Weekend Wonderings

Went for a long walk, early on a winter's morning.

The air was fresh and it was warm enough to break a sweat.

But too cold to swim. Started way up at the top of the kloof, looking down at this pool. Came all the way down and stopped at this pool, then turned around and climbed all the way back up. Just over 2.5 hours, start to finish, with plenty of stops to take in the scenery.

Is there a better way to start a Saturday morning? And is there a better place to spend winter than in KZN?

A 25-hour Day

I'm supposed to be a "guest blogger" on this blog called Fit and Healthy, but if you pop over to it and have a look, you'll notice that the principal blogger is more like the silent partner. I have this inkling, I might have been duped!

Anyway, click on the link above if you're interested in my attempts to find more time in my day.

Long Weekend

For the first time in a long time I wasn't working for the entire Easter weekend. Four days off! Of course it flew by.

On two of the four days, I attended an Indian wedding. There is nothing more colourful!

On the Saturday was the Graha Shanti Yajna, Geet and Garba, which amounts to the pre-wedding ceremony and celebrations.

On the Sunday was the wedding proper. Ladies were decked out in the most stunning colours which were topped with the shiniest sequins and decorated with the most exquisite gold. At an Indian wedding, more IS more.

Today I was watched Sex and the City. I know it's all about shoes and sex, but sometimes it's also a reality check for me. After going to a wedding where the couple looked so very good together and seemed relaxed and happy, it's easy to start to believe that fairytales do come true. Sex and the City reminds me that many women reach their late 30s and beyond, and they're still alone, looking for love.

Honestly, dying alone scares me.

In one of the episodes in season 2, Miranda buys an apartment and besides all the questioning about her marital status which this invokes, her new neighbour also tells her that the previous owner died in the apartment alone, and it took a week before anyone found the body, by which time the cat had eaten half her face. Miranda has a little panic attack.

I can completely relate. None of us wants to die alone, but how much control do we actually have over this?

Finding someone you love, and who feels the same way about you, at the same time that you do, is a miracle.

In love!

I'm not sure if it's the sleep deprivation, from being on call last night, but this morning found me just so in love with Durban. I got me a bike from the Virgin Active Classic gym at Moses Mabhida stadium, and set off along the promenade heading for Ushaka Marine World.

The sky was a perfect blue and the sea matched, almost. It took me a few hundred metres to figure out how to brake with the pedals and handle the "old school" style handle bars.

And then I could take in the view:

• 3 policemen on horses, clippity clop (no horse dung in sight, thank goodness)
• a boy in bright yellow takkies with wheels attached at the back (attached by himself or a member of his family)
• an old man hobbling along with the help of a carved walking stick
• a skinny boy with just the front of his t-shirt tucked in, so we could all see his white belt and big shiny buckle

And the sea, the blue blue sea. On the ride back, Moses Mabhida stadium on the horizon.

I think I'm in love with Durban!

Keeping up Appearances

Everyday we do it, everybody does it. We have to seem to be coping, to be happy, to be successful, to be in love, to be better than. It's so tedious and tiring, I decided a while ago to try not to.

The thing is, that no matter how much you may try to keep up appearances, people will try to find a crack, a flaw, something to talk about, something to point fingers at.

So why bother? Let's all make our bank statements public, let's publish our credit card bills and let everyone see that, as they suspected all along, we can't actually afford the car we drive, the watch we're wearing or the holidays we go on.

Or maybe... we can actually afford all those things. AND in fact, what we spend our money on is entirely our own business! And people who have time to talk about what others spend their money on, obviously don't have enough money of their own to keep themselves occupied!

But I digress; distracted, obviously, by idle gossipers. What I really wanted to comment on is the keeping up of appearances in the health department. KZN in particular, SA in general. It seems, unfortunately, that in this democracy we want to run in fancy shoes before we have learned to crawl on our hands and knees. What we seem to forget is that we can't be good at Calculus if we don't understand simple arithmetic.

This week Prince Mshiyeni Hospital in Umlazi, acquired a fancy new machine for the diagnosis of tuberculosis. This, of course, makes me very happy. TB is a real and devastating problem in SA and a huge burden on the health system.

The Minister of Health was at the hospital yesterday to visit and probably take some pictures... with the new machine.

What I'd like to ask though, is this: How come we have money for a fancy machine to diagnose TB, which probably cost millions (I'm guessing here, I welcome correction) but we sometimes run out of drugs to treat the TB? And, why can we not employ more people to provide proper treatment for TB?

We tell mothers that they have the choice not to breastfeed if they're HIV positive and will be provided with formula for 6months, but then the clinic runs out of formula and the mother can't afford to buy it herself.

We buy expensive ventilators for hospitals, but there is no cartridge for the blood gas machine, so it's impossible to ventilate anyone who needs it, because we can't monitor them appropriately.

We buy expensive CT scan machines, but we don't have money to employ someone who knows how to use it and interpret the pictures it takes.

Why is it that when elections are approaching, we strategically have pictures in the news showing expensive new TB diagnostic machinery at a busy hospital in a huge township with a huge voting population? And what happens when gloves run out at the hospital? And what about the child who dies from bed sores because the nurses are overworked and unable to provide proper care, because posts are frozen due to lack of funds?

But don't worry about that child, I'm sure his family couldn't afford him anyway. Rather take a picture for the newspaper: two big shots shaking hands in front of a shiny new machine, keeping up appearances.

Meeting New People

I must admit, at the age of 28, I still find meeting new people daunting. I don't have the most shining social skills, I feel awkward, so then I tend to be very quiet and aloof and people usually think I'm not very friendly or fun and have no inclination to get to know me better.

Well, okay, the truth is that I'm not very friendly, I don't like people and I detest people who are overfamiliar. The only people I don't really get nervous about meeting is fellow doctors. Most of them are awkward too and I feel like I can see straight through them.

It is a fact that I meet new people every single day at work, but those are patients and it's not on equal footing: I usually have their file in front of me with all of their personal info in it, I start the conversation, I can ask any question I feel is necessary and I can usually end it when I feel.

This week I met something of a South African celebrity; no one on a global scale, but he'd definitely be recognizable walking down almost any street in SA. I'm by no means a screaming fan, and I was not looking to take pictures with said celebrity or anything like that. But I was really ticked off, because when he found out I was a doctor, he called me Miranda Bailey from Grey's Anatomy!

Now, if a fellow colleague had likened me to Miranda, I would've taken it as a compliment and maybe even blushed. As a doctor she's competent, dedicated, an overachiever. I would let her treat me anyday and I'd be honoured to have her as a teacher.

But to non doctors she's scary, short and fat! That's not how I see myself. In the moment I gave a half sarcastic chuckle, like: "You're not serious..."

But I went away wondering if that's the kind of first impression I give: DON'T MESS WITH ME!! Even when I'm not trying.

Anyway, my excuse was that besides being generally awkward, I was going on 40 hours without any real sleep. That excuse always holds up!!

And today I'm in Cape Town, I think it's 33 degrees, no wind, dry. It's easy to understand how fires start on days like this! I'm off to a wedding in a little bit. The only people I know at the wedding are the bride and groom and the bride's family a little... Maybe I can start conversations using my moves on the dance floor??? ...Not very likely!

The Blogosphere

Blogging seems to be the latest fashion, everyone's doing it, there are blog awards and blog parties. But there is so little that I see out there which I can identify with, that might be why I follow so many.

Questioning my motives for blogging... wanting to be heard I suppose...

There are a few blogs I really like:

Orangette

Lost is a place too

The Sourcerer

And of then there's Dagarna med O

But it could be that I'm biased on the last one, because Ofelia is the cutest little baby and also my friend's niece.

I think what I really like about them is that they only say something when they have something good to say. Most of the other blogs I read are just distractions, with occasional points which spark my interest or sometimes I may stumble upon another blog I really like.

Almost perfect 28

I turned 28, it was almost perfect... I was woken up at midnight and presented with the box below and a mini bottle of bubbly and sung to. I went back to sleep soon after though, I had a busy day ahead and didn't want to have bags under my eyes.

When you get to my age, you have to worry about these sorts of things you know!!

I was awake early enough and my first port of call was the gym, in anticipation of the sweet things I had to consume during the rest of the day.

My best friend arrived before I'd finished breakfast, we hung out for the rest of the morning and then we were off to Royale, my favourite place in CT for burgers and milkshake. Absolutely perfect for a birthday lunch.

After lunch, I went off to the Wildlife Photographers' Exhibition, no pictures allowed in there of course.

In the evening a free ride up Table Mountain in the cable car. All South Africans can get a free ride on their birthday, did you know that? Moet & Chandon to accompany the sunset and buffer us from the cold wind.

A hint of worry as we drove up the windy road to the cable car station: A friend in a coma after an accident.

The word coma doesn't mean much to a doctor, friend known to have been in previous car accident not too long ago, coma and friend dismissed with little further thought.

On to dinner at Woodlands Eatery in Vredehoek feeling light and bubbly. Lots of friends and gifts. I'd recommend the lamb pizza, or any pizza. My phone kept ringing.

Then, back home to polish off the remainder of the brownies from the study. Fell asleep on the couch, full stomach and full heart.

Woken up the next morning, crying on the telephone: friend in coma - dead.

Turns out he hadn't been in a car accident. He was beaten up by some guys. Who knows why.

His mother's only child. She's left alone.

A Study in Brownies

As previously mentioned, I found what I thought was the most amazing brownie at Olympia Cafe Bakery on Sunday. When I mentioned this to a knowledgeable friend though, he scolded me: "No! That's not where you go for brownies! Jardine Bakery is where you have to go for the best brownie in Cape Town."

So I decided to do a study, unfortunately I only had time and space to try 3 brownies. It seems my entire time in Cape Town was a sweet fest. (More about that later.)

So the 3 brownies I tried:

1) Olympia Cafe Bakery: dark brown, pecan nuts, icing sugar dusting

2) Cookshop in Hatfield: a light brown with a gooey centre and crispier crust

3) Jardine Bakery: dark brown, gooey, with bits of white chocolate melting all over

I have to say that the Olympia Cafe brownie was my favourite. All of them were really good. But I kept wanting more of the Olympia Cafe one. The one from Cookshop was pleasant and comfortable, the one from Jardine was absolute decadence and I couldn't eat more than a few bites from it.

I suppose it all depends on what you're looking for...

P.S. Despite only one mug and one cake fork visible in the picture above, I didn't conduct this study alone!

Cape Town is a strange place

And I love it! In 3 days I've discovered:

They have this mountain, which is like a table and sometimes it's literally covered in clouds, hanging over the sides, like a table cloth.

When you're on your way to a U2 concert, walking along the road, you find guys on rooftops trying to sing like Bono. They're not so bad, until they start speaking with a Capetonian accent...

When you get to the stadium, you know something big's going to happen, cos the set is just amazing. But it can be a bit confusing, cos it's after 19h00 and the sun's still so high. In fact, from the stadium, you can watch it setting over the Atlantic Ocean, sometime a bit later.


They say the thing called "The Boerewors Curtain" no longer exists, but some people look and sound very different...I think they live on the other side... They're all U2 fans, it's just that they're a bit bigger and make scarier drunks.

These fans also weren't too happy when Bono brought Yvonne Chaka-Chaka on stage, sang with her, hugged her and kissed her hand. They looked at each other in shock, their faces puzzled: Their rock hero, kissing a black woman??? Obviously they don't actually read newspapers or know much about Bono, they were quite puzzled when Desmond Tutu came up on the big screen too.

Capetonians also frequent little bakeries along seaside roads, behind some shops, in a building which needs a new coat of paint, but purposefully hasn't been painted. With the best olive ciabata I've had in my short life and chocolate brownies... More about those later!

There are protected beaches, where you pay an entrance fee and clamber over boulders to find a secluded spot.

But it's completely worth it on a Sunday afternoon. The sun is hot and the water icy cold, it starts to numb your toes as soon as you step in.

And you find penguins sharing the beach with you. Some are shy and hide between boulders, some are more curious and walk right up to you and tilt their heads and try to figure out exactly what kind of creature you are.

And even with the wind blowing sand at you, you can't help but realize, that you may just have found the best brownies ever, at a little bakery along a seaside road, behind some shops, in a building that needs a new coat of paint.

I have 3 more days to make the most of it...

Intimacy

Call me old fashioned and antiquated, but I find it quite interesting how sex is no longer considered such an intimate act between two people.

We can have sex with someone before we know their full name, their age, where they come from or where they're going to. In fact, it's considered somewhat intrusive to ask too many questions too soon, but it's ok to ask someone to share your bed.

While there are obviously some questions that can only be asked after sex, how do we get more comfortable finding out some of the important things before we jump into bed? Or is sex just not as intimate as I'm making it out to be?

The Stuff of Nightmares

I was blog browsing today, and I always find it quite interesting how bloggers can put their relationships out there. Isn't that a lot of pressure? Isn't that something very personal to share?

I suppose it's no more personal than sharing your nightmares. And I'm still wondering whether sharing mine is the right thing to do. They disturb me. They mainly involve work and death.

I suppose it's quite normal to dream about work, I was speaking to a good friend this morning, she's been having nightmares about work too. She's about to start lecturing second year students and dreamt that she drew a blank about a something she was trying to teach and the students had to teach her.

My work is somewhat uglier, so are my nightmares.

I've been working in ICU for the past month and a bit, these are critically ill patients and so the incidence of death is higher than in the general patient population. I've had a few deaths, they've been bothering me.

Last night I fell asleep dreaming of dying and no one being able to save me. The only other doctor around was the O&G registrar and he couldn't intubate me. I land in ICU and I'm aware, but everyone around me is unaware of how aware I am. I am unable to communicate. No one can save me, they're all standing around talking about how futile it is and all I want to tell them is not to give up, because I want to live.

Before waking up, I dreamt that I was seeing a little boy who had been sexually abused and had cigarette burns on his scrotum. I felt powerless to help him besides dressing his wounds. The system was failing him, completely.

It reminded me of a boy of about 7 years old, whom I saw in a clinic as an intern. His mother had sent him to the shop and he was raped en route. I had to examine him of course, but when I asked him to show me where it was painful, and he had to remove his trousers, he burst into tears. I barely held mine back.

I recently found it somewhat amusing when a colleague, whom I'm not at all close to, called me to ask me if I was ok, what with my recent spate of deaths. (All teenagers, by the way.)

As South African doctors, we're just expected to deal with it. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, they say. Deal with it, learn from it, don't make the same mistakes next time.

This morning, while taking morning bloods from a patient, I splattered blood all over myself, the patient and the patient's bed. It was actually less than 3ml of blood, but the force with which I was trying to inject it into the blood tube, propelled little droplets in all directions. Thankfully the patient lived through it, unfortunately she was completely conscious, and wasn't too happy to have blood spattered in her face. I hope I haven't given her nightmares!!

A Recipe

Well, I've been thinking about this for a while, and was having a bit of a dilemma, because this is not supposed to be a cooking blog. But I do love food. And in the last post I mentioned a cookbook I'd bought and a pasta sauce I'd made. Obviously, the picture at the bottom of the post, wasn't one of my pasta. I did think about posting a pic of the pasta I made, but every time I dished some out, I was so eager to eat it, I'd forget to stop and take a pic! Oops!!!

The thing is, that while tomato sauces for pasta are supposedly basic, there is a bit involved in getting the right texture and taste.

I thought that I wasn't very good at making tomato based sauces, but I just needed the right recipe.

Since I have very little experience, this is the best tomato based pasta sauce I've ever cooked. It's very easy, but you do need a few hours to let it simmer. You can make a big pot and then freeze some for another day. Apparently it's supposed to keep for a few months in the freezer. It's called "Basic Tomato Sauce" and it's from Cafe Food at Home by Gael Oberholzer. I don't have permission from Gael to share it, but I hope she doesn't mind, I won't be transcribing all the recipes in the book. If you like what I share, you're going to have to go out and get the book for yourself.

What you need is:

2 onions, finely chopped

2 large cloves of garlic, minced (I'm not exactly sure what a clove is, but I like garlic, so I added a few of those smaller pieces which break off when you buy that big round piece of garlic)

2 Tbsp (30ml) olive oil

3 x 400g cans whole peeled tomatoes (I didn't check the label properly when I was buying, I was post call, so I landed up with one can of unpeeled cherry tomatoes & 2 cans peeled italian tomatoes, but it was ok)

a few sprigs of fresh oregano, chopped (I couldn't find fresh, used dried, in the little bottle)

4 tsp (20ml) basil pesto or a handful of fresh basil leaves

a large pinch of chopped fresh parsley

salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1-2 Tbsp (15-30ml) brown sugar

1) Gently saute the onions and garlic in the olive oil, then add the remaining ingredients.

(I think "gently saute" means fry, but with the stove at a medium heat, not too hot)

2) Bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer gently for 1-2 hours.

3) Taste and adjust the seasoning. If the sauce is too acidic, add more sugar (the sauce should not be too sweet)

And that's that. Not difficult at all, but the herbs definitely make a huge difference to the taste. I used to add tomato sauce from a bottle to give my tomato pasta sauces a better colour and consistency. But this time I didn't have to and I thoroughly enjoyed the taste!

Post call Mania

The above mentioned is a well known, but little documented condition amongst doctors. As the name states, it is a condition associated with being post call- meaning, that you have worked all night the night before and are awake probably for more than 24hrs. It's a kind of delirious state. During the night, there are stages through which most of us pass. Usually, if we've been working from 8h00, around 23h00 or so, you start to slow down and feel somewhat irritable.

By 2h00 or so, you usually get something of a second wind and feel quite energetic, you might even sing and make pleasant banter with those around you as you work.

By 5h00 your eyes are burning and you hate each patient who's keeping you up, you feel dirty and hungry and if it's summer you're very glad to see the light in the sky, it starts to feel like there might be some hope after all.

By 8h00 the next day you've accepted your plight and trudge on, most often until around 12hoo or 13h00 when, if it's not too busy, your colleagues will tell you to drag yourself home and to be careful while driving home.

This description is something of a generalization. Conditions differ between specialities. If you're a dermatologist you get to sleep all night, if you're a surgeon you only leave the hospital around 16h00 the next day if you're lucky and if you're an anaesthetist, you're in a whole different league. (More on that another time.)

Now once you're released from the hospital around 13h00, after being under hospital arrest for about 29 hrs (many hospitals have a policy that you're not allowed to the leave the hospital premises when you're on call, at all!) you suddenly feel this strange desire to make the most of your time off. It's one afternoon when you're out of work before the shops and banks close.

Or, you might be post call on a monday afternoon and find that this is the most pleasant time to go to the beach, because everyone else is at work and you have the beach to yourself.

But the thing is, that you probably haven't slept for more 30hrs and what you find yourself in, is actually a sort of haze. But since your mind is sleep deprived, you don't realize that this haze is delirium, you feel happy and woozy at the same time, you suddenly feel like you can take on the world. But a few hours into it, you usually crash hard, and hopefully you're near to your bed when that happens!

What I often find myself doing, is going in search of food. Many a time, I've walked into a mall feeling ravenous. But instead of sitting at a coffee shop, I first head to a grocery store, because I have all of these images of the wonderful meal I'm going to make for myself. Walking out of the grocery store, I'll see a shoe store or music store. I'll then spend at least 30min in that store and walk out with a pair of shoes I don't really need, or a packet full of all the CDs I've been thinking about buying for the past year.

Yesterday I walked into the mall to quickly get some milk for my cereal, but the book store was having a sale, and had set up a stall outside the store right in my path. Books on sale are a no brainer, I have to buy. I found myself drawn to 2 books: Spanish Cooking and Cafe Food at Home. I opted for the latter, and promptly headed to the grocery store to buy all of the things on the list of "recommended basics for your grocery cupboard" and bit extra for a pasta I wanted to try. Since I was post call, I believed I had all the time in the world to try new things. (Thank goodness I didn't forget to get the milk.) On arriving home, I unpacked my grocery bags, ate a bowl of cereal and realized that all I wanted to do was sleep. I convinced myself that I would cook when I woke up. Last night, I had a sandwich for supper.

But right now, a day later, my pasta sauce is simmering as I type. I think good things can come from post call mania...

Working Weekends

For most people the weekend means time off work. Not doctors!

For us the weekend can be a most miserable time. The only pleasure is that for once there's no traffic as you drive to work on a Saturday or Sunday morning. Other than that, you can be certain that the common man's pleasure is going to turn into your pain when he lands at the hospital the victim of a drunken driving accident or after coming into sharp, irregular contact with the wrong end of a "friend's" broken beer bottle.

I often find myself with a bitter taste in my mouth when driving to work on a Friday morning listening to the radio DJ saying "It's the WEEKEEENNNDD baby!!!" and knowing that I will be working on that particular weekend.

Something else that I've noticed, which doesn't seem to be quite the norm, is that often on a Saturday evening I feel like a quiet place to drink a cuppa and read. It doesn't seem that many people feel this way on a Saturday. I've yet to find a suitable spot.

On one occasion I thought an outside cafe in the local Botanical Gardens would work, but the place was so full and not at all conducive to quiet time. I tried another cafe a few weeks later and it was full of older people watching sport and shouting in unison in encouragement or despair.

Today I am "post call" i.e. I was on call last night. I got a maximum of 3hours' sleep, in an uncomfortable bed in a room off a noisy passage in the hospital. My phone rang at 2h30, 3h00 and 3h25 again. When my alarm went off at 4h30 (time to take morning bloods and examine patients before 8h00 ward round) I didn't exactly feel rested.

Arriving home around 9h30, I thought I had enough energy for an active day, but after a bubble bath I decided on bed. In bed, I tossed for a bit, dozed for about an hour then gave up.

Now, all I'd like to do is sit quietly with a book and a cup of tea, and hope that by 22hoo I'll be tired enough to sleep heavily through the night and wake up full of energy for work tomorrow. My neighbours; however, have other ideas. Children are screaming and splashing in the pool. Braais are sizzling, beer bottles are clinking.

I suspect that I may have it wrong, maybe Saturdays are not meant for quiet evenings spent reading. I can't be sure.

What I can be sure of though, is that weekends are NOT meant to be spent working. Unfortunately, somebody's gotta do it...

Education

Around March 2009, myself and a dear friend visited the Eastern Cape, we explored the Wild Coast to be exact, staying in Coffee Bay, stopping over for a few hours at Hole in the Wall and then spending most of our week at a place called Bulungula. You can read about them at www.bulungula.com. In a nutshell it's a lodge on the beach in the Eastern Cape, which is trying as hard as possible to benefit the surrounding community and leave as little of a carbon footprint as possible. It is by no means a luxury lodge, but when you leave and you have to pay your bill, you're still surprised by how little it costs to stay there. It's not for the luxury traveler who requires white linen and high pressure showers, in fact there is a communal ablution block and communal dining room, but it's an experience which I'm glad I had, and I dare say that I might even be convinced to go back there again, next time better prepared.

But I digress, the title of this entry is Education. Being a past visitor to Bulungula, I'm on their mailing list. I received their latest newsletter today and they say that the government has cut the education budget in the Eastern Cape.

Now this baffles me, I cannot comprehend how a developing country can cut the roots of the tree of development.

Believe me, I know there are countless areas of the country which have huge shortfalls, but is education not the key to a better future? How can we hope to have a better future as a country, if the future of the children of the country is not a priority?

There are numerous wrongs which need to be righted in South Africa, but I firmly believe that education should not be compromised.

At present, unfortunately, I feel that the state of education for the less fortunate is no better (dare I say worse??) than it was during the apartheid era. I cannot begin to understand how this injustice goes on, and is in fact justified by the powers that be, everyday in South Africa.

So if change starts with me, what can I do? I have thought of this often. I was fortunate to have a private school education despite coming from a disadvantaged background. My parents most certainly couldn't afford the school fees, I had a bursary.

Sometimes I think it was just pure luck, but some may not believe in this. I've thought about possibly affording a child with a similar background a similar kind of schooling, but I'm not sure if that's where the need is greatest.

If you would like to do something about the Eastern Cape schools, you can make a donation via Bulungula, which directly supports the school nearest to the lodge, I can vouch for it. The link below takes you to a page which tells you how:

click here to donate online via credit card

I swear that no money comes into my personal bank account. But if you would like to give me money, I won't refuse.

If you have time and energy, maybe speak to the school nearest to you, if you think they might have a need, or contact your old school and see if there's something you can do there. At the danger of waxing philosophical and sounding cliched, I do believe: Even one small change, can make a big difference.

Blog Lovin'...

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Politics...

Image by Zapiro. Used without permission.

Politics is rife with idiosyncrasies, combine this with medicine and things can get quite tricky...

Working at possibly the best run government hospital in the country, definitely the best hospital in KZN, means that many government "VIPs" bypass the normal pathways normal people have to go through to receive quaternary level health care, and I assume they're not charged the rates you and I would be charged should we end up in a quaternary level government health care facility.

Now is this kind of behaviour unique to politicians or would you and I do exactly the same given half a chance?

I confess: I recently spoke to a specialist at a regional government hospital in order for my grandmother to be seen by him in the specialist clinic, without having to first go to the general clinic at the hospital or wait 4 months for a date to see a specialist. I did, however, wait in line with all the rest of the patients on the morning of her appointment and paid the fee necessary to receive her file. Throughout the morning we spent in the hospital, I avoided mentioning that I was a doctor and tried as much as possible to be just like one of the other patients...

In a resource poor country and in a cash strapped health system, is it wrong to try to get better care for yourself and your family? Does my act of selfishness contribute to the death of a 12 year old boy who dies because the ICU facility at the peripheral hospital he went to was full and he took more than 12 hours to reach the referral hospital?

And the ever difficult questions prevail:

1) Who are politicians in this country serving? The citizens of the country or themselves?

2) Does the fact that someone went into exile to fight for the freedom of the country, entitle that person to an indefinite amount of benefits at the expense of tax payers?

3) Are some citizens more equal than others?