I hate the pager. I hate the noise. I hate the numbers that don’t tell you anything – no name of the person paging you, no patient name or identification numbers, no details on the whereabouts of the patient. I hate how you never know who’s on the other end of the line and what they want.
It reminds me of this horrible toy we used to play with when we were young. You take turns pressing each teeth of the shark, and most of the time it’s fine but once in awhile it would close with a big… SNAAAP! onto your finger. Ouch. It makes you jump and your heart race. Quacks and sharks aren’t friends.
I hate it that the people paging you expect you to have it with you even long after you should have left work, and respond. I hate it even more when switchboard has no qualms about putting people through to your personal mobile, anyone, at any time, even when you’re not on call. After hours, I’ve stopped answering calls from “private numbers” altogether. Oh yeah, but I haven’t forgotten the times that I lost my pager and the sound of eerie silence, which is even worse than the screeching beeps.