Exam Fundae

I ought to be all "My exams are over! Yay!" but I actually am "Damn! It's back to class again."

Now, I can hear a lot of excited voices ask me, "How were your exams? We want every little detail." I realise I am hallucinating, but I have a feeling that the the voices have got to be answered, or the Universe will implode. On the other hand, if I do that I will lose all my readers (namely, me, my cat, and uh, me. I am not sure if my cat can read, but he stares at the screen for long periods.) So there will be only a few details about my exams. Very few.

But.

But.

But.

Before that.

I have some good news.

No, it's awesome news.

It's the best news I have heard in a year.

I came second on the Paediatrics end posting exam.

< pause for applause, and letters of congratulation >

Come on, you stupid cat, clap your paws.

Ow!

< /pause >

Anyway, that was old news, because the end posting was a couple of weeks ago.

So, the theory exams. The very important ones that contribute 20% marks to my final total. They sucked.

The Paed people, you know what they did? They announced that the portions included were the first ten chapters of O P G hai (which is Mr. Cow's* book is known as in certain circles), and then proceeded to set a question paper based on chapters 11 through 20. I would have boiled them in oil if I hadn't come out second on the end posting exam.

I don't think I have said this before, but ObG is my favourite subject**. Not a word of what I read got implanted in my head. Except for that bit about 'multiple sexual partners' being a risk factor for carcinoma of the uterine cervix. As you might have guessed by now, there wasn't a single question about risk factors for carcinoma of the cervix.

During the Surgery exam, I got a full blast of the tropical sun RIGHT IN MY EYES and I don't really remember much else about the day.

Medicine was not any better, either. I did not know most of the answers, but I couldn't finish writing them out by the end of three hours and they had to forcibly eject me from the exam hall.

Although you are going to find this hard to believe, I did learn a lot of new things.

That's good, right? Please say yes.

Here they are.

No, I am not going to talk about Lyme disease, which is caused by Borrelia burgdorferi and is transmitted by the bite of Ixodid ticks. It has three stages- early localised infection, early disseminated infection, and late persistent infection. Whew!

The Things You Learn During Exams

• No matter how long the study leave is, you start reading in earnest only the day before the exam.

• The night before the exam, you will ring up your friends for 'moral support' and end up chatting for an hour.

• Your appetite increases exponentially while you read, only to disappear when you are at the dinner table.

• You have to keep your lids propped up by the time it's eight the night before the exam.

• You can stay up comfortably till two if you watch some TV for a 'wake up break'.

• The topics you painstakingly spent hours over will not be asked.

• If they are, you won't remember them.

• But the areas you skipped will find their way into the question paper.

• Every time you get stuck for an answer, you will see everyone else around you writing furiously.

• Nobody else ever gets stuck as much you do.

• You notice that the exam hall has quite a lot of lights and fans.

• Your voracious appetite returns.

• Occasionally, you might write an answer incompletely and then leave some blank space, where you scribble "Think, dummy!" with a pencil.

• You never remember to erase such comments from your answer sheet until you do the same thing on your next exam.

• You don't remember to erase those bits in the next exam, either.
  

• The cleverest of insights don't enter your mind until the invigilator holds out his hand for your answer sheet.

I am sure there are more, but my tortured brain is still reeling from the effects of the clinical features of viper bites. I never knew that windscreen vipers bit you. See? That's another thing I learnt. Don't you wash your car ever again.

That is the message of this post.

DO NOT WASH YOUR CAR.

I can already see the Big Brother jumping for joy.

* 'Gai' is the Hindi word for 'Cow'.
** Refer sarcasm.

Being Examinated

So I have good news and I have bad news, like in all those terrible jokes. And to stick to the formula, I'll tell you the good news first.

The good news is that I have completed my Paediatrics posting, and probably even passed the end posting exam because my examiner kept saying "Very Good!" at the end of every answer. But he was a vann kidu who expected me to know the three stages of Lyme Disease, and I was all "Lyme disease has stages?" And then it went downhill from there, and turned uphill after a brief visit to the Underworld, then I was on level ground and then rose and fell so many times I lost count. Hopefully, the highs and lows will balance themselves out and he meant it when he appeared to be impressed by my answers*.

The bad news (get out those tissues, you are going to need them) is that my semester has ended *sob* and what's even worse is that I have exams. And to add insult to injury, I have just one more semester left in college. *bawls*

Think of it as my funeral, and let the tears flow. That probably requires tear gas, but please, oblige a heart broken medico who knows nothing about the stages of Lyme disease.

The exams last a couple of weeks. Until then, it's farewell and adieu to you, sweet readers. If you can manage it, say a short prayer for me. It doesn't matter if you don't believe in God(s), just hint to Hippocrates that some day he's going to be proud of me for being THE expert on Lyme disease, and he will do the rest.

*My head keeps saying "Fat chance!", but I shall ignore it for now. Please, please, God, let me have passed.

Landmarks

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

OK.

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

OK.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That should raise a few eyebrows.

Dr. Jekyll and Chucky

I am in Smallville.

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

I can't stand Paediatrics.

Literally.

But only literally.

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

Ow.

So.

A lot of people believe Paeds is all about this:


It is.

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

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

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


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

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

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

We rarely realise how lucky we are.

Pancreas & The Gang

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pancreas & The Gang

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving!

I won an award!

You got that right. I won an award.

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

Yay!


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

The Uvula

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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