Archive for August, 2010

The wet stuff…

Posted: August 30, 2010 in medical
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Part of the “Ruff Stuff” challenge was a race down a river, complete with rapids and rocks..

sliding above the trees

Posted: August 26, 2010 in medical

Our first day in Swaziland was a fun day. It was used for the contestants to get to know their respective partners from the Sporting world, and for us to enjoy ourselves. On the way to the hotel, we stopped at the Malolotja National Park for a Tree Top Canopy tour. the tour took just over 3 1/2 hrs, sliding onto 11 platforms, longest being 120 m and highest just under 100m. What an awesome experience.

here we goooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


This is of the contestants ahead of us, on a narrow platform 70 m above the ground

I was fortunate to do the medical cover at this years Sports Illustrated “Ruff Stuff” Challenge held at Sun International’s Swazi Sun in Swaziland the last 3 days. The challenge is an annual event hosted by the magazine Sports Illustrated, sponsored by Toyota for the last 11 years. Approximately 3000 entries, eventually widdled down to 4 finalists are teamed up with 4 Sports Stars and are given many grueling tasks and challenges to eventually come out with a winner.

The prize, a Toyota Fortuna!

what a great few days I had. I have had this much fun in a long time. I will over, the next few blogs, show all we did and the fun involved. I will however not name the contestants nor mention who won as I believe that the magazine’s duty.

So for now, here’s a taste…

Me with Former Protea Cricket Captain Shaun Pollock and Former Springbok Rugby captain Corne Krige. Really great guys, I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with them.

The contestants with Sports stars Shaun Bartlett and Mark Williams (Former Bafana Bafana stars) and “Polly” and Corne

there were 4 Fortuna’s, which each pairing drove in and completed certain challenges and off-road travelling in.

The host was Mark Bayly, from Survivor

Currently in South Africa we have a public services strike, specifically effecting the healthcare industry. Now, we have strikes all the time here. They are never happy with the increases, working conditions and whatever else they feel they need to moan about. What amazes me is that while we in the private sector continuously get a basic living increase, the public sector feels that their, normally up to 4 % more than us, increase is never enough and that they deserve to get more.

Now, I honestly believe that the healthcare industry is a very honorable profession. Hell, I’m in it so i do understand. Its not a job, its a calling, a vocation and a profession. But this strike has gone beyond professional. This strike has now become everything that we fight against on a daily bases.

Its become violent!

The police and the national defence force has had to be deployed to the hospitals, just to protect patients. The strikers are violently refusing entry to sick and injured people, that are just trying to find help and, more importantly, use their God-given right to have access to healthcare.

Many of my colleagues are helping out at the hospitals, transferring sick and dying children to Private hospitals, at the governments expense, just so that they can get help. Yesterday, sick people outside the one government hospital in Johannesburg, were stripped naked by the strikers and beaten, at another, they were shooting at ambulances trying to deliver the injured…

I was flying on the Emergency Helicopter yesterday. We had to fly to Vereeniging, South of Johannesburg, to pick up a young man that had his hand amputated through a violent act. From there, we had to fly him to Pretoria, a good 150 km just to get him to a surgeon at a government hospital that was striking, but was allowing critical patients in.

I know this is a rant , which i don’t normally do on  my blog, but i just had to get this off my chest. These supposed healthcare workers are an embarrassment to our profession, and should be gotten rid of, and genuine, caring nurses and Doctors should be employed in their place.


Posted: August 7, 2010 in Masonic, Poem
Tags: , ,

I dedicate this poem to a masonic brother who is in distress. To you my brother, though you are thousands of miles away, remember you are close to all Brethren, and you are in our thoughts and prays.


by Brother Rob Morris

Brother, hearken, while I tell you

What we Masons pledged to do

When, prepared at yonder altar,

We assumed the Mason’s vow!

Foot and knee, breast, hand and cheek —

Hearken while I make them speak!

Foot to foot, on mercy’s errand,

When we hear a brother’s cry,

Hungry, thirsty, barefoot, naked,

With God’s mercy let us fly.

This of all our thoughts the chief,

How to give him quick relief.

Knee to knee, in earnest praying,

None but God to hear or heed,

All our woes and sins confessing,

Let us for each other plead;

By the spirit of our call,

Let us pray for brothers all.

Breast to breast, in sacred casket,

At life’s center let us seal

Every truth to us entrusted,

Nor one holy thing reveal!

What a Mason vows to shield,

Let him die, but never yield.

Hand to back, a brother’s falling,

Look, his burdens are too great.

Stretch the generous hand and hold him

Up before it is too late.

The right arm’s a friendly prop,

Made to hold a brother up.

Cheek to cheek, in timely whisper

When the temper strives to win.

Urge the brother’s bounden duty,

Show him the approaching sin.

Point to him the deadly snare,

Save him with a brother’s care.

When God made paramedics, He was into His sixth day of overtime.
An angel appeared and said, “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”
God said, “Have you read the specs on this order?
A Paramedic has to be able to carry an injured person up a wet, grassy hill in the dark, dodge stray bullets to reach a dying child unarmed, enter homes the health inspector wouldn’t touch, and not wrinkle his uniform.”
“He has to be able to lift three times his own weight. crawl into wrecked cars with barely enough room to move, and console a grieving mother as he is doing CPR on a baby he knows will never breathe again.”
“He has to be in top mental condition at all times, running on no sleep, black coffee and half-eaten meals, and he has to have six pairs of hands.”
The angel shook her head slowly and said, “Six pairs of hands…no way.”
“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” God replied. “It’s the three pairs of eyes a medic has to have.”
“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.
God nodded. “One pair that sees open sores as he’s drawing blood, always wondering if the patient is HIV positive.” (When he already knows and wishes he’d taken that accounting job)
“Another pair here in the side of his head for his partner’s safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, “You’ll be alright ma’am when he knows it isn’t so.”
“Lord,” said the angel, touching His sleeve, “rest and work on this tomorrow.”
“I can’t,” God replied. “I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk out from behind a steering wheel without incident and feed a family of five on a private service paycheck.”
The angel circled the model of the Paramedic very slowly. “Can it think?” she asked.
“You bet”, God said. “It can tell you the symptoms of 100 illnesses; recite drug calculations in it’s sleep; intubate, defibrillate, medicate, and continue CPR nonstop over terrain that any doctor would fear… and it still keeps it’s sense of humor.”
“This medic also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with a multi-victim trauma, coax a frightened elderly person to unlock their door, comfort a murder victim’s family, and then read in the daily paper how Paramedics were unable to locate a house quickly enough, allowing the person to die. A house that had no street sign, no house numbers, no phone to call back.”
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the Paramedic.
“There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.”
“That’s not a leak,” God replied, “It’s a tear.”
“What’s the tear for?” asked the angel.
“It’s for bottled up emotions, for patients they’ve tried in vain to save, for commitment to that hope that they will make a difference in a person’s chance to survive, for life.”
“You’re a genius!” said the angel.
God looked somber.

Author Unknown