The Clinical Elephantucator

Illustration by Lynda Richardson

While most species that exist in the healthcare habitat spend most of their time at the forefront of the ecosystem, working with patients directly on a day-to-day basis, there are many creatures that choose not to, preferring a life surrounded by the bodies and limbs of countless plastic automatons over one spent in the scrutiny of the public, and the dreaded eye of Sauron (the GMC).  Lords of their own rubbery graveyards, these are Clinical Elephantucators.

Explorers will make their first encounter with an elephantucator very early on in their voyages,  usually in some distant part of the hospital dedicated to the training of young explorers. Tables adorned with plastic body parts  and under the unending, uncanny-valley gaze of an assortment of dummy heads, the clinical elephantucator is unperturbed by the eeriness of its surroundings.  Using  items found in the environment, the elephantucator seeks only to educate and train explorers in the skills they'll need to survive the healthcare habitat.

Given the environment's secluded nature and distance from the domain of patients, at first glance many explorers can perceive time spent in this slightly creepy patient-desolate wasteland to be completely fruitless, but this observation is far from the truth. In few areas of the hospital will an explorer be able to practice their clinical skills at such a high rate (unlike plastic arms, most patients tend to object when they are repeatedly stabbed with a cannula), and teaching sessions come more frequently in the plastic graveyard than on the ward. Particularly in early years, time spent with clinical elephantucators are vital.

The clinical elephantucator takes great pleasure in spreading its wealth of knowledge of the healthcare habitat to those eager to learn. Be this clinical skills, history or examination or  OSCE advice, the species has extensive insight into what is expected of an explorer, and therefore can provide some of the best guidance, particularly in terms of what to revise and what to include or exclude on OSCE stations where an explorer's time is running short. Some will even let you take treasures from the graveyard, including gloves (the single biggest bane of this individual explorer's existence), cannulas and countless more, enabling practice away from the healthcare habitat entirely.

One note of caution for explorers to take is that elephantucators, not tied down with treating countless patients, possess an almost perfect memory, meaning individuals of the species can retain knowledge regarding a specific explorer  despite not having see them for weeks, months or even years. This can be beneficial to those who make positive first impressions, but hazardous to an individual who makes a negative or clumsy impression. No matter how many times you have taken blood perfectly since, the elephantucator will remember that first time when you boasted of your own ability, only to stab yourself taking it out of the packet. And given the species desire to spread knowledge, he will enjoy ensuring everyone else knows as much as he does.

The elephantucator is a friend to the novice explorer, a guiding hand to teach all that they need to survive life in the bustling ecosystem that is the healthcare habitat.