Monday, January 26, 2009


Paediatrics still has bawling children and tired medicos carrying chocolates instead of knee hammers. Let's not go there. OK?


The results of the fourth year exams are out, and I have (once again) scraped through. Let's not go there, either. OK?


I have an exam tomorrow. Nope. We don't go there, either.

The semester is almost over. A round of exams, and then, my VERY LAST SEMESTER.*panic attack*

How did I get here? I (still) do not know anything about Anatomy. Or Physiology. Or any of the other twenty-odd subjects we are expected to have a working knowledge of. *hyperventilates*

I am going to miss all those places we used to hang out at.

Ooh, good one! There aren't any places to hang out at college. Except perhaps the library, and let's face it, if I were the type to 'hang out' at the library, I wouldn't be a blogger.

We have this place called the NeuroMuscular Junction (the NMJ). It looks something like this:

Please, roar with laughter at my pathetic attempt at humour.

The NMJ has four arms. One of them leads to the Ladies' Hostel (the neuro- part, for Brains) and the road opposite that leads to the Men's Hostel (the muscular part). This is supposed to be the reason for the name. The other two arms, for the people who are still reading, lead to the hospital and to the college buildings respectively.

The NMJ is not a hangout. It is more like a meeting place. "Drop me at the NMJ," or "I'll see you at the NMJ around ten-thirty."

Another place of note is the Umbilical Cord, one of my favourite names. It is a long corridor connecting the Mother and Baby sections of the Mother and Baby Hospital. It does not consist of the right and left umbilical arteries and an umbilical vein buried in Whaton's jelly. *gasp*

To someone unacquainted with the anatomical geographical structure of our college, our conversations would resemble gibberish.

"Where are you? I am waiting at the distal end of the umbilical cord."
"I just reached the NMJ."
"How lazy can you get? What are you, immotile cilia?"
"Are you implying that I am sterile?"
"No, I know you are not in the OT now."

I can't think of any other places at college with interesting names. The old auditorium is known as the Old Auditorium, the bike stand as the Bike Stand and the office as the Office.

One place that deserves a name is the bust of Hippocrates in front of the hospital.

"Meet me in front of the Hippo at nine."

That should raise a few eyebrows.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Dr. Jekyll and Chucky

I am in Smallville.

That is how I think about Paediatrics inside my head. Because children are small.

I can't stand Paediatrics.


But only literally.

My feet hurt. From standing on them. For hours. About five or six of 'em. Hours, that is. Not five or six feet. Because that would be weird. Not to mention shopping nightmares.



A lot of people believe Paeds is all about this:

It is.

Little kids are cute. Small babies are adorable. And tiny preemies are... let's be honest here. Scary. They could die any second.

Children are innocent, sweet, endearing, precious, playful, enchanting, talkative... (Yes, I used a thesaurus. So?)

What they also are, are monsters. Tiny monsters, but still, monsters. Allow me to demonstrate.

Picture a room with forty beds. Side by side, in two rows. Imagine each one occupied by the person pictured above, in that pose. Imagine the noise level. Multiply that by your favourite 6 digit number. Here, your imagination needs these. (I am genuinely sorry about the colour.)

You should totally visit our Paediatrics ward after the nurses have finished giving a round of injections. It will broaden your horizons. Trust me.

One day was devoted to Paediatric Surgery. There was this kid, less than two years old. Her grandmother had brought her to the OPD for post surgical follow up. She had had a surgery for a hernia, which is unusual in girl children. Well, it turned out she was not a 'she' after all. They found a pair of 'undescended testes' inside her during the surgery, and studies showed that the child was genetically male. 'She' had something called testicular feminising syndrome (it is as ghastly as it sounds) and externally appeared to be a girl. Now, the difficulty was in deciding whether to raise the child as a girl or a boy. Since 'she' already looked like a girl, it was settled that she would continue to be one. (The testicles would have to be removed, they were no good anyway, and there is a high risk of cancer later on.)

We rarely realise how lucky we are.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Pancreas & The Gang

Some day, when I am feeling especially sadistic, I will give you a blow-by-blow account of "How Pancreas Writes a Case Record." Write Right now, I just have this really painful cramp in my right hand. I have been writing from last night, and all I have down is eight pages. It may not seem like much to you, but it is for me. I am a little* lazy, to be honest.

Nothing much happened last week. I went back to college after 'Christmas vacation', which is what we called the week long bunking of classes we undertook because we only had Christmas day off, and you can't enjoy it when you have just one day with all the goodwill in the world. Maybe you can, but there wasn't enough goodwill in this part of the world, at any rate.

Yeah, going back to college. There I was, walking, no, running (I was late for class, as usual), down the corridor of the Mother & Baby Hospital when I see a woman holding this tiny, tiny, baby. And I was all, "Aww!" and thought, "ObG isn't that all that sucky."

You think you know what is coming next, don't you? I am going to be all "God, ObG is the BEST" and "Oh, how I am going to miss it", isn't it? Read on, the suspense is killing me too.

I walk into one of the operating rooms, all smiling and happy, brimming over with this LOVE for mankind, when I see a woman with her uterus hanging out her va-jay-jay and blood all over the place. That is when I remembered the reason I can't stand ObG. ObG consists not only of Obstetrics, but also Gynaecology. And Gynaecology involves LALALALALALA family blog. If you really want to know, drop me an email so I can ignore it.

Also last week, A and I were having lunch at a restaurant close to the hospital, and the people at the table next to ours was making more noise than the both of us, and this annoyed us no end. A mere eight puny human beings getting more dirty looks from the others than us? Really, an unpardonable offence. Reinforcements arrived as quickly as they could, and we spent the rest of our meals making faces at the eight at the next table who were glaring at us. Go, us!

Anyway, this incident made me very sad. Not because we surprisingly did not get kicked out of the restaurant, but because we only have a few more months left in college. And then I realised that my beloved readers (all three of you, including the I) don't know any of my friends. And I felt ashamed, and decided to kill myself. But my Mom convinced that a blog post about The Gang would do instead. You can scream at her for this post, but not too loud, she has a slight fever.

Pancreas & The Gang

Adorable Pancreas: Mysterious, immensely talented, blindingly gorgeous, stupendously clever medico who is loved by all and feared known far and wide for her brilliant wit. Is of a skeletal skinny slim willowy build that is the target of much envy. AKA: Skeletal System, Prevaricator

The A: Cuddly baby in her early twenties. Has a voice which can be heard clearly even at an Iron Maiden concert. Claims to be an excellent cook, victims still not out of hospital. A rock in times of trouble, a pain at other times.
AKA: Hypertrophied Triceps, Accident waiting to happen

Twin: One half of a set of identical twins, separated from the other half for the first time in her life. Claims to be one half of a set of fraternal twins who just happen to look identical. Hates colour, wears black to weddings, funerals, and classes. Has two cell phones both of which are either switched off or beyond coverage area.
AKA: Dog doctor, Vanishing Twin

The R: The most mature and quietest member of The Gang. Has an inexplicable tendency to make friends with the wackiest characters around. Had to haver a cell phone surgically removed from her ear once, but the disease recurred. Addicted to chocolate.
AKA: Silencer, Partner in Crime

These are my four bestest friends in the world. Unlike a lot of people, my best friends list also includes me. The extended Gang would take me an entire day to type out, and contrary to popular belief, I actually have other, more important stuff to do. Such as, uh, important stuff. Dear lord, I have exams next month, and I start Paediatrics tomorrow. And I have four library books to finish. Bye!

*Word used in its b    r    o    a    d    e    s    t sense.