Abstract
Trees is worried: Wood seems to have regressed to his miscreant youth since returning from his latest hippie festival Second Life: Retrofest. Having self-diagnosed himself as having ADHD (which is probably true), he returned to the hospital armed with a variety of spinners which were promptly confiscated by the infection control police. Better that than the real police arrest him on assault charges given that he had taken to throwing them, ninja-throwing-star style, at any member of staff who had been annoying him. By adopting the ninja art of concealment (perfected at a Retrofest workshop – ‘how many people were there?’ asked Trees. ‘I don’t know I couldn’t see any of the others’ replied Wood) he had, fortunately, remained unidentified. The Emergency Department (ED), however, had seen an exponential rise in staff attendances with ‘projectile-related’ injuries. In true retro style, the signature tune of the festival workshop had been Aha’s ‘Hunting High and Low’ – which was now the only way of locating Wood during his ninja disappearing acts. Indeed, a common theme reported by the staff attending ED was a vague recollection of an ‘80s hit song being whistled prior to sustaining their projectile-induced injury. An incident panel had initially been established to manage the situation should the injured staff be unable to work – but it rapidly concluded that those involved contributed very little to the workings of the hospital, being generally considered unemployable but also un-sackable.
The recent adoption of an electronic notes system throughout the hospital has contributed further to Wood’s trouble-making and constant disappearing acts. With apparent continuous remote access, he seems to be directing myriad aspects of patient care throughout the hospital. Junior doctors in every specialty are starting to talk about anonymous phone calls, such as ‘Mrs X in bed 16 on Nightingale ward is scoring high on NEWS – I suggest you pay her some attention immediately …’. One consultant colleague, notorious for making late referrals to ICU just prior to exiting the building, reportedly found a note on her car windscreen stating: ‘If you eat from the table of acute care, you would do well to sit near the kitchen’.
She had absolutely no idea what this meant, but the symbol that appeared at the end of the note was appearing with disturbing frequency throughout the hospital:
There were initial concerns about the welfare of those being targeted until someone pointed out that they are all consistently absolutely useless at their jobs. As rumours spread about the (lack of) attributes of the ‘victims’, sympathy for their plight diminished while support for the unkown vigilante increased exponentially. Interestingly, the only eye-witness to the vigilante’s activities appeared to be Wood, who described seeing an individual wearing a Manga-influenced hoody, baseball cap and sunglasses, acting suspiciously in the hospital premises. When pressed for a description, he described them as being age and gender-indeterminate and between 5′6″ and 6′2″.
‘I’ve been practicing the ancient art of deception’ informed Wood when quizzed by Trees about the exact nature of the suspicious imposter … .
The Headmistress decided to take control. At an emergency gathering of all staff, she stressed that the victims were from all disciplines and backgrounds and that no generalisations should be made. ‘Indeed, amongst their number is a senior medical manager who holds a silver national merit award – so there can be no questioning their value to the Trust and the wider NHS’.
Trees opened his Wiktionary™ app to look up the definition of ‘irony’… .
Trees’ immediate challenge is to find Wood in order to complete the latter’s appraisal.
‘There’s no NHS England guidance on how to appraise a ninja’. says Trees to Twig. ‘Wood’s online appraisal portfolio continues to grow on a daily basis – but I really do need to meet face-to-face at some point and for that I need to find him’.
‘He was on the ward round this morning’. she replies.
‘But it’s not his week on the unit!’
‘That may be, but the patients are getting amazing attention and their families have never been better informed. I think his festival attendances are having a positive influence on him’.
‘You don’t know the half of it’ retorts Trees.
At last, Trees manages to contain Wood in their office long enough to constitute an appraisal. When challenged about including his various festival attendances as CPD, Wood is insistent that this is completely in keeping with the spirit of the General Medical Council’s guidance.
‘…and the Ninja-art-of-deception workshop?’ asks Trees.
‘Essential for hospital management’ replies Wood.
‘Fair enough; Existential-disembodiment?’
‘Essential for hospital management’.
‘OK; Mindfulness for spiritual healing?’
‘Essential for…’
‘OK, I get the gist. Let’s just hope the Headmistress agrees’.
The Headmistress doesn’t agree and demands that Wood’s CPD listings be revised and the Retrofest content removed.
Wood refuses.
‘You can’t refuse’ says the Headmistress, looking somewhat perturbed.
‘I just have – and I will continue to do so until justice is done and common sense prevails’ replies Wood calmly.
‘But I’m in charge of this place – and responsible for you and your employment’ argues the Headmistress.
‘Legally yes, but spiritually no’ replies Wood.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I shall leave that for you to reflect on’ entices Wood, ‘but I suggest you speak to patients and staff frankly about your perceived position in this hospital. I also suggest it would be healthy to put a stop to rumours about your imminent departure’.
‘What imminent departure?’
‘Exactly’.
‘No, I mean I have absolutely no plans to leave the hospital imminently or any time in the future’ defends the Headmistress, looking worried.
‘You have no plans?’
‘No’
‘Ah – well in that case I have probably spoken out of turn, for which I apologise. It is entirely inappropriate for me to have mentioned this when the Trust Board clearly haven’t had a chance to speak with you. Please forget that I ever mentioned it.’
Wood stands to leave.
‘Please, don’t go. What have you heard?’
Wood sits again, takes the Headmistress’s hand and looks her directly in the eyes. ‘If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much room’ he says.
‘I don’t understand’ replies the Headmistress.
‘Many don’t – which is why the attrition rate in the NHS is so high. Change is afoot, and the world is looking for innovative leaders that can see beyond the immediate in order to find a better path. I was enlightened on these matters during my training in existential disembodiment. The question is whether you will walk this path in our new world, or whether you will be left lurking in the shrubbery. I can guide you, but others, including those on’ the Board, would prefer to see you lose your way.
‘Would you do that?’ asks the Headmistress, with a wet-eyed look.
‘I would, and I will. My mindfulness training has taught me the value and rewards of supporting colleagues in need’.
‘Your festival experiences really do seem to be providing valuable professional training; I can see that now’ states the Headmistress.
‘Which brings me back to my appraisal; would you like me to take it away and spend a month or two revising it? I am very happy to do so, but it is already overdue and the Trust report on appraisal targets is due at the end of this week.
‘No, no, I’ll sign it off now’ informs the Headmistress, hurriedly logging into the online appraisal system.
‘Thank you. We need to meet again to discuss further how I can support you during these challenging times. Let’s do it over lunch’. Woods heads for the door. ‘Get your people to call my people to arrange…’ he calls back as he heads to the mess.
Appraisal signed off, the Headmistress turns to her emails, momentarily distracted by the whistling of a familiar ‘80s hit song.
She clicks on an anonymous message in which the subject heading reads:
‘Eat a small toad in the morning and it will be the worst thing you do all day’.
The content contains just one item:
