !Final year is a survive-if-you-can period. Departments are ruthless. The failure rate is highest among all the four years. Sometimes even the best of people do not make it at one go.Clinics are the only fun part of final year.The stress during final year is epic. All I remember wishing for during that period was to get out of college at the earliest! I spent a great deal of time in my room crying and on days, even doubted my decision to take up this profession.The end of final year marks the beginning of another new phase of life, where one is plagued with newer worries. One realises that in another year's time, one would become jobless.Between the final year stress, and the stress that follows after that till one gets PG, I still haven't figured out which is worse.With time, people invent their own ways of enjoying life. If one is to think of academics all day, all year round, they would go mad.There are some people who claim to read all day and they probably do. But, I believe in having an engagement other than academics , to keep up one's sanity.Competition always exist in medical colleges and beyond. No matter how good one is, there is bound to be someone better. And everyone has their own timeline in this world that is not meant to be compared with another's!There's always that one person in the batch who will diagnose a buffalo as a hyperpigmented, hypertrophic cow and make the others doubt their preparation level.Frustration is common. Drugs are even more common. Alcohol and nicotine usage in the hostel is like candy and ice-cream cravings of a child.Jealousy is prevalent to a great degree. It seems unusual that it should exist among grown up students, well past their teenage years, but it does and for all the silly reasons in the world.Talking behind the back and 'chinese whispers' - where you relay information meant to be confidential to another person with added spice and that person relays it further,and so on happens on a daily basis.A lot of people try to show off, to make the other feel bad. Comparison with another in this profession is a trap and it brings only unhappiness.Many people end up taking psychiatry advice at some point, for some or the other reason ( I am still wondering why I've not required some psychiatry advise so far :D).Friends made during MBBS stay lifelong. And that is my favourite part during my entire college life - I've some of the most amazing friends whom I treasure dearly.In short, life in a medical college is not a smooth ride. But, that is the case with all the best things in life - nothing worth achieving ever comes easy. There's always pain . And there are always tears.

It's necessary for the concerned authorities to have complete information about the patient for the treatment. They have to have all the necessary details of the patient and the family history too.

It's as simple as filling any school admission form but you need to be quite careful while filling for courses ,don't mind you are from which stream in class 12 choose all the courses you feel like choosing,there is no limitations in choosing course and yes you must fill all the courses related to your stream ,additionally there is no choice for filling of college names in the application form .

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