Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving!

I won an award!

You got that right. I won an award.

Um, my blog did. Po-tay-to. Po-tah-to. I won an award!


"I would like to thank my mom, for all her support and encouragement, my dad, for his unconditional love, my brother, for generally being a pain in the neck, my friends, for lending me money, my cat, for meowing, my neighbour, for playing his crappy music too loud, my teachers, for all that they taught me, and last but not the least, myself, for being so brilliant, gorgeous, funny, gifted, and all around wonderful ."

What? This seemed to call for a cheesy "I would like to thank" speech.

Oh, I would also like to thank Tys on Ice for considering me worthy of this award. I nearly forgot him.

Who said that? "How did an idiot like you win an award?" You are just jealous, mister. I won it because I am a kidu. It says so on the award.

"This award is given to a blog that invests and believes in PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships! These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

See? I am an 'exceedingly charming' and 'kind' blogger who deserves more attention. Ha!

Since I am all for the aggrandizement of others too, and also because the rules state so, I pass on the award to the following eight people:

1. Tangled- Because she thinks I am nice.
2. Silverine- Because I think she is nice.
3. Sayesha- Because she makes me laugh.
4. Tea N. Crumpet- Because she likes me.
5. The Monk- Because he is one of my best-est friends ever.
6. Somebody Else- Because I like her writing.
7. Quietly Amused- Because he is a brain surgeon. Curtsy, fools.
8. Prats- Because she deserves an award.

In other news, I tried to kill myself, and failed. Unintentionally, of course. I ate some shellfish that had eaten some algae that makes toxins in its spare time. Then I spent the night blogging (observe my dedication, and also, cheap shot at getting you to read my post) before ruining everyone's sleep by clutching my tummy and screaming "Appendix! Appendix! My appendix has ruptured and perforated! Get me to a hospital, stat, before I develop peritonitis." I spent a day in the ICU, with people hovering over me watching for signs of respiratory paralysis. On the plus side, I did not have appendicitis.

That was my first time as an in-patient, and I didn't care much for it. I hope I will remember that the next time I see a patient. I have a huge thrombosed vein running down the back of my hand, and it still hurts when I flex my wrist.

My Dad's second home is the ICU, and I now know why he hated it. It comes back to him all the time, doesn't it? I think I'll stop now.

Here's a cheerful thought. It's Christmas day tomorrow! And I have a gift for you all! Because Santa does not.

My gift for you is in the upper left hand side. There. See a green box titled 'Twitter updates'? That is the it. You can thank me in the comments. Merry Christmas!

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

The Uvula

I miss Surgery. All of you who read my whiny "Surgery is a pile of blood stained shit" post, please retrieve your eyeballs from the screen, and proceed to the next paragraph.

I had an epiphany while watching a patient having his cancerous pancreas removed. (Fitting, don't you think?) However, it was soon clear that the disease had spread to the rest of his body, and the procedure was abandoned. He has six months left, possibly less. It was all very depressing, but the patient was symptomatic, and his last days should be made as comfortable as possible. So they decided to connect his intestine to his gall bladder to relieve his jaundice (which was what brought him to the hospital in the first place). And would you believe it, I got this warm fuzzy feeling inside as the gall bladder was being emptied of its enviable collection of stamps bile, and long story short, I fell in love with Surgery. *gazes dreamily into the distance*

Naturally, I did not go back home and read up every Surgery textbook I have. That would have killed the luurve in my heart. I managed to pass the Surgery end posting exam (a minor miracle), and I now haunt the "Mothers, Old & New" section of the Mother & Baby Hospital. Luckily, I have forgotten everything that I have ever learnt about Ob-G, so uphill task, it is not. Of course, I never knew much, so the vacuum should shorten the second stage of my education. I am so punny today. Please, laugh. A child loses a marble every time you don't, and those of you who don't are responsible for all the insanity in the world. Yes, feel guilty. And laugh.

Do you know what a prolapsed uterus looks like? I do, and I wish to God I did not. Seeda!

My niece is now one, and is the cleverest baby on earth. Of course she would be, she takes after me. Everybody says she looks like me when I was her age. And she can walk, and talk, and pull my hair when she is irritated. She hates bananas, and loves my mom. The cat becomes a mere speck on the horizon when he hears her, and she has single handedly tried to destroy the car even when she was not behind the wheel. Also, her laugh sounds like the call of a hyena being slowly strangled.

Look at that. I am a Mallampati class 1 too! On the plus side, sleep apnoea cannot touch us.

I don't really have a lot else to say. Life is boring, with no knights in distress, no rich patients leaving a fortune to an impoverished medico who held his/her hand while being given an injection and later dies of "unknown causes", no sudden useful inspirations regarding the cure for AIDS (apparently, mine were all idiotic), no winning the lottery (probably because I don't buy lottery tickets, but still, tedious), no sky falling on my head (tomorrow never comes). I did have a crow fall on my head a couple of years ago, but that was worse than having it crap on my head, because the ungrateful beast pecked me for saving it from an ignominious death. It was better than the time a bat crapped on my head. Excuse me for throwing up twice while washing that shit off my hair.

It has been six months since my Dad divorced his body. Visitors are always (tactlessly) enquiring why we do not have a huge framed and garlanded picture of the pater placed prominently in every room. What are we supposed to say? That he is not dead inside our minds? Or that we would have had him stuffed and mounted to show our grief, only he was cremated before we thought of it? Those people make me want to kick them hard. I did not mean to end on this note, but it's his birthday today, and I miss his "I am NOT old" speech.