tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56875441508568914172024-02-08T00:22:15.105+05:30A Medico's DiaryAdorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-79206059822558505832015-02-11T19:01:00.001+05:302015-02-11T19:01:29.825+05:30A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I know. I know. I do not want to talk about it. Right now, I do not want to use the words "It's been a while," at all. Let's pretend the last couple of years did not happen, all right? Hello? Anybody there?<br />
<br />
Looks like my only reader (my cat) has left. Sheesh. Cats ARE selfish.<br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
I am now Dr. Adorable Pancreas, <i>almost</i> M.D. A bit like House, but without the limp. Residency training has been a roller coaster ride, and right now, it feels like the ups will never make up for the downs. I know I have become a better doctor, but its price was my humanity. (You know, that sounded a lot less melodramatic inside my head.) My sense of humour has lost its edge, my writing skills *hysterical laughter* have declined, and I now have some extra fat around my tummy. Oops! That last one just slipped out. (We are still DINKY, thank you very much. Ongoing grand nulligravid, and all that.)<br />
<br />
I have been wanting to review this book for a while now. Compared to this one,<i> Four Dozen Plus Two Shades of Ashen</i>, or whatever it is called, is a literary masterpiece. Bella the Vampire Stalker has more personality than the protagonist in this book. In fact, I am still not sure who the protagonist is. Just when you start to think that maybe THIS guy is finally the hero, he dies at the end of the chapter, or is left with a horrific, incurable disease. This nightmare runs to over 3000 (three thousand!) pages, and at the end of it, you just want to shoot the author, but the guy is just as famous and respected as Chetan Bhagat that you do not even have a snowball's chance in hell. I am, of course, talking about <i>Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine</i>, which is perhaps the most authoritative book on Medicine.<br />
<br />
The first chapter talks about Patient and Illness, and you think that Patient is the hero, and Illness is the bad guy's gang. But, no. There is another, God-like guy, called Physician, who steps in and saves Patient, or at least keeps him from getting killed. You would think that Patient would go down on his knees to Physician for saving him from yet another fatal attack by the Illness gang, but then you find out that Patient sues Physician after the gang member is subdued. I thought Physician would get his own back by stabbing Patient in the liver, but that does not happen, either. Physician will "consciously monitor and control his behavior so that Patient's best interest remains the principal motivation for his actions at all times." Physician, as you can see, is quite obviously an idiot.<br />
<br />
The next few (and by few, I mean seventy-five) chapters talk about the different ways in which Illness attempts to murder Patient. You learn that Illness sometimes infiltrates Patient's own family, and at times even lives in Patient's own home. Patient, who, frankly, is a bit dim, continues to cavort with Illness' known allies like Smoking and Boozing, and frequently ignores warning signs that Illness is about to strike.<br />
<br />
The final chapters (seventy-six to three hundred and sixty nine) describe the Illness gang members in gory detail. Some of their activities are well across the border on inhuman. Some, like Seizures while driving, are illegal in many countries, but the gang is so strong that Physician has to nearly kill Patient with anticonvulsant drugs before Seizures is subdued.<br />
<br />
I could go on, but, to be honest, it is just one disaster after another, launched by Illness against Patient, which that prize ass Physician attempts to thwart. Illness seems to win so many times that you are forced to consider that this evil gang is the protagonist, but their activities are so vile and repulsive that the very idea makes you shudder.<br />
<br />
In short, if you ever see this book, run, do not walk, to the nearest exit. I believe the book can sense when readers are nearby, and positions itself to fall onto the heads of unsuspecting innocents. The ebook version has additional chapters on even more monstrosities of Illness, so, just, be careful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXg-cyPU27eAG9Q51GbeRo6vZVidcj9LspIpQoDR-Ro5Z6o6RZvMeVAVliH3nlaApCSRtgGSGT8gHy2_1dTmaY7R7tWPGLzwbK1sSOUr8ImEu1JND5qmJzqx5CG95jVdoKkieC0saJiRS7/s1600/harrison.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXg-cyPU27eAG9Q51GbeRo6vZVidcj9LspIpQoDR-Ro5Z6o6RZvMeVAVliH3nlaApCSRtgGSGT8gHy2_1dTmaY7R7tWPGLzwbK1sSOUr8ImEu1JND5qmJzqx5CG95jVdoKkieC0saJiRS7/s1600/harrison.png" height="200" width="180" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Stay away. Far away.</span></i></div>
</div>
Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-36316312600789261682013-08-19T23:05:00.002+05:302013-08-19T23:08:05.089+05:30The Legacy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My niece is five-and-a-half years old. Her brother is barely three.<br />
<br />
She speaks with a clarity well beyond the capabilities of most eight-year-olds. He! speaks! like! this! with! exclamation! points!<br />
<br />
She hates school. He hates going to school, and then refuses to come back home in the evening.<br />
<br />
My niece has to sleep on my bed when she visits us, and snuggles up to me in her sleep. She follows me around all the time, and is thoroughly convinced of my awesomeness. She's not all that fond of my husband, and has frequently expressed her resentment about how he took me away. In fact, she once told a friend of mine that my husband beats me up (and that she has seen him do this).<br />
<br />
My nephew hardly ever speaks to me. He prefers the company of his Gran or the dog or the cat or the idiot box to mine. But if I am in the bathroom for more than two minutes, he starts banging on the door, calling my name, starts, and promptly ignores me when I come out.<br />
<br />
My niece wants to be a doctor when she grows up. She's not old enough to know any better, but she's been saying that from the time she could talk. She knows where her heart is, and can listen to it with my stethoscope.<br />
<br />
One of the nephews's first words were 'plane! plane! plane!' and he wants to be a 'pilot-tu!' when he grows up. He has promised to fly his Gran around the world once he achieves his life's dream. And the other day, when she casually asked him when he's going to become a pilot and take her on the world tour, he replied 'dottor ayittu!' (after becoming a dottor!).<br />
<br />
Kids!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzAX_vo0TawDjPXOC-nPEFxOJp85bPpb-NYC4csZVXXoifGlvzf-Yyb0svHKf14ysOfFc_mpeVs9nCwoEJjQGjkf6-1nVl07ah5nM_axDOLugO8yq0uxsDCDZgpag4vSp04ilflXKtgCp/s1600/224233_10150163372784699_2808961_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzAX_vo0TawDjPXOC-nPEFxOJp85bPpb-NYC4csZVXXoifGlvzf-Yyb0svHKf14ysOfFc_mpeVs9nCwoEJjQGjkf6-1nVl07ah5nM_axDOLugO8yq0uxsDCDZgpag4vSp04ilflXKtgCp/s320/224233_10150163372784699_2808961_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A long time ago</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-54698415868254771772012-06-11T01:33:00.000+05:302012-06-11T01:33:54.089+05:30Romance, He Wrote<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
LOCATION:<br />
<div>
A beach lit up by the full moon, breeze blowing in from the sea.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
CAST OF CHARACTERS:</div>
<div>
A lovely young doctor with antiquated ideas about love and romance, despite being married for over a year, and to a curmudgeon at that</div>
<div>
A curmudgeon, doing a poor imitation of a human being</div>
<div>
Crabs (the marine kind, not of the itchy variety)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
SCENE:</div>
<div>
The lovely young doctor, hereinafter referred to as Pancreas, and her curmudgeon of a husband, hereinafter referred to as Curmudgeon, or Mudgy, are having dinner.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pancreas: Look, Mudgy, it's a full moon tonight.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmm. [continues wolfing down his chicken]</div>
<div>
Pancreas: The beach looks AMAZING, don't you think?</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmm. [continues wolfing down his chicken]</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Let's go for a romantic moonlit walk on the beach.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmm. [continues wolfing down his chicken]</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Holding hands, OK?</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmm. [continues wolfing down his chicken]</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Yay!</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Do we have any more chicken?</div>
<div>
Pancreas: No, you ate it all.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Oh. OK, I'm sleepy. Good night.</div>
<div>
Pancreas: What about the romantic moonlit walk on the beach you promised me?</div>
<div>
Mudgy: What? When?</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Just now.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: I didn't do anything of the sort. I was having my chicken. Too bad there isn't any left.</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Aww! Mudgee! Look, it's lovely outside.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Dammit, woman, the beach is not going to run away, it's going to be there tomor-</div>
<div>
Pancreas: MUD-GY. YOU. ME. BEACH. NOW.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: *shrugs* Whatever.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the beach</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hahaha! The tide is in! There is no beach! Hahaha! Now, let's go back, you can make me more chicken.</div>
<div>
Pancreas: We can sit on this bench right here.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmph!</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Look at all the constellations.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmm.</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Ooh! Did you see that huge wave?</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Hmm.</div>
<div>
Pancreas: All the crabs have come out! They're running all over the place!</div>
<div>
Mudgy: These ones aren't good for eating. Very little meat inside. But the ones deep in the sea are delicious, with lots of garlic, and onions. Mmmm!</div>
<div>
Pancreas: MUD-GY.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: What did I do now?</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Can't you be a little romantic, for once in your life.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Well, all right.... LOOK! LOOK! DO YOU SEE THAT? *points at dark shape in the sea*</div>
<div>
Pancreas: What? What?</div>
<div>
Mudgy: A mermaid! Carried over the waves, over the tides, looking for her lost love!</div>
<div>
Pancreas: Aw! Mudgy! That's so romantic!</div>
<div>
Mudgy: She's HOT! Hey! Mermaid! Over here, baby!</div>
<div>
Pancreas: MUD-GY.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Just kidding!</div>
<div>
Pancreas: You're SOOOO unromantic.</div>
<div>
Mudgy: Of course I'm not unromantic. Do you know what I would do if a huge whale came up and told me that it wanted to have you for its dinner?</div>
<div>
Pancreas: What? What?</div>
<div>
Mudgy: I'd tell it to be my guest, of course!</div>
<div>
Pancreas: ...</div>
<div>
Mudgy: But then it would choke on your bones and die, and then you will get arrested for whaling. And I'll FINALLY be free of you. Muhahah- OUCH! OW! OWW! STOP! STOP! OUCH! I'M SORRY! OUCH!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
This incident may or may not be based on an actual incident. The background to the story is that Mudgy Dearest was transferred to a place where we live about a hundred metros from a beach that is NOT open to the public. We can go to the beach any time we want to, and with this mind, we hardly ever go to the beach.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFudgl8vEaFNCYzAz34cgtAxSjbwW-029SO8Zz2E57Fa-COW90FHNVBJ_ne2Y8XrHK04AXNVBeeT8zTrGopDfyxU2_hOzGSn69_h06Qs8NIGjtpSUm2hlm6yNtqeVUS7YEyKA_WAu8VtJc/s1600/DSC01469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFudgl8vEaFNCYzAz34cgtAxSjbwW-029SO8Zz2E57Fa-COW90FHNVBJ_ne2Y8XrHK04AXNVBeeT8zTrGopDfyxU2_hOzGSn69_h06Qs8NIGjtpSUm2hlm6yNtqeVUS7YEyKA_WAu8VtJc/s320/DSC01469.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Beach. Duh!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In other news, I have managed to clear all my exams, so now I'm eligible to take yet another exam after three years of penal servitude at the Internal Medicine wards of my alma mater. Yes, Dr. Adorable Pancreas, MD, in three more years! Assuming, of course, that we win all the cases currently in court and are allowed to continue the course. It's a long story, and not one I want to talk about right now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At any rate, the beach is still there.</div>
</div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-55602378825643403272012-02-03T17:00:00.002+05:302012-02-03T17:33:24.068+05:30Our Last Summer<div>Clarification: It was not summer. More like the period just after the monsoons when it's stopped raining and it starts to get a lot warmer but not the bake-you-to-a-crisp summer heat yet. Yeah, that. We need a name for that. I christen it... Monlater. I am SO clever.</div><div><br /></div><div>All right, let's get down to the actual reason I'm sitting down here to write a blog post. This is yet another of those posts where I try to tell you (and by you, I mean, me, because I do not have a single reader left since I began to take extended breaks of a 'few' months duration) that I have exams and will write a 'proper' post as soon as they end. And by 'as soon as they end' I mean two months after they end.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is yet another picture of the lovely Adorable Pancreas and her wonderful husband Duodenum C. Loop. You are welcome.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_kGTsU-RXsKglW3sxsSlv__QzC52WnAfbSbqMD7GbdZEDDKVBRt4md7AZtT38DM87EXream6up6hUx3H36aJPgqu4mA2vLEiaUvE0xeF3RRsBGh5kU1XamTAu3gUyzb_RM3x6V31ODXP/s1600/DSC00836.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_kGTsU-RXsKglW3sxsSlv__QzC52WnAfbSbqMD7GbdZEDDKVBRt4md7AZtT38DM87EXream6up6hUx3H36aJPgqu4mA2vLEiaUvE0xeF3RRsBGh5kU1XamTAu3gUyzb_RM3x6V31ODXP/s200/DSC00836.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704872454034325890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><i>Not my handbag, by the way</i></span></div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-533516089349554872011-09-03T11:00:00.008+05:302011-09-03T17:00:42.202+05:30Tan Tan Tara!Amidst great fanfare and rejoicings (or more accurately, sobs and screams of "FIX IT! FIX EET! FEEX EET!"), <s>we</s> The Husband fixed <s>my</s> his laptop. You know what means, don't you? Other than The Husband Is A Genius? It means pictures, people!<p>Here are some from our trip to Ooty in the dead of winter. Best. Honeymoon. Ever. I looked like a homeless person, bundled up from head to foot, wearing ALL the clothes I had with me at the time, and STILL shivering like I had malaria. </p><p>
<br /></p><p> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIeYtST7LjN-PzCQ-vsPCU7lFLXqC9um2HmnqUZSyfgRmW134t6QrFHT7Aq5sNQoi5TmnfID9PyQUmn-j8PdfBQERufSnJE1Bm_QVEC4mmqz3MLsRzkXxlxTlup47OK66tL04nh3bSZeYk/s200/DSC00208.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648003356891659074" /> </p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">View from some dam.</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></em></p><p> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKs39q45rq9JDUgGD2WwNZZk0DHePxjMXea6lve_-l-bzNqhqElxLB_1bJvprjw78H1EOpEruZDUPEU_lfw-QpOknTg6mLLgMxiwZaJD9A7qgfhyt5FneNYo7WDKfwVwX9QEr71z30sZX9/s200/DSC00287.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648004815243035074" /> </p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">This is where we stayed. Point to note, bring your own radiators if you do not wish to wake up as a block of ice.</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></em></p><p> </p><p> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNY6ZgXuiFaXqvTzc6-Gzmp-AKMFkG6T2cvdU-a3af9VXcv4otjq4Pqa4KYgh01KF2ioC_i7BoyT0jjRZirn5JaJTz58yap1-c4woTGEXUIkhNp0IjiBA2S0eOV-Zw7hsUEny_L5SOsR_i/s200/DSC00361.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648003817023748514" /> </p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Nice and toasty in the car, with the heater going at full blast.</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></em></p><p> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8RnxJg7pVF6TbUKyrCN9R0PFNVoXut4-EeCkMB6a4MbCBLkGXjXTikS_zsvAiAelvSAWY2G03eQeeXByAJw_bfGckC74wd-1Krgph9qJhhyphenhyphenWAb-TADpTQmGiVdaP_a87u1kT8umNYIJT/s200/DSC00368.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648005560009608930" /> </p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Basking in the sun at noon.</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></em></p><p>Wait a minute. I can hear some of you complaining that there are no pictures of us. Here you go!</p><p>
<br /></p><p align="center"> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmLx_c4oAXl3_byf2bjJnbHI0pAVujovdw7QRm8o05HoXEJMDcwQNJxiceHjBNwdhgm4E2miAGPFEbpbLCJmjvbHl5cvPJufXJuUzPMMM-xbMDx0nuZoKNAYUdKr7cLGuc6Fn7tyB08IP/s200/DSC00217.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648003106484778818" /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Gotcha!</span></em></p><p>Take particular notice of the bony black horse on the left. I have no idea whether it ever lifted its head long enough to stop eating. Just like me, says The Husband. The horse and I have similar metabolism, I guess. Eat your hearts out in envy.</p><p>That's all for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. As a parting gift, here's a picture of Us. No, really.</p><p>
<br /></p><p align="center"> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjA5jNUy-zquBIyNYJQiNPD51aMJ1IJoR-BifREGeXVMhA5_fUXTLaTHM7OB8BL8H0ZFR-9Kj7C6WAOvccbjVtcZfEzgOgpZQucdDL8zSQu91zQgIWArkmoCwgVSlsIFR4fPd5CL3Jds0-/s200/DSC00406.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648005564409797538" /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>The Husband is on the left, in a stripey tee. I am the nondescript tramp on the right.</em></span></p>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-75556338313785907342011-07-18T11:20:00.003+05:302011-07-26T11:09:28.927+05:30I'm Lovin' ItI have been married eight months now. Except for all the prepping I've got to do (y'know, for yet another exam *sigh*), life's great. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out when you have found treasure. Yes, I am talking about The Husband. I mean, he buys me shoes without being asked, and that was more than enough to convince me that I'd struck Solid! Gold!<br /><br />I sort of destroyed his laptop, (unintentionally, of course) and he was really nice about it and did not even yell at me. He did refuse to speak to me, but since neither of us can shut up for a minute to save our lives, the silence lasted all of five minutes. But, we have not got around to getting it fixed it yet, so, sorry folks, no pictures.<br /><br />Someday soon, I hope to be able to write something that is more than a placeholder post. Until then, ciao.<br /><br />Pancreas, over and out.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-51744981518187029502011-02-06T11:39:00.004+05:302011-02-06T12:11:29.201+05:30Break Ke BaadSo. Full-fledged doctor and all that. And also, found someone brain damaged enough to want to marry me, so, yeah. Got hitched too. Yippee.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxUSzvDBWzT8HKRKlTQOJrofZMZn0Hvpyi2s9u4dnf4nn0IQDOWX_B5KAjfm0rHy8fN2N67EoRaNrDHVn4UNfpewzIkkMiTRgALcTomexgVQDLpcKMtK-FAGHXqp6sfiOehKESQWz0rle/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxUSzvDBWzT8HKRKlTQOJrofZMZn0Hvpyi2s9u4dnf4nn0IQDOWX_B5KAjfm0rHy8fN2N67EoRaNrDHVn4UNfpewzIkkMiTRgALcTomexgVQDLpcKMtK-FAGHXqp6sfiOehKESQWz0rle/s200/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570458303661673058" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbEC00LY7qVgBCMVpj69ABVu2VnVhTs6CpMDeaZrnxgMNyiZ8JWrLS_W2bjX6QLSKQuoO06V86LvAWEhO2_3RN8Y6GcJhryokDllAFsaCDrFZRuqes76TNH2jpwrkN1Hk1f6Sbi9taINvs/s1600/107-H-RED_300.jpg"><br /></a>And there are exams. And more exams. Because if a medical graduate wants to specialise (and I do), you need to qualify in at least one of the few million entrance tests for post graduate courses. Not that I expect to clear them this year or anything, but people keep looking disappointed when I am not buried beneath a textbook. Seriously, any kid who says he/she wants to become a doctor should have their heads examined.<br /><br />Exam. Gah.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-78405070799423420652010-07-27T19:35:00.003+05:302010-07-27T19:49:49.221+05:30Where Have All The Readers Gone?I don't update anymore, so it isn't any good my whining about you lovely people not reading my blog anymore. *sigh*<br /><br />This isn't a real blog post, it's just a quick message to all those loyal souls who still visit this here blog hoping for a new post (who could possibly be that sad?). I have finished my stint in Surgery (HALLELUJAH!) and will soon finish off Orthopaedics, and it's going to be (comparatively) less hectic SPM days. The only reason I found the time and energy to type up even this bit in the middle of Ortho is because I'm down with an infection and a sprained foot and am taking a break. That means extension, but I'm past caring.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf996ywbjbDCZKH2XF_q4rs9UvBjMdl2lDx24rSel2ukDdKYbZJ2DSprHw7xl8L1Ee_cGEOMz92Yt1obamlOTP3FbWP9OtE3gNj9ulLnK0u7FwVv8E850Ys3R3ZOi7fcnw0b_Lne_f4jPi/s1600/sprained+foot.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf996ywbjbDCZKH2XF_q4rs9UvBjMdl2lDx24rSel2ukDdKYbZJ2DSprHw7xl8L1Ee_cGEOMz92Yt1obamlOTP3FbWP9OtE3gNj9ulLnK0u7FwVv8E850Ys3R3ZOi7fcnw0b_Lne_f4jPi/s200/sprained+foot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498590163397771602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Not actually my foot</span><br /></span></div><br />Stay tuned.<br /><br />Please.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-20845280092596981022010-05-10T21:55:00.006+05:302010-05-10T22:26:56.093+05:30WantedFood and sleep are my holy grail. (Sort of. Despite not being Dan Brown, I don't care about inaccuracies.) I can never have them when I need them. I think the worst time is two in the night, when even the roaring from my stomach cannot keep me awake.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-73aXYZCAIFRsc8L5oFM9HwzV5kePPLlRIMllQCF_c9wXPhUvuFRLba5VC_O2TOcqosHM1yEDaGqc6mfYxlgIU6DqhBjc4Hweuj-NqDO27MfGpO2Wny5aVAh46eZ6OFLNACu2Pbwsh9Cu/s1600/wda0938l.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-73aXYZCAIFRsc8L5oFM9HwzV5kePPLlRIMllQCF_c9wXPhUvuFRLba5VC_O2TOcqosHM1yEDaGqc6mfYxlgIU6DqhBjc4Hweuj-NqDO27MfGpO2Wny5aVAh46eZ6OFLNACu2Pbwsh9Cu/s320/wda0938l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469682144563932514" border="0" /></a><br />Thus goes the life of a hapless intern, who, as the saying goes, is overworked and underpaid. Not for long, maybe. A huge maybe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdV6QGVUiEzALnW4a7m1mpdoG3WOsJw7woT6K-8g5XMBlbkJXGN_S9FPbOWXZHZc0RLPPyzK-JWH7atPgnka5hlM6LPYud_X7bmus-lD8FL4tOBBI8q8AaO2_Gx29_wNGr5pK6bEF-QsT/s1600/for0168l.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdV6QGVUiEzALnW4a7m1mpdoG3WOsJw7woT6K-8g5XMBlbkJXGN_S9FPbOWXZHZc0RLPPyzK-JWH7atPgnka5hlM6LPYud_X7bmus-lD8FL4tOBBI8q8AaO2_Gx29_wNGr5pK6bEF-QsT/s400/for0168l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469681730592536258" border="0" /></a>It kills me that slaving for perfect strangers who don't know me from Adam leaves me with absolutely no energy to lift a finger to help my mom, who thinks me her entire world. It makes me feel incredibly guilty. So guilty that I can't even imagine 'borrowing' the lovely sari I bought her.<br /><br />Sometimes, I wonder about what it was like to be normal. I can't remember.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRK9N1NxPuZ9_38_fZhOaIMyrLJWxbqyVsCtCLvv_SFxf2JZetXDSYHS75K9U62UcD3HF0D-6RFH2H9mBNQoGTPXRVKfxjSWUUrwqx2h4pXXht7s7mPjaxJkTJXw_s38Kz6LnOdg1LVbef/s1600/ps.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRK9N1NxPuZ9_38_fZhOaIMyrLJWxbqyVsCtCLvv_SFxf2JZetXDSYHS75K9U62UcD3HF0D-6RFH2H9mBNQoGTPXRVKfxjSWUUrwqx2h4pXXht7s7mPjaxJkTJXw_s38Kz6LnOdg1LVbef/s320/ps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469686184138546978" border="0" /></a>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-84585345004285186042010-03-18T21:20:00.007+05:302010-03-18T22:31:48.360+05:30History of Present PregnancyIf internship were a pregnancy, it is due for a targeted anomaly scan around now. Here is a quick review.<br /><br />WARNING: Boring post ahead. Nothing like internship for killing your sense of humour.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Internal Medicine</span><br />My first trimester was Internal Medicine, or General Medicine, as it's known here. When normal people wake up in the morning, they go about their ablutions. Interns start writing their patient's orders for that day, adjust insulin doses, check blood pressures, and truly lucky ones like me can expect at least one round of resuscitation, usually unsuccessful, giving us the added pleasure of not only losing a patient but also a lot of paperwork. When the relief comes in, the intern goes home, pretends to brush, bathe and change, and goes back for grand rounds.<br /><br />The other day, Yamraj, the God of Death, had some guests. They were mystified to see one fellow appearing at the door, then disappear, then reappear, then fade away again, lather, rinse, repeat. Yamraj was absolutely nonplussed, and explained to his friends that the guy would get there soon, it was just Dr. Pancreas performing CPR.<br /><br />My nickname in the Med wards was Angel of Death. Any patient who was expected to get his passport and visa to the next world would receive them by express courier on <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> shift. Without fail.<br /><br />Behold! Our palatial sleeping area!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZhpd-Kv1ctdb4TnxIlk1eeZWWFXSAiyn1SNq8auYGkW2lcjmaXvhqwg2ZLFv1xsdteyOlwaH5QfhTpEMzzUbgiPTkf8pbIqM56fItH_0Av0GqL045MPieqcfDcPWmNA35TBO_tlG7-B6/s1600-h/DSC00180.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZhpd-Kv1ctdb4TnxIlk1eeZWWFXSAiyn1SNq8auYGkW2lcjmaXvhqwg2ZLFv1xsdteyOlwaH5QfhTpEMzzUbgiPTkf8pbIqM56fItH_0Av0GqL045MPieqcfDcPWmNA35TBO_tlG7-B6/s320/DSC00180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450009468388384690" border="0" /></a><br />We shared it with a cat and her family, who also shared our food whether we wanted to or not.<br /><br />We often worked straight 36 hours, often more, and considered ourselves lucky if we got 3 hours of sleep a day. Still, I loved it, and I will talk about my horrible 60 hour shift to anyone who will listen.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Psychiatry</span><br />Just two weeks there, thank His Noodly Appendage. Initially, I was not entirely sure I could distinguish the doctors from the patients, but later I realised that the patients were the ones who did not bore you to death (and beyond) with classes. They dedicated FORTY FIVE MINUTES trying to decide whether a particular patient had delusions or hallucinations, and by the time they had finished, Kurt Cobain* was playing the bagpipes with a jar of pickled fish balanced on his head.<br /><br />I am convinced that Psychiatrists lose their sanity somewhere along the way, but it could be that their understanding of the human mind makes them seem crazy to everyone else. They are all probably laughing at the rest of us, with our silly emotions and defence mechanisms.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ophthalmology</span><br />It was... OK. 'Nuff said.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Labour Room</span><br />I am still recovering from that trauma, so here is a picture of a nasty couvelaire uterus.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMB84yErA6wUtfqNimc9uK60xiTHBh18y_6I__JnXoeZf-TpyXPCJB5yWczt6Ab2VZsUb34e5jmspT7PVw6tsSIpSZ5v2U_54aYeDzdkCKvveR6-2A9GhwgPOXNX7sYQQ9d6IGJw42Kfn/s1600-h/DSC00183.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMB84yErA6wUtfqNimc9uK60xiTHBh18y_6I__JnXoeZf-TpyXPCJB5yWczt6Ab2VZsUb34e5jmspT7PVw6tsSIpSZ5v2U_54aYeDzdkCKvveR6-2A9GhwgPOXNX7sYQQ9d6IGJw42Kfn/s200/DSC00183.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450016244577611794" border="0" /></a>The patient survived, but her baby did not.<br /><br />Labour room was bloody awful. Well, bloody and amniotic fluidy awful, to be more accurate. The only advantage was that people from outside would be sure to keep a respectful distance when talking to you, especially if they were standing downwind. Now I know how Pumba felt.<br /><br />That is it, folks. I have lots of stories that I want to share, and some of them are even funny, but, I don't feel like myself at the moment. It's as if someone more sober and serious than I has taken over my body (GOK what for, it's not like I have a very exciting life), and until that being is exorcised, you won't be getting anything funnier than a humerus from me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpgeSGz-ZzfNhNe47GQhA_nLMlieMK3VogvDlCKVkeSdFaSHNvRJtZ9qUIN7PDfvZQLvWvCYKXlqwYNi3txpW8cwSgz9B3S62Ou9CxVWzebWg6nk2BQkmLf6u44kTLK-JnvwBgoNoeVCE/s1600-h/Humerus.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 85px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpgeSGz-ZzfNhNe47GQhA_nLMlieMK3VogvDlCKVkeSdFaSHNvRJtZ9qUIN7PDfvZQLvWvCYKXlqwYNi3txpW8cwSgz9B3S62Ou9CxVWzebWg6nk2BQkmLf6u44kTLK-JnvwBgoNoeVCE/s200/Humerus.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450019475188446946" border="0" /></a><br />Two humerus-es are twice as funny, would you not agree?<br /><br />*God, was he hot. Why, Kurt, why?Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-36874618241879605272010-01-03T12:47:00.003+05:302010-01-03T13:31:41.288+05:30Sleepless in Seattle, Glasgow, Manchuria, And Any Other Place You Can Think OfTo all of you weight watchers out there, I finally found a great plan <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">GUARANTEED!!!</span></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> </span>to make you lose weight.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:130%;">No tricks! No gimmicks!<br />Watch the pounds melt off your body!<br />Now with added sleep deprivation!<br />Order now and get a special offer on backstabbing colleagues!<br />HURRY!!!<br /></span></div><br />No, wait. You will not actually get to watch the pounds melting, but melt they will. Like ice cream in a microwave.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wpA4gW2AdCLsPZ3sruzjl93env1u9IOIchhbX9k9Hwy3zhSghUwgcTA8T7R9qshCP_2VZA0TaODefQHPpYOFDakqoDqYhi-2HDYSFVbwBL9v8jGyEd7xoeL6srzprknwZSvvQGsVw_cu/s1600-h/melting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wpA4gW2AdCLsPZ3sruzjl93env1u9IOIchhbX9k9Hwy3zhSghUwgcTA8T7R9qshCP_2VZA0TaODefQHPpYOFDakqoDqYhi-2HDYSFVbwBL9v8jGyEd7xoeL6srzprknwZSvvQGsVw_cu/s320/melting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422420519854761250" border="0" /></a><br />Just become an intern at your local hospital. Not only will you be worked to death, you also get a barely visible number on your pay cheque!<br /><br />I suppose you could find the same wonderful work environment in any old sweatshop, but you get to wear a stethoscope here! Beat that, slave drivers!<br /><br />I could say a lot more, but I'm starving. And tired. And <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> sleepy. And rather smelly, too, if the neighbour's dog's reaction is anything to go by. If only I could eat while sleeping in the shower.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-49411101642912418462009-10-26T11:56:00.006+05:302009-10-26T12:52:40.584+05:30My Results Are Out And......I'VE PASSED!!! I'M A DOCTOR!!! THREE CHEERS FOR MEEE!!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTOLEkZlm6-6SiZo5_aQ-jyWMIcHTfKliUEMrslQqgP-cyqwmO4mDtz2CpJ12UPuIe7VquGdedDL10Ed1PIuuu5v2Ngvf286-PXrbnutUSI4T867VKszal_lUfJRyXMP03S1o4DHnTEdx/s1600-h/Cool+Doctor.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTOLEkZlm6-6SiZo5_aQ-jyWMIcHTfKliUEMrslQqgP-cyqwmO4mDtz2CpJ12UPuIe7VquGdedDL10Ed1PIuuu5v2Ngvf286-PXrbnutUSI4T867VKszal_lUfJRyXMP03S1o4DHnTEdx/s320/Cool+Doctor.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396792466907540626" border="0" /></a>Can you see me hopping up and down from the sheer joy? No? OK, use your imagination, then.<br /><br />Anyway, since I AM A DOCTOR!!! now, does it make sense to continue to use "A Medico's Diary" as the blog's name? I have no idea. I mean, I AM DOCTOR!!! but I know next to nothing about actually being one. And it will take many more years before I go solo and do DOCTOR-ly stuff by myself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_aqYEzE2JN3lPHEC9EP9FvZ_iSAw2OiWwpIF3xe71_IRZRA4nqScTfL1KL-PHkW74gxLz1NiQEgxo2Hf2LTU14EPGFvnSMhQFyaX4VomVYakzCfvVPwZXDidFHQW0fpNjX3VVM0V4ana/s1600-h/doctor_282155.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_aqYEzE2JN3lPHEC9EP9FvZ_iSAw2OiWwpIF3xe71_IRZRA4nqScTfL1KL-PHkW74gxLz1NiQEgxo2Hf2LTU14EPGFvnSMhQFyaX4VomVYakzCfvVPwZXDidFHQW0fpNjX3VVM0V4ana/s320/doctor_282155.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396803799796228370" border="0" /></a><br />So I've made it all easier, and I'm letting you guys decide! Aren't I magnanimous? (Say yes, or else...)<br /><br /><!-- Altering or removing this link is a breach of the Vizu Terms and Conditions --><div style="margin: 0pt; padding: 0pt; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 9px; height: 20px; text-align: center; width: 250px; letter-spacing: -0.5px;"><a href="http://www.vizu.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-decoration: underline;font-size:9px;" >Online Surveys</span></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"> & </span><a href="http://answers.vizu.com/market-research.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-decoration: underline;font-size:9px;" >Market Research</span></a></div><embed src="http://wp.vizu.com/vizu_poll.swf" quality="high" scale="noscale" wmode="transparent" bgcolor="#ffffff" name="vizu_poll" allowscriptaccess="always" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="js=false&pid=186581&ad=false&vizu=true&links=true&mainBG=669900&questionText=FFFFFF&answerZoneBG=EEEEEE&answerItemBG=FFFFFF&answerText=000000&voteBG=C8C8C8&voteText=000000" width="250" align="middle" height="208"></embed><br /><br />I am not sure when I'll be able to post here again, because internship begins next week. On Sunday, to be exact, to drive home the fact that I shall no longer have any more holidays, being a DOCTOR and all. Talk about mixed blessings.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-19633387894595067532009-09-22T16:06:00.017+05:302009-09-23T09:23:57.462+05:30World Travel, Part IRemember the trip I told you about in the <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2009/09/bye-bye-birdie.html">last post</a>? It was great. I left on a Tuesday, and was home on Monday, so yay! I am a time traveller. Take that, entropy.<br /><br />I was ten when they renamed Madras to Chennai. I thought it was a funny name for a city. It took me a while to learn it was pronounced Chen-nai, not <span style="font-style: italic;">chenn-aai</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueSnedPWVxIvMTrh55Zk12yVONPgI2qeDRFVC1wLt1W6KxOtOJz0vXsbNLk0FQgwN1ZbavkkWgscEQoiThB5oXJV3AAn2cTcVeqEF2IT-38uE8c5fCkJsiXvFb0jLsw2HIFchReKKUw-u/s1600-h/Wolf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueSnedPWVxIvMTrh55Zk12yVONPgI2qeDRFVC1wLt1W6KxOtOJz0vXsbNLk0FQgwN1ZbavkkWgscEQoiThB5oXJV3AAn2cTcVeqEF2IT-38uE8c5fCkJsiXvFb0jLsw2HIFchReKKUw-u/s200/Wolf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384240413519669762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Not Chennai</span><br /></div><br />This was my first time there in seventeen years. The train was on time, thanks to the hundred and one coconuts I had broken at the Ganapathy temple that afternoon. My cousin, who/whom (Grammar nerds, some help here!) we were accompanying, and I had the upper berths, and my Mom had one of the side berths. The lower berths were occupied by an elderly Tamil couple, who went to sleep as soon as the train left and showed no signs of life until the train reached Chennai central. (I wanted to poke them to see if they were alive, but my Mom is not a humanitarian.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMp-dpDSwHfuy4NltqzMtJCcQsFIZuqAT_LIdqTfO5H8WzVhfzVuGdHIR8Hwe0LTHo3ARZFXPLo0rtDpcNqhAq0oBZPJ_NtpN7FG2t67mtLp4Q5Ks_BpiSg8lwh7lXBn8VuKsyi7lNMxR/s1600-h/Jen+%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMp-dpDSwHfuy4NltqzMtJCcQsFIZuqAT_LIdqTfO5H8WzVhfzVuGdHIR8Hwe0LTHo3ARZFXPLo0rtDpcNqhAq0oBZPJ_NtpN7FG2t67mtLp4Q5Ks_BpiSg8lwh7lXBn8VuKsyi7lNMxR/s320/Jen+%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384253682627051682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">From <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://perplexingsimplicity.blogspot.com/2007/03/on-train-to-hyderabad.html">another</a> trip</span></span><br /></div><br />We stayed with Mom's good friend (who is known far and wide as <span style="font-style: italic;">Maami</span>). After <span style="font-style: italic;">Maama</span> Uncle (I called him that, he was plain <span style="font-style: italic;">Maama </span>to everyone else) died, <span style="font-style: italic;">Maami</span>'s son (<span style="font-style: italic;">Thengenta Maram</span> Chettan) insisted she move in with him, and they have all been living in Chennai from before it became Chennai.<br /><br />The first thing that hit me was the heat. No, it was the second thing. The first thing was the bag the idiot behind me rammed into my leg. About the heat. It was...hot. As if the fires of hell burnt under the roads. I could <span style="font-style: italic;">feel </span>my skin shrivelling and peeling, forcing me to invest in a bottle of sunscreen lotion. Unlike here in Kerala, the heat was not accompanied by sticky humidity, making my hair less frizzy for the few days I was there.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVhTrOXPtKqT030KhPRPUyAQpWcWUuAcU4Gilqxs_kBtyGxwOTUAXEJ8W0VDafa3kgOc_iCR3zX0C7bXgMdeJtb2_JXgOLih4-20ZbWlWi1TrGa8aFyz0WR2hisVG2xgUlFe3cktQwtlI/s1600-h/Afro.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 163px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVhTrOXPtKqT030KhPRPUyAQpWcWUuAcU4Gilqxs_kBtyGxwOTUAXEJ8W0VDafa3kgOc_iCR3zX0C7bXgMdeJtb2_JXgOLih4-20ZbWlWi1TrGa8aFyz0WR2hisVG2xgUlFe3cktQwtlI/s200/Afro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384261275151414690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">My hair after a shampoo</span></span><br /></div><br />We did a lot of shopping, mostly at <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.saravanastores.net/">Saravana Stores</a>, the reason for which can be described in one word. Bargain. We finally bought a huge bag to carry home all the stuff we had bought. And most of it consisted of clothes. For me. Because my Mom lurves me. But being the genius that I am, I left my new shoes back in Chennai. If that isn't an epic fail, then, the Kauravas' failure is.<br /><br />TM Chettan's wife teaches French, and she inspired me to learn French again. I haven't actually <span style="font-style: italic;">begun </span>to re-learn French because <span style="font-style: italic;">je suis</span> lazy, <span style="font-style: italic;">mais je serai</span> soon.<br /><br />The kids were great. The Brainiac Cricketer is thirteen, and the Drama Queen is eight. We had sword fights with real fake swords, and I ruthlessly killed both of them with my cunning moves, despite sustaining serious injuries, including the loss of a limb. This should come as no surprise to those of you who know that I have a mental age of twelve.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFenlZVJlh8eMvKIpDgH-eF1pi6AGp76V_yjddS5EoRCOHIpyUgoBpOTpXL2TG2p6fwE3QJwbveQj0gm12ZxQxKJIDSPXlmzs9yc2sLTwE1mZhR3qW-j9tU0awOBKqInkDynevoLO_ggyO/s1600-h/kill+bill.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFenlZVJlh8eMvKIpDgH-eF1pi6AGp76V_yjddS5EoRCOHIpyUgoBpOTpXL2TG2p6fwE3QJwbveQj0gm12ZxQxKJIDSPXlmzs9yc2sLTwE1mZhR3qW-j9tU0awOBKqInkDynevoLO_ggyO/s200/kill+bill.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384269101756139298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me</span><br /></span></div><br />I also met this wonderful guy. He is very charming and handsome. He has the most wonderful brown eyes. He actually listens when I talk, and stayed by my side the entire time I was ill. And when he's feeling particularly happy, we play games! He is absolutely perfect. We would have gotten engaged, except for one little deterrent. He is only nine months old. And also, the fact that Linnaeus would call him <span style="font-style: italic;">Canis familiaris</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRu-0fejpF4jSVtfcivviWkPfF6QEtq4l8gO3esrr5lpgKs6ey0_MhONya7ZRIxagtoWa6ZsnH-1uyFbeTCGt1AMBPfHA8Zvem-gL3PYTPCD1KudPkpnuwWsJyoUt-lP0OfdThlX0Vb70a/s1600-h/You+won%27t+give+me+chocolate.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRu-0fejpF4jSVtfcivviWkPfF6QEtq4l8gO3esrr5lpgKs6ey0_MhONya7ZRIxagtoWa6ZsnH-1uyFbeTCGt1AMBPfHA8Zvem-gL3PYTPCD1KudPkpnuwWsJyoUt-lP0OfdThlX0Vb70a/s200/You+won%27t+give+me+chocolate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384280951294550994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >If you </span><span style="font-size:85%;">really </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >loved me, you'd share some of that chocolate with me.</span><br /></div><br />Now if you know any <span style="font-style: italic;">humans </span>who fit the above description, and is at least as old as me, drop me a line.<br /><br />Finally, though we had to tear ourselves away, we were on the train back home. Since I hadn't sacrificed any coconuts to Ganapathy for the return trip, the train reached home two hours late. But not before another adventure. I'm a regular Nancy Drew.<br /><br />The couple in the berths next to ours seemed to have forgotten one of their shopping bags after they disembarked. When we noticed the bag, we decided to find their address somehow and return their stuff to them. They had been very helpful during the night, helping us get safer berths and all. As we were going through the contents, finding plenty of shirts but no address, discussing how we could trace them through the railway authorities, one guy pokes his head in, and says, "Hey! That's mine!" Lots of embarrassment all around, but, as we consoled ourselves, it was in a good cause.<br /><br />That was my trip to Chennai. Don't hold your breath waiting for the next part. Hypoxia isn't good for you.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-21422105269550437132009-09-03T19:54:00.010+05:302009-09-03T21:52:36.193+05:30Bye Bye Birdie<a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2009/09/happy-onam.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Onam</span></a> is over. It was like one of those "all you can eat" fests, only, all you <span style="font-style: italic;">can</span> eat are vegetables. Bleh. But the <span style="font-style: italic;">payasam</span> (a sweet dish made of milk, sugar and other traditional Indian savouries, says <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onam"><span style="font-weight: bold;">a reliable source</span></a>) partly made up for the lack of animal protein, but it took a long evening session with the psychiatrist living in our fridge, Dr. Fried Chicken, before I got over my disappointment.<br /><br />My Mom and I are starting on our "<a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2009/08/unbearable-joy-of-being-free.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">travelling around the world</span></a>" thingy next week. We travel a whopping 950 kilometres (590 miles) from home. (If this does not, for some strange reason, seem that long a distance to you, you should remember that my Mom considers the trip to our local supermarket a journey around the country.) And we shall get back only after a very long time (two days). That means, I... Won't be missed here at the blog. *sigh*<br /><br />You know what is the funnier than having no more exams? <span style="font-style: italic;">Thinkin</span>g you have more exams. Five years of medical college (synonymous with "exams") does that to you. During those rare moments when reality sinks in, I start grinning like the loon that my college bears full responsibility for creating.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1QeaFNjFpXATPxbf6p0YLXDOrpMyyy2eUI-wIIEa8nkJfd29OKW4Cl-YaCaCYA9TCVFtPKYtqKRtEPl4YI17mGNnaci1U_F59aYrZkuk8cdTAoiRZWhHzvxtX3j-Nxtnh0S7zXipmeEB/s1600-h/DSC00127.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ1QeaFNjFpXATPxbf6p0YLXDOrpMyyy2eUI-wIIEa8nkJfd29OKW4Cl-YaCaCYA9TCVFtPKYtqKRtEPl4YI17mGNnaci1U_F59aYrZkuk8cdTAoiRZWhHzvxtX3j-Nxtnh0S7zXipmeEB/s320/DSC00127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377257736361502194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It didn't spare </span>my<span style="font-style: italic;"> brain.</span></span><br /></div><br />Because of the frequency with which my professors threw around the E-word, all of my previous trips in the last few years involved my lugging around twice my weight in textbooks. I don't have to this time. Yay! *more grinning*<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpuhipjbfppeKDLeRTJAwZHOWMRF_MPaa_pMwwTABGeJzuphd331OLctkNDOtndV7DYpRLAUO0Upkd7BYyLHAYM6chwnDd6yl3BWCpmujqJjXwLBxcw-Jxzhe1WdhJNwa0gm0vGlZROJkY/s1600-h/Some+books.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpuhipjbfppeKDLeRTJAwZHOWMRF_MPaa_pMwwTABGeJzuphd331OLctkNDOtndV7DYpRLAUO0Upkd7BYyLHAYM6chwnDd6yl3BWCpmujqJjXwLBxcw-Jxzhe1WdhJNwa0gm0vGlZROJkY/s320/Some+books.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377262444625672274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">See?</span></span><br /></div><br />Can you tell that I'm super excited? Because I am. I can't wait until next week, but, SURPRISE! I have to. Because that is how time works, apparently. Join me, people, in booing and throwing rotten eggs at Entropy's smug face.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTdA7Ltefun0toaLmGNI31Vq3fitSEM3TYWcgdQWlaz_pR8pVmWLcPM_mRX5LJLupf7i4Ebqr_rRz1erCGsDPwi8RJL72T7V2weWocI65Ck4ko1WZ7pg_2iusUtzGvTqzM86atBH2CYzq/s1600-h/universe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTdA7Ltefun0toaLmGNI31Vq3fitSEM3TYWcgdQWlaz_pR8pVmWLcPM_mRX5LJLupf7i4Ebqr_rRz1erCGsDPwi8RJL72T7V2weWocI65Ck4ko1WZ7pg_2iusUtzGvTqzM86atBH2CYzq/s320/universe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377270088391542818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">arewethereyetarewethereyetarewethereyetarewethereyetarewethereyetarewethereyet</span></span><br /></div><br />I promise to write about my trip, but you are not allowed to hold me to it. Because I am lazy. And will not start packing until an hour before we leave. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where this is going, does it? But as any rocket scientists (hello there!) reading this will know, I will by now have acquired 'quick packing skillz' and I will merely spend all my shopping money on toothbrushes and bath towels. I am guessing that only <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douglas_Adams"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Douglas Adams</span></a> will want to know about my towels, and he is, well, dead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpWXM_K0WXDCyDfs6FC_ZCRRPf0yS1WgryiSPSsLAAq6NWruxF1XGDNoESBnJi1HLA_2_dhVW0wQGsf8DxLhzgX6VFhZvrk6USr9tpulIXSB4inpqlpL6DIHn4nf99NvYJeEAxzu0CsJF/s1600-h/Towel+Day,+May+25.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpWXM_K0WXDCyDfs6FC_ZCRRPf0yS1WgryiSPSsLAAq6NWruxF1XGDNoESBnJi1HLA_2_dhVW0wQGsf8DxLhzgX6VFhZvrk6USr9tpulIXSB4inpqlpL6DIHn4nf99NvYJeEAxzu0CsJF/s320/Towel+Day,+May+25.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377274302267789442" border="0" /></a><br />Adieu, my friends. And no, I won't panic.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-82970038965008901142009-09-01T19:38:00.004+05:302009-09-01T19:54:30.626+05:30Happy Onam!Just a week into my vacation, and I miss (in moderation) those crazy days back when I was studying for some exam or the other. Turns out the TV and the Internet lose a lot of their charm when you are not supposed to be buried beneath a textbook. Also, I am not able to use the classic "I have exams!" excuse to get out of social commitments. Weddings, funerals, births, housewarming parties, random visiting of people, you can find me at all of these events now. And elderly relatives rejoice at having obtained yet another victim to play guessing games with. "No, Aunty, I have no idea who you are."<br /><br />Anyway, tomorrow is Onam. Have a great one!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmwtG0c-_ZDLN9Hw3LeJdEMfFW_n1ZZykbVgCePSQZyPXmGJgGgYC6qNL8GwVx0hirBPYOTqgK9DlirXUcM-5yyjupryl6Bhhanc77h2-8PZVV-1Tj4sigXnh8c6lhUkEsL6hauVJLwGA/s1600-h/Happy+Onam.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmwtG0c-_ZDLN9Hw3LeJdEMfFW_n1ZZykbVgCePSQZyPXmGJgGgYC6qNL8GwVx0hirBPYOTqgK9DlirXUcM-5yyjupryl6Bhhanc77h2-8PZVV-1Tj4sigXnh8c6lhUkEsL6hauVJLwGA/s320/Happy+Onam.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376504188502479330" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thinking of the <span style="font-style: italic;">sadya</span> (feast) now...Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-12070549680503359452009-08-22T10:21:00.007+05:302009-08-22T18:18:02.283+05:30The Unbearable Joy of Being FreeGuess who?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0kUqNhZJcM2b-9ecWcV_mbVH6_ef1CLDKlj0RIYVL0A17mN_vnE1SPuBz1uFP0WhH3tvrHc7dB0zVGAVyAFDn16m78TKgYhlQrrHzPrrNFcvHfYR7yVOv5FhMeWqvIHlOKDgJZDYQIpgY/s1600-h/Doctor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0kUqNhZJcM2b-9ecWcV_mbVH6_ef1CLDKlj0RIYVL0A17mN_vnE1SPuBz1uFP0WhH3tvrHc7dB0zVGAVyAFDn16m78TKgYhlQrrHzPrrNFcvHfYR7yVOv5FhMeWqvIHlOKDgJZDYQIpgY/s200/Doctor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372647994244312082" border="0" /></a><br />A/an (Microsoft ClipArt) image of (what Bill Gates thinks is) a doctor, of course!<br /><br />The good news is that ALL of my exams are over and I am free to do as I like until my results are announced, and that will not happen for at least six weeks.<br /><br />The bad news is that there is no bad news. For me, that is. In your case, you might have to read a lot more stuff from me, since I have all this time on my hands.<br /><br />My Mom and I are planning to go around the world (read '500 km max'), which means that lucky, <span style="font-style: italic;">lucky </span>you will get to read about my Indian Railway Adventures, AKA How to Pee While Holding Your Nose With One Hand and Keeping the Door Shut With the Other. Then again, being us, making plans and actually executing them are light years apart, so all you might have to put up with may be thrilling tales of How My Mom Resisted Temptation at the Supermarket.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMklaSt_9GnamFjBxUkgJ9Ud0lqNdph0LCatPVVCbQ7jxRwQ7fPJJGcEKXlo8tdoQMpks6twkzFzCcpYrMfOZwdPRRCMlzQCG7g7nqw8_XfNCSRdKpcIBX693PjiJ8gZnSYxMYpBQ19ct/s1600-h/cleaning+products.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 102px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMklaSt_9GnamFjBxUkgJ9Ud0lqNdph0LCatPVVCbQ7jxRwQ7fPJJGcEKXlo8tdoQMpks6twkzFzCcpYrMfOZwdPRRCMlzQCG7g7nqw8_XfNCSRdKpcIBX693PjiJ8gZnSYxMYpBQ19ct/s200/cleaning+products.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372654959299550690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Peccavi</span></span></div><br />Wait a minute.<br /><br />I did not give a blow-by-blow account of Ze Exams, did I?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggpPwVfhj4FJ8KhpQyMRU9Vp7m3lQEYJ6jTVDM2fkqg8b89xXR2QP-4vgcWfwMSUmSv3wfo5p-9545OEv4AsuFRHvLtAJimZ2N0PTUa7lGCPz5GDiMq52igHmQ_cdRiZyznUGDsoI9NgFi/s1600-h/my+exams.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggpPwVfhj4FJ8KhpQyMRU9Vp7m3lQEYJ6jTVDM2fkqg8b89xXR2QP-4vgcWfwMSUmSv3wfo5p-9545OEv4AsuFRHvLtAJimZ2N0PTUa7lGCPz5GDiMq52igHmQ_cdRiZyznUGDsoI9NgFi/s400/my+exams.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372768587705443810" border="0" /></a><br />The theory papers were all pretty shitty. Just thinking about the Surgery one makes me want to go cower in a dark corner.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5L_Pp8RpvorVOm3-OuZpEYhjGoH3dlJ5yCezWV_k7DH6vDN0wQ-dYh1Yy-x2mqD63vJpDlnUOyg29608pyZxVHhxUhw5sCYUPRb5kEnorHtClhit3rJvVXXY5KhNEmI7xAIzayu3R7Vl/s1600-h/exam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5L_Pp8RpvorVOm3-OuZpEYhjGoH3dlJ5yCezWV_k7DH6vDN0wQ-dYh1Yy-x2mqD63vJpDlnUOyg29608pyZxVHhxUhw5sCYUPRb5kEnorHtClhit3rJvVXXY5KhNEmI7xAIzayu3R7Vl/s200/exam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372658724187785234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Thinking</span></span></div><br />The practical exams were all right. Except for the Paediatrics one, which was great.<br /><br />So yeah. I am done. Five years of medical education has given me an appreciation for free time like nothing else on earth could have. I am off to enjoy it.<br /><br />Toodle-oo.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-63841752487859331582009-07-17T22:09:00.003+05:302009-07-17T22:14:38.502+05:30Say You'll Miss MeThis is it.<br /><br />If I live to tell the tell of how I got through the final exams in my final year of study, you shall hear about it. If not, a short prayer for my eternal soul will be appreciated. Amen!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ol5_K8DODu7vnk2wiBUKqvqp_T5remeZqshyphenhyphenamZZu6ieT9ajoFRTRffbCh700wTYUZQUAgD3df_3jdFKO1qVM-XtPaRq8SMIiPiKTz1EX-s32TqmWE2JWW2nDhyphenhyphenk_e5ELKHCDB431C5d/s1600-h/Dead+doctor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ol5_K8DODu7vnk2wiBUKqvqp_T5remeZqshyphenhyphenamZZu6ieT9ajoFRTRffbCh700wTYUZQUAgD3df_3jdFKO1qVM-XtPaRq8SMIiPiKTz1EX-s32TqmWE2JWW2nDhyphenhyphenk_e5ELKHCDB431C5d/s200/Dead+doctor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359470519523017170" border="0" /></a><br />Why do I have such a lamb to the slaughter feeling about the exams?Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-73669204234817649662009-07-07T12:18:00.009+05:302009-07-07T13:21:31.487+05:30Eggs and Jams<div style="text-align: left;">I have to wear my glasses all the time now. All the reading I do gives me headaches. Which automatically implies that I am doing a lot of reading, but no, that would be untrue. I try to get a lot of work done, and end up watching TV with the <a href="http://www.baileyandlove.com/"><b>Bailey, the Love of life,</b></a> on my tummy to make me feel the 'weight' of my actions. And also give me mesenteric ischaemia, but don't you worry about that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, some of you might remember how I had exams a few weeks ago, and how, we got the <b><a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-wanted-thesaurus-during-my-exam.html">wrong question paper</a></b> on one of them, but had to take the exam anyway. I figured this happened because the department screwed up, but nope, the University screws up, too. The same thing happened during the final exams at one of the medical colleges in Kerala (says the <i><b><a href="www.manoramaonline.com/">Malayala Manoharama</a></b></i>, which is better off being rolled up for use in your toilet than being read). But they cancelled the exam, so it was not quite as bad as our situation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, the results of that caper are out, and well, I managed to do quite well. From this episode, I have learnt a valuable lesson, not to study for exams. All the ones I work my rear off for earn me the bare minimum, but the one I did not read for gives me stellar marks. Our education system is funny.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of the education system, I believe the country is going to the dogs, with the class X <a href="http://www.india-server.com/news/class-10-exams-to-be-made-optional-8124.html"><b>board exams about to be made optional</b></a>. I understand the bit about the pressure on students and families, having gone through it myself, multiple times, with the boards and the entrance, but hoo boy, those were nothing compared to what I am going through now. And that is just my personal life. I am just glad I had the practice.</div><div><br /></div><div>I just recovered from yet another respiratory infection. My lungs were probably bored with oxygenating my blood, day in and day out. They made a heroic bid for escape, but the antibiotics (for which I paid through the nose) and the cough medication made them change their mind. Drug companies should start offering me discounts, I am their best customer in this area.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.thehindu.com/2009/07/02/stories/2009070259770300.htm"><b>Our teachers are on strike</b></a>, hopefully, this will end before our exams. The sooner they begin, the sooner they get over, and the sooner I am free. Exams kill my appetite, ulcerate large areas of the epithelial lining of my mouth, and make me lose my hair in clumps (with a small contribution from my side, by tearing them out whenever I go crazy, which is often).</div><div><br /></div><div>For those who like their mouths full of words, here is what I was reading: Membranoproliferative Glomerulonephitis. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCH7Eyfzj8Yy72AL8wEnN5AmUCAcpy1ackok01f55dHD3Oj4vUQtUgogeOCPSg7KU53dHvLR18iyCcAN9SskD5l7VYVk3B8MgLsn3Tmy3rRuH0BVWGVyOvYXbhwaU8EucPcsoHfN9QNuP/s200/Membranoproliferative+glomerulonephritis.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355620296833998098" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 187px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>It looks pretty, but does dastardly things to your kidney.</div><div><br /></div><div>All right, the break took longer than I expected, and I need to go to the library today, to read some Orthopaedics with my friend Eli.</div><div><br /></div><div>As they say in mangled Italian, <i>chow</i>!</div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-32854331258705095082009-06-24T15:57:00.017+05:302009-06-24T16:41:28.316+05:30TTFN, Exams!<div style="text-align: left;">So my internal exams are done with, and I have no need to set foot in college for another month. Which should make me sad, but, for some reason, I am glad. I badly need a break. I am sick of studying.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My final exams start next month, and my study holidays have begun. But I need to relax for a while before I attack my books once again. And while I'm off doing that, you guys take a look at some random pcitures on hard drive.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5cL4-VodRK26RnowhOuKpXQDbakmj9rYbjkvqqHqUV2nohKeFazQzORCaVVksHTc6Ucq3t8bKPKGRvVNHCc8qMvMj19DaCEcoqd1VWdaxa5ByKrCLrw2uT6aKmOGAPbhquFF2bzItzxL/s1600-h/Artery+forceps.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5cL4-VodRK26RnowhOuKpXQDbakmj9rYbjkvqqHqUV2nohKeFazQzORCaVVksHTc6Ucq3t8bKPKGRvVNHCc8qMvMj19DaCEcoqd1VWdaxa5ByKrCLrw2uT6aKmOGAPbhquFF2bzItzxL/s200/Artery+forceps.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350840567922945266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">The surgeons' best friend, the haemostat, affectionately referred to as the artery forceps</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlryFBbluJNiBS0EZQxDp5wUYRjHrLiceDEtmC42SF3L4AegJ6zUVISBqF8WTQNl1o3k3EE6E3dUkb15HmXRHr_2W_VnAvKcJeXk021QoTJ_GX54QrMjPP_DeNmh7XdhElFts2uvG-CJC/s1600-h/DSC00098.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlryFBbluJNiBS0EZQxDp5wUYRjHrLiceDEtmC42SF3L4AegJ6zUVISBqF8WTQNl1o3k3EE6E3dUkb15HmXRHr_2W_VnAvKcJeXk021QoTJ_GX54QrMjPP_DeNmh7XdhElFts2uvG-CJC/s200/DSC00098.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350843717645933314" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">My hand</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-y-HUvb2Ad-jyRFGnfIp82jwMooSdsHIyqZPIESVUdii4mpHs1MV9OkiRQsWs2M-6lfh7snTgEROXeP5awrjikF5DbqXK0lXL5z0T0n61PMv7IBFdUP9LgDPTbM2G8Fe_mgq_wBwWK2j/s200/DSC00099.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350844150473265298" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">A pretty bug</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJT9qfIf9VohrklZh6XFNZbMKN5WOF5NeRmCnCsmdvRp7ZSggNcNIL-Qi2XUzdcGgwlh6_2PFz8B4J_q6KMavthxEQFpWYMAaUQQKdly946QMZsHWRkdKwNykdZKZIXwdr4bjcoE339ly/s1600-h/DSC00043.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJT9qfIf9VohrklZh6XFNZbMKN5WOF5NeRmCnCsmdvRp7ZSggNcNIL-Qi2XUzdcGgwlh6_2PFz8B4J_q6KMavthxEQFpWYMAaUQQKdly946QMZsHWRkdKwNykdZKZIXwdr4bjcoE339ly/s200/DSC00043.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350844810814017042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">The beach in the rain</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdtxLbZcRMkTtbxreEH-IDMs8kG2gRL91Ozu19s-fAXR47Q3DZc0Q2qhsBuUcBhCjWo_Waoede_1Imuwx7QVFRdiO6Ovfl7Cl_sIguQBBLIGhTeg1FvAbqVHZ8j3EHDujHBF628sLD9fl/s1600-h/DSC00013.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdtxLbZcRMkTtbxreEH-IDMs8kG2gRL91Ozu19s-fAXR47Q3DZc0Q2qhsBuUcBhCjWo_Waoede_1Imuwx7QVFRdiO6Ovfl7Cl_sIguQBBLIGhTeg1FvAbqVHZ8j3EHDujHBF628sLD9fl/s200/DSC00013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350845289760842690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">A pond. Really.</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezk0gI4ymOVDkGY7KzHvAhHi2FDczvV8BZ3-mdg2fCYlsY_JyiFafQ0oowfpZ1-O9d6kCdP-_uNvMKvZi2CnQyECqISJdKrm47HmYOOUmlhMyTd1LjyAtsAbAuK_V4mV_sQINT_aMaKeI/s200/DSC00036.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350845816287927778" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">Some railway station</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JjXt4_zp91q8qEredZ5MLT60hgj9vrI5YMLwtVdWzYnjnvpvtFC9fmh-O-l8kWg-yiphf1D7YCiw7lrI8SsllnvAoBx0XLeedltxfs0gOmeQoXIurOgxCYElgbBcsXtCFSFVs0vLswA4/s1600-h/DSC00101.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JjXt4_zp91q8qEredZ5MLT60hgj9vrI5YMLwtVdWzYnjnvpvtFC9fmh-O-l8kWg-yiphf1D7YCiw7lrI8SsllnvAoBx0XLeedltxfs0gOmeQoXIurOgxCYElgbBcsXtCFSFVs0vLswA4/s200/DSC00101.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350846336717613730" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">The view</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO09qCvPVA7AMswTsFOxyfUYT8OsOJ8mfYCRT6jzMqg38zWNsSTaA1ux47zaCZQBY6Rb2G-7tFiLv3XENqHnW4ZcnTX0YfBLEb3K5SzDbN9AoxLZkVTvkdqUmT2wSR7oF4qk0-54Ij4eB8/s1600-h/DSC00102.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO09qCvPVA7AMswTsFOxyfUYT8OsOJ8mfYCRT6jzMqg38zWNsSTaA1ux47zaCZQBY6Rb2G-7tFiLv3XENqHnW4ZcnTX0YfBLEb3K5SzDbN9AoxLZkVTvkdqUmT2wSR7oF4qk0-54Ij4eB8/s200/DSC00102.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350846646274004594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;">The bane of my existence</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I haven't been feeling entirely sane these last few weeks. Can you tell?</div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-36048304610635140732009-06-15T21:11:00.004+05:302009-06-15T22:30:33.565+05:30These Exams Are Killing Me (In More Ways Than One)<div style="text-align: left;">Some day, I will figure out the secret of not whining about how medicos have exams all the time. That will be the day I get a certificate saying that Dr. Adorable Pancreas is now a real doctor and look, she has a D.M. to prove it. Since you need an M.D. before getting a D.M., and they do not hand out M.D's to people who are not even M.B.,B.S. doctors, you will have to wait for about a decade for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>*sigh*</div><div><br /></div>The last few days have been very difficult. I have not seen my Dad in more than 365 days. At any rate, not in the flesh. He must miss me at least as much as I miss him, because every other day, we get together in my dreams to argue, and have Mom intervene only to have us both toss her out and continue to yell at each other. Just like old times.<div><br /></div><div>The practical exams have started. These are just like the finals, only all the examiners are our own teachers.</div><div><br /></div><div>For those of you who have not been following <a href="http://twitter.com/doctorpancreas"><b>me</b></a> on Twitter, this is what happened to me on my Ob-G exam. (Was that too obvious? Nah, subtlety is my middle name.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, remember Ob-G? My <a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2009/01/pancreas-gang.html"><b>favourite subject</b></a>? The blood and amniotic fluid fest? The sleepless nights in the <a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2008/02/labours-of-pancruleas.html"><b>labour room</b></a>? Well, they conducted an exam. I get two patients, one pregnant (<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics">Ob</a></b>), one *gasp* not pregnant (<b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gynaecology">Gyn</a></b>).</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://therealsouthkorea.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/pregnant_man_thomas_beatie1.jpg"><img src="http://therealsouthkorea.files.wordpress.com/2008/07/pregnant_man_thomas_beatie1.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>(If I had to see that, so did you. You are welcome. And I am guessing he really is pregnant. Dr. Google said so.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I was getting the pregnant patient's history. You know, whether she had any bleeding (blood) or leaking (amniotic fluid), whether she drinks like a fish or smokes like a chimney, whether her grandfather had ingrowing toenails or not, the usual stuff. After a while, I noticed that she was acting oddly. She winced every time I asked her a question! Now, normally, people wince after I answer their questions, so I found this behaviour quite unusual.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, folks, on questioning her, she had these 'tummy aches that appeared on and off every few minutes' which was probably 'her breakfast, it tasted funny' and it was 'nothing'. Long story short, she was in labour, getting regular contractions. We packed her off to the labour room. And to all those smart alecks who might accuse me of worrying her to the point that she went into labour, she had had the pain for a few hours already, but 'the <i>idli</i> worsened it'. I do not blame her for that, those idlis are potent. It's our secret weapon which we will unleash on an unsuspecting enemy in the next war.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Gyn patient, she was fun. She was admitted in a Gynaecology ward for 'aching knees'. Her friendly neighbourhood doctor had ordered an abdominal scan (WHY?) when she showed him her knee, and found a fibroid in her uterus. Don't try to make sense of this, I merely made up her history from scratch. Because that is the kind of amazing brain I have.</div><div><br /></div><div>During my case presentation, I mentioned in passing that the patient's breasts and thyroid gland were normal, and the examiner grilled for an hour about the 'causes of galactorrhoea in pregnancy'. This is pretty technical, so I will not bore you with the details, but she got me to establish that milk secretion during pregnancy can even kill the foetus. Yes, it sounded absurd to me, too, but it's true.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have to identify surgical specimens pickled in glass bottles, just like the <b><a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2007/09/identifcation-parade.html">good ol' days in Pathology</a></b>. I was the lucky recipent of a specimen I had never before seen in a human being. Small wonder, because it was an inverted uterus.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am pretty sure that the Universe hates me. Well, it has plenty of ammo left, the exams are not yet done with me.</div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-73489155818320407002009-05-23T13:29:00.005+05:302009-05-23T14:18:01.714+05:30I Wanted A Thesaurus During My ExamI have exams now.<br /><br />No, not my finals.<br /><br />These are internals, but they are <span style="font-style: italic;">like</span> the finals. So that we get a feel of things, and all.<br /><br />First up was Internal Medicine.<br /><br />You know, the toughest subject there is. It's quite a handful (the smallest textbook has 1500 pages), and most people who do not clear final year attribute it to Medicine. So it's very important.<br /><br />I like to think that I know my basics well (this just might be my imagination at work), but for an exam, it's not enough. You need to be topic oriented, and to be able to memorise a lot of points to core well. The grading of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lupus_nephritis"><span style="font-weight: bold;">lupus nephritis</span></a>, the extra articular manifestations of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ankylosing_spondylitis"><span style="font-weight: bold;">ankylosing spondylitis</span></a>, the complications of, oh, I don't know, something with a suitably impressive name? Like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CADASIL"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cerebral Autosomal Dominant Arteriopathy with Subcortical Infarcts and Leukoencephalopathy</span></a>? Things my brain could retain for 24 hours, max. So I tend to study the most the day before an exam, like a lot of my friends.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9INXvfZGNL30u5faRi6D8R2pqlzm1Uk_bMqFDk2zosf4zSu10xaORMBGSwwl-QXg3gbp8UQbwQhKSUnWmlaSA2yRtddF-7XvdAEAiZ73kzQtNU60HRYFL16TFa6kMQ4Dvw3jwZB_WunU6/s1600-h/DSC00106.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9INXvfZGNL30u5faRi6D8R2pqlzm1Uk_bMqFDk2zosf4zSu10xaORMBGSwwl-QXg3gbp8UQbwQhKSUnWmlaSA2yRtddF-7XvdAEAiZ73kzQtNU60HRYFL16TFa6kMQ4Dvw3jwZB_WunU6/s200/DSC00106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338930998945773474" border="0" /></a><br />We have two papers in Medicine. One about all the general stuff (infections, intensive care, immune disorders, stuff like that) and diseases of the respiratory system. And the other one is all about the cool aspects (cardiology, neurology, nephrology, gastroenterology, <span style="font-style: italic;">etc.</span>).<br /><br />And you know what happens for the first exam? <span style="font-style: italic;">They gave out the wrong question paper.</span> I got punched in the face by pulmonology when I was filled to the brim with the causes of seizures in the elderly.<br /><br />The invigilators were very reassuring.<br />"You have been learning Medicine for five years. Stop talking and start writing."<br /><br />I was livid. Which is how I <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> ended up becoming explicit in my answer paper.<br /><blockquote>"...and eventually, the thermoregulatory mechanisms of the body get fucked up, and the patient develops..."<br /></blockquote><br />I was also scared, which is why I wasted two whole minutes thinking of a more suitable, medical sounding alternative for fucked up. Other than screwed up. Or messed up.<br /><br />A lot of my answers can be attributed to my being an exponent in the art form known as <span style="font-style: italic;">dummy idal</span>. The term is derived from a <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0292174/">Mallu movie from the 80s</a>, where the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmUEDFx_UGQ"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'CIDs'</span></a> would drop a dummy from the roof, no matter how the victim died. (One of my favourite movies, <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span>!)<br /><br />No matter what the question is about, we write about the things we know. So I wrote pages on fulminant hepatic failure when asked about Paracetamol poisoning (which is one of the causes for FHF), about <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lambert-Eaton_myasthenic_syndrome">Lambert-Easton myasthenic syndrome</a> for the non-metastatic manifestations of bronchial carcinoma, the causes for splenomegaly since I did not know much about tropical splenomegaly... You get the idea.<br /><br />I <span style="font-style: italic;">had</span> worked rather hard for the exam, and having it all go waste killed something inside me, and the next exam (which <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> about FHF <span style="font-style: italic;">et al</span>) went down the drain, too.<br /><br />Two down, five more to go.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-7342558636138790892009-05-12T20:23:00.004+05:302009-05-12T20:37:41.966+05:30ZeroMy classes are over.<br /><br />Exams start next week.<br /><br />These are internal exams, but they count.<br /><br />I need to get a certificate saying I have no outstanding dues in any department. Now that I have it, I thought I would embark on vandalising spree. Then I realised, the beds are broken, there <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> no lights, the fans do not work (and neither do half the nurses, but that's another story), I can't break any of the instruments because they are already, you guessed it, broken. Welcome to <s>chaos</s> a government hospital.<br /><br />I am going to miss this crap.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLa3t97PFUWCxtZG9cNv5VljNtCf7xLZwBgcsJCsBCzxfZ5eK5KWr3ZnEN1_GCaTzmrFvF-iwqO5amSbaUwBbfY8HMLBxW2mORDYf43MPu-7v4QVZQn546yNhMCK18Rg3pIEItfAv12pu7/s1600-h/DSC00161.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLa3t97PFUWCxtZG9cNv5VljNtCf7xLZwBgcsJCsBCzxfZ5eK5KWr3ZnEN1_GCaTzmrFvF-iwqO5amSbaUwBbfY8HMLBxW2mORDYf43MPu-7v4QVZQn546yNhMCK18Rg3pIEItfAv12pu7/s400/DSC00161.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334953601028719746" border="0" /></a><br />That is the college, not the hospital.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfJHKYTN5gyYd4mdmPr7QbjbRqjQjx9ShOphMbgflJwtmdkJMJmEknQtx9XcZhnwHtUJVvQM4r1kWXo-XoYJmND7mP66TtY05Em2AzczxRM0-GNPDNgPpDIFATCnko8vbyCUqdTPQUhH7/s1600-h/DSC00503.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfJHKYTN5gyYd4mdmPr7QbjbRqjQjx9ShOphMbgflJwtmdkJMJmEknQtx9XcZhnwHtUJVvQM4r1kWXo-XoYJmND7mP66TtY05Em2AzczxRM0-GNPDNgPpDIFATCnko8vbyCUqdTPQUhH7/s200/DSC00503.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334954033551498738" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">That</span> is from the hospital.<br /><br />:'(Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-42138988226415131312009-05-04T19:41:00.003+05:302009-05-04T19:54:38.351+05:30OneThe final week of my final year. The week I will remember for the rest of my life. And I can do nothing but worry about my Medicine end of posting exam later this week. And the freaking practical record. As a result of these foreseen circumstances, you are going to suffer. Or have your prayers answered. Depends on the way you look at it. This is a very brief post. No, not pictures of underwear. Sorry, <a href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2008/03/wherein-i-have-nothing-to-say.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Google searchers</span></a>, nothing to see here, move along.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiex6JBpyznwJNTo5G28lU95lOUbpJsw8K1sXPjBhXjDmu1KWqLmUcGF1xsSPGNVEcnesc4vXuQF4im4t_SlPaPLy9BENQc_Ojo3D01vx6jjNT2S6cGIoJeLMGdT-CV3btgRxNNRev73lO/s1600-h/Batch+photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiex6JBpyznwJNTo5G28lU95lOUbpJsw8K1sXPjBhXjDmu1KWqLmUcGF1xsSPGNVEcnesc4vXuQF4im4t_SlPaPLy9BENQc_Ojo3D01vx6jjNT2S6cGIoJeLMGdT-CV3btgRxNNRev73lO/s200/Batch+photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331974036327379250" border="0" /></a><br />That's us.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-768343017623417952009-04-26T19:56:00.006+05:302009-04-26T20:52:36.870+05:30TwoTwo. Rhymes with boohoo. Two weeks before I bid goodbye to classes. I am too busy with the stupid practical record to care.<br /><br />We went to <a href="http://www.kodai.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Kodaikanal</span></a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mysore"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mysore</span></a> and <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.karnataka.com/tourism/coorg">Coorg</a> in our third year. That was when <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://adayinthelifeofamedico.blogspot.com/2009/03/late-lament.html">The A tried to drown herself</a> in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaveri"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cauvery</span></a>. Third year, that was so much fun. The honeymoon of our undergraduate life. You guys take a look at the picture while I reminisce.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FSLwOz8BTfVoBnfoPTRzUAA27BHKCItabIFblTpAsQ8LBpfhu0psbJounWr2-FmdoTe4zAOvh0Ksuec3ixJ5tc3FG-a9cYEjcflnE1VnzkI-ZjpnA33IIsfM-OIOKTLa4tnkrdS7DYCX/s1600-h/Buddhist+Monastery.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FSLwOz8BTfVoBnfoPTRzUAA27BHKCItabIFblTpAsQ8LBpfhu0psbJounWr2-FmdoTe4zAOvh0Ksuec3ixJ5tc3FG-a9cYEjcflnE1VnzkI-ZjpnA33IIsfM-OIOKTLa4tnkrdS7DYCX/s200/Buddhist+Monastery.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329008690779651090" border="0" /></a>Everybody who goes to Mysore<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span> goes to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bylakuppa"><span style="font-weight: bold;">this place</span></a>, and gets their pictures taken with the monks. We got the monks to take our picture. There we are, squinting at the sun.<br /><br />Mysore zoo was where I had a crow do its thing on the tip of my finger. The exact tip. Of my finger. That I'd just lifted to point out an ape. Shitty timing, the crow had.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiJlR1ySIvpK0aQWAbbjPxyx6GNX7ZXl8AM2OPWHlefomDdvNB5wSGjwcUYNrOb0jy27VWrRI-winEfekbNdH784R62-0YfWhijJ68bI0meENVZ3gUpMn9npaLHSW6mQGgBr8CSQgVSsl/s1600-h/African+elephant.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiJlR1ySIvpK0aQWAbbjPxyx6GNX7ZXl8AM2OPWHlefomDdvNB5wSGjwcUYNrOb0jy27VWrRI-winEfekbNdH784R62-0YfWhijJ68bI0meENVZ3gUpMn9npaLHSW6mQGgBr8CSQgVSsl/s200/African+elephant.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329012081962278514" border="0" /></a><br />We all agreed that African elephants are larger, and have bigger tusks, and that's all very well, but Indian elephants are smarter and more beautiful.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBr8h78xhl-KsFSmjvwizoNI1NxKKWFI9z_K1-djQfMpqmgYxnDsXARMxt-tlq5GNnT86mNqPOGhxo1Awk57r5o4GQzIQh04RvMN2SeNfibAXh_BBBWdPfFp-q73UhpWX3EBGRXxZu3iS8/s1600-h/Coorg+park.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBr8h78xhl-KsFSmjvwizoNI1NxKKWFI9z_K1-djQfMpqmgYxnDsXARMxt-tlq5GNnT86mNqPOGhxo1Awk57r5o4GQzIQh04RvMN2SeNfibAXh_BBBWdPfFp-q73UhpWX3EBGRXxZu3iS8/s200/Coorg+park.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329016892943466210" border="0" /></a><br />A friend had a weird encounter at a market in Mysore. One of the vendors recognised him as a Mallu (do we wear a sign on our foreheads? How do they know?) and wanted to know if Mallu men were generally, get this, gay! Where do people get such notions from? How can we have a population problem if our men are gay? Maybe that is the answer to our troubles.<br /><br />Here is a picture of the Cauvery.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9xEbuNL1LbjugOtYCso0OY6F22icsouUbipzXDjBe1ypx0dFK0OCHXl5nP0qt74pCfl4rY_58Zu0YweDp0-9vP1svHZSFP5v7m5M9KWwDdbXltx9hNwwQH8-UBtCnzHDwIVTbIh7zpOz/s1600-h/Cauvery.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9xEbuNL1LbjugOtYCso0OY6F22icsouUbipzXDjBe1ypx0dFK0OCHXl5nP0qt74pCfl4rY_58Zu0YweDp0-9vP1svHZSFP5v7m5M9KWwDdbXltx9hNwwQH8-UBtCnzHDwIVTbIh7zpOz/s200/Cauvery.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329019335970166114" border="0" /></a><br />See how I cleverly left out the river in the picture? I am amazing. In reality, this is some place called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nisargadhama"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nisargadhama</span></a>, which boasts of many kinds of entertainment for tourists, including a toilet that smells of fresh flowers. And old urine.<br /><br />We had so much fun (this is getting boring, innit?). I will not bore you with the details of the one other trip I went on, you can read it <a href="http://perplexingsimplicity.blogspot.com/search/label/globe%20trotting"><span style="font-weight: bold;">here</span></a> if you feel so inclined. It's got lots of pictures and less of my writing, so that is one point in favour all of you clicking <a href="http://perplexingsimplicity.blogspot.com/search/label/globe%20trotting"><span style="font-weight: bold;">here</span></a> and leaving me to my tragic life.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5687544150856891417.post-27010760775276471422009-04-20T15:56:00.003+05:302009-04-20T19:34:59.407+05:30ThreeLet us not dwell on the mere three weeks for which I am still a medico. That path eventually leads to <a href="http://www.prozac.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Prozac</span></a>.<br /><br />This week's picture features a bunch of Verry Spechul Peeples. (And my friends. And I. But this is not about us.) Peeples who have known me for a long time, and still like me as much as they did before. OK, they are probably not right in the head, but, they are Veryy Spechul, like I said. Behold!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7g0c9bABpI1xncac6C-5cpKQquuWmm_sudD2qPOP6YRgwd8elGWHF1C10gCgtmwqeCHnESkOmyb1JE9N8df9hC_ZBZx3mjiaJU9MF0R7qeuX53Gw4qFY3P3hDYVGfVUHv5i2lv6g_Tjh/s1600-h/Us.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7g0c9bABpI1xncac6C-5cpKQquuWmm_sudD2qPOP6YRgwd8elGWHF1C10gCgtmwqeCHnESkOmyb1JE9N8df9hC_ZBZx3mjiaJU9MF0R7qeuX53Gw4qFY3P3hDYVGfVUHv5i2lv6g_Tjh/s200/Us.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326721867051582162" border="0" /></a><br />I know it's not very clear. (Why are you surprised?) Do you have any idea how long it took me to make it that way?<span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51); font-weight: bold;">*</span><br /><br />When we first entered the clinics, we were bewildered by the sight of the wards. Patients on the beds, on the floor between the beds, under the beds, in the corridors, everywhere. We had no idea what to do with our shiny new <a href="http://solutions.3m.com/wps/portal/3M/en_WW/global-littmann/home/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Littmanns</span></a> and tendon hammers. And then we saw a bunch of harassed looking house surgeons. And the rest, as the cliché goes, is history.<br /><br />It has been three years now. Some of them are married, all of them are doing their post graduation, some are not even in the country. But things are still the same between us. We still talk about 'our house surgeons' to anyone who will listen, and there aren't many who haven't heard about them yet.<br /><br />I know this post does not make much sense. I am a final year medical student, you know, even though I don't act like it. Here is an actual incident to prove it.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Professor</span> (during rounds): Do you remember this patient with pleural effusion?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Medico</span>: No, sir. But I remember his X-ray film.<br />I did not make that up. Honest. And also, the medico in question was not me. I had completely forgotten what his X-ray film looked like.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span> Two minutes, in case you are still wondering.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com4