In loving memory

My first encounter with death as a medical student was 4 weeks into my first year at medical school.

We were still coming to grips with being away from home, making new friends, fresh, naive.

Medicine was simple then, we only knew the basics, how the muscles and nerves functioned, the names of the bones, the physiology of the digestive tract. A bit about ethics and law.

It was all very sudden.

She sat next to me in anatomy class, on Friday she told me how her computer was acting up, maybe it was about time to change it. We talked excitedly about our upcoming anatomy group social - it'll be fun, she said.

On Monday, during our anatomy session, there was hardly anyone there. Some people were at the school office sorting something out. Something had happened. Our tutor told us to stay behind after class. A lady walked in an just blurted out,

"Your classmate was hit by a car yesterday. She's currently on life support waiting for her parents to come before they make any decisions."

Silence.

"She might not make it."

Those words just ring in the ears.

When you hear stuff like that you can't help to think, but well yeah, medicine has improved so much, they should be able to help her.

Before you realise that, the 'they' that we claim can cure just about anything, will be us medical students in the future. We will be the ones armed with the medical knowledge and advancements that should, ideally, save her.

It brings a lot of things into perspective.

She was a medic like us. She had a bright future ahead. I barely knew her. And she did not make it.

I study medicine misguided that I'll be able to save everyone. None of my future patients will die under my care. I won't let them.

Three years down the line and I've seen countless patients die before my eyes.

People die, it's just a cycle of life.

Coming to terms with death is something they don't teach you in medschool. But perhaps they really should.

Why anyone shouldn't be a doctor

In a phone conversation with my parents the other day, my mum asked if I had enough money to survive, after paying the extortionate amount that is my tuition fees.

I will do, if people click on the adverts *hint hint*.

Anyways, one of the FY1s showed us her paycheck the other day. Even the consultant was shocked by the amount, because it was the same amount he used to get as a house officer. Over 30 years ago. The cost of living has most definitely risen since then, but not our wages. Figures.

My friend who is on a placement year gets the same amount. In fact, most of the auxiliary staff in hospital get the same amount, if not more.

I wonder whether it's too late to reconsider another career path.

All you wannabe medics out there, heed my words, the life of a doctor is not all glamourous as it seems. You're generally overworked, unappreciated and underpaid. And hugely in debt.

Back to the phone conversation with my mum, I was half expecting her to say something along the lines of, "If you don't have enough money, you can ask me for some."

Instead she said, "If you don't have enough money, go ask your brother for some."

I suppose this is one of the reasons they are happy he's got a job.

So you had a bad day

Woke up rather reluctantly this morning, went to the car, and discovered that some bird(s) had done some rather amazing diarrhoea all over it - it must've been some really ill bird(s). Never mind that the car is parked indoors.

Drove to GPLand, which is usually about 15 - 20 minutes away, but took a bit longer than expected because of traffic, but managed to reach GPLand on time, only thing that parking at the practice was full so I had to find some random residential road and park up there, all the while worrying about people breaking into the car because it was a very dodgy area.

I hate being in GPLand, so that's already bad enough. GP Tutor didn't look to happy when I said that I had to leave early because I had to go see my supervisor at 3pm. Then she sent us out on a home visit equipped with just the address of this person.

I find that all GPs that I've been attached to expect us to have extensive knowledge of the surrounding area down to every random lane, despite the fact that we do not live anywhere near there. Thank god for Google map.

Anyways fast forward to rushing off to meet my supervisor for 3pm. Luckily we managed to make it in time because he just finished surgery. He told us to wait while he took a quick break, so we waited. And waited. And after an hour decided that perhaps we shouldn't really be waiting anymore. Went off to find him only to discover that he went home. Nice.

Then it took me 50 minutes to get back home because traffic was just crazy.

I wonder if this counts as a bad day?

Anyways, digressing a bit (I tend to this a lot), on my 50 minute journey home down a straight stretch of road I saw 6 ambulances and 2 police cars.

A & E seems to be very busy this week.

You mean he was born with two hands?

We were at the nurses' station discussing the patients we saw yesterday and what interesting signs and symptoms they had.

The patient in Bed 5? The one with the hands?
Yeah, and the patient in the side room has a good abdomen.
What about that man with the toe?

I know exactly what they mean - we're not excited that a patient has, in fact, two intact hands and some toes, but that his hands have something medically relevant to our clinical learning.

Because I'd be very worried if all those patients were suddenly lacking basic anatomical assets.

I find that nowadays with all the need for patient confidentiality I end up referring to the patients I've seen after their main diagnosis; a few examples being Infective Endocarditis Guy, Diverticulitis Woman, Man with Paper Eating Dog.

I sometimes wonder whether this is a good idea, because in a way it encourages the thought of a patient as a diagnosis rather than a person - a notion that seems rather incredulous but sadly true.

On a completely unrelated note, at least I don't refer to the jaundiced patients as part of The Simpsons family.

Gravity Kills

Today I went cross country cycling.

I probably won't be going again for a while.

To cut a rather long and boring story short, I flew over the handlebars while going downhill in the pouring rain. A lot of things can be said about how I really shouldn't be allowed to cycle anywhere but on a flat dry ground with no one within a 100m radius, but we'll save that for another day.

So.

I was rather apprehensively going downhill when I saw a huge dip, and thought, oh crap, this can't be good.

Next thing I knew - sky, ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, ground, ground - this is gonna hurt really bad.

Gravity is an evil thing indeed.

On a sidenote, it's interesting that while my life was flashing before my eyes (and so was the sky and ground), the first thing that went through my mind was, If my parents found out they are so gonna kill me. 21 years of bringing me up and I repay them by breaking my neck in a forest.

Where was I? Oh yes.

And while I was sprawled out on the muddy ground, my bike decided it missed my presence and skidded and hit me.

Life is good.

So there I was, undecided whether being in a foetal position would involve less blinding pain, when it occurred to me that I was on the ground in the middle of a downhill track.

Great.

I somehow managed to drag both myself and the bike off the track, and thus assuring myself that yep, ABC (Airway, Breathing, Circulation) intact to a certain extent.

Once the pain had subsided slightly I decided that it would now be a good time to survey the damage.

Limbs. Intact. There's blood down one leg but it looks rather superficial. Grazes to the hand and face, nothing serious. Knee is swelling up quite a bit, but that's to be expected. Full range of movement in all joints. Check.

Now what.

The friends came out to help and we decided to go back to the forest centre. Which involved more cycling. In the rain.

And everyone I cycled passed gave me really horrified looks, which worried me slightly because as far as I was concerned I was pretty okay. I was CYCLING back, how bad could it have been. I think it must've been the bloodied leg.

It was bad enough that I had to cycle myself back for some form of treatment, but when we got back to the centre no one knew what to do with me. The staff showed me a first aid box and threw out its rather random contents and sifted through it.

Then he looked at me and said, "I don't know what all these things are for..."

Sigh.

So I said, "Trust me, I'm a medic" and proceeded to mend myself.

Apparently I looked pretty okay for someone who just did a spectacular endo on the fastest section of the trail.

So, not only did I fall and hurt myself (and my pride), I had to get myself back and then self-medicate.

And in true Schaudenfreude style, my friend told me that when I fell he almost whipped out his camera to take pictures of my misfortune, but managed to restrain himself only because I was on the floor moaning in pain.

Good friends like him are hard to come by these days.

And that's why there's no pictures.

Anyways, whilst I am still in considerable amounts of pain, I am alive, and have developed slight paranoia over the possibility of developing septic arthritis or a kidney contusion.

The swelling and pain have gone down slightly, and I haven't been peeing blood, but we'll see.

I'm guessing tomorrow will not be a good day to be me.

Why Medicine?

It's one of the questions that everyone seems to ask, especially, especially UCAS personal statements and admissions tutors.

It also happens to be one of the questions I ask myself everyday when I get out of bed, which is perhaps not the best way to start your day.

Why medicine?

Oh, well you know, I've always wanted to be a medic, it's my destiny, my calling, my life will not be complete if I do not have Dr. in front of my name.

No, I didn't say that in my interview.

My official answer when faced with that question is simply, I like being challenged to solve puzzles.

I like putting the pieces together, connecting the dots, then sitting back and looking at the full picture glaring back at me. Medicine gives me the opportunity to do that.

Granted, many other professions do, perhaps just about any job you care to think of incorporates elements of problem solving... but I digress.

Truth is, I wouldn't know what else to do if not medicine.

But despite the daily doubting of my ability to survive in the world of health care, the constant confidence crushing at the hands of consultants and the early morning marathon ward rounds, I love every moment of it.

So there.

Trust me, I'm a medical student

The inaugural post.

It should probably tell the reader my background, who I am, what I stand for, my motives and my general purpose in life. But it won't, because I'm lazy and I really need sleep.

So why a blog?

I need money to put myself through medschool, doesn't matter how as long it's legit and not overly time consuming. So over the next couple of weeks, months or even years, dependent on when I can be bothered to do anything, expect to find this blog filled with pointless ads you don't want to see.

Hey, at least I'm being honest.

Now that formalities are out of the way, watch this space!