Day 354 Frost

Dear Kate,
If only I knew the last time I briefly dropped in to say, “Hello!” it would be the last time I’d ever see you.  I’ve been waiting to get back to Perth to tell you about all our travel adventures here in Canada.  Of course none have rivalled your trip to Antarctica.  I’ve been keeping a list of the hilariously ridiculous typos that the voice dictation software here comes up with – things that a professional medical typist such as yourself would never type even in your sleep.  (E.g. a colo-vaginal fistula superior opening at the elbow.) I really miss hearing your cheery voice and finding out who today’s longest and most mumbled dictation was from.  I wonder what will happen to your stuffed rodent door stop, that you’ve had since Dr Song was a trainee?  I hope all the other trainees, crowded around the reporting workstation before work on Thursday mornings, knew that it was probably you, already working at your desk behind us, who was churning out carefully typed reports for us, correcting our minor spoken grammatical errors, making us look good.  I’m in Toronto still.  It’s incredibly humid today.  I’m only in paper-thin scrubs but I’m sweating.  The sonographers at TGH are talking loudly, sorting patient lists and calling in cases from Emergency.  I feel like I shouldn’t dictate anything today because without you there to hear anybody’s dictations there will only be silence. 

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