"The House"

"The House"

Australia

"The trees retained their leaves, and shed their bark instead, the swans were black, the eagles white, the bees were stingless, some mammals had pockets, others laid eggs, it was warmest on the hills and coolest in the valleys, even the blackberries were red."
J Martin 1830s

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Sunday, April 11, 2010

So you want a job?

Its sad to admit, but I've been a bit of a failure as a full time mum. If I'm honest it drives me potty. I keep telling myself that Carys needs to be out socialising with children her own age, but its also driven by my need not to be. I've turned into a bit of an imbecile, an expert on nursery rhymes, and I have no clue what is going on in the adult world.

The other day Carys and I had a conversation that went along the lines of:
"What's that mummy?"
"A banana."
"Why."
"Well, a banana has a certain genetic make-up...."

All I needed to say was "Well, its not an orange is it.", but it made me realise that I need to get out more.

Getting a job out here, seems to be easier said than done. Every stage involves a lengthy form, some cash, a trip to the Justice of the Peace to get my documents certified again, and a wait of several months. I am now a Fellow of the Royal Australian College of GPs, and registered with the New South Wales Medical Board, but I still can't work. The next hurdle is finding a job in a District of Workforce Shortage (DWS) that is actually commutable from here, and then applying for a medicare provider number. They can only employ me here if they can prove that no Aussie in their right mind would take the job.

I've found one practice that I thought would do, but their practice isn't actually built yet, and their DWS status just expired. Then I went for an interview at a different practice last week, and it certainly ticked a lot of the boxes: DWS, 50 minutes drive, and I wouldn't even need to apply for my own provider number. Having said that it was more like an A&E, and I was expected to suture wounds, take x-rays, manipulate and set broken bones, presumably even follow them up and check they are healing OK. I know that loads of Drs have more spunk that me, but I'm just no good at faking it. I hate not knowing what I'm doing, and generally make an arse of myself. So I turned them down. How would any of you feel about me fixing your broken wrist?

We'll just have to keep shopping at Aldi in the mean time, as I can't give up the childcare!

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