This isn’t dedication. It’s Desperation

So yesterday I had a DELIGHTFUL day in clinics. I clerked. I wandered. I stalked doctors to find out when I could present. I tutorial’d… I then had to go to the doctor myself, and then I went back to the hospital. Again.

My Registrar had informed me that he would be on the wards until 10. Seeing as I need two signed off presentations by Friday, I felt that this would be the ideal opportunity to hunt him down, and make him stand still while I talked at him. This is why I found myself, on a rather nice Tuesday evening, walking back to the hospital clutching my bits of paper, and hoping it wouldn’t take too long.

My Reg turned out to be a bit of a keen bean. He actually listened to what I was saying, and asked things like questions; which, of course, I couldn’t really answer because who the hell actually remembers any pre-clinical medicine?  Anyway, I got it signed off. He wasn’t evil. All good.

Of course as I left, the clouds gathered moodily and it started to rain, but by this time I was on the phone moaning to Lawboy about it, so it just served to act as an appropriate backdrop to the walk home. It made me feel dedicated. 

Today, despite *technically* having a day off, I’m meeting my friend (8.50 sharp at the lockers!) in order to go clerk more, and perhaps find more doctors to sign bits of paper, before tarting myself up for one of the many Summer Balls.  You KNOW I wouldn’t be going in if it wasn’t for those teeny bits of paper and the gnawing feeling that Friday is coming around a little bit too quickly.

MedicGirl.

Bank Holiday Weekend Fun

As the first pathetic rays of light peeped through the rain yesterday, my alarm went.
If all had been right with the world, my head would have been able to remain safely under the duvet and I would have had a few more blissfully ignorant hours before rising, cursing the alcohol consumed the night before and vowing never to drink again.  However, all was not right in the world, because I’d shunned all social engagements the previous evening in the knowledge that some sunrise I would have to go into the hospital.  I mean, THAT is dedication.

“On Take”. Not “on-call”, because we’re not real doctors, and we don’t get the fun bleeps (Oh come on- everyone’s a little jealous at the moment. But I bet they’re fun for all of ten minute before the constant bleeeeeeep bleeeeeep drives you up the wall and you have to resist the urge to scream and smush it against a wall). 
The people that get admitted to hospital in a one-shift period are “The Take”. So, we are “On-take” and have to be there to stand around looking clueless, lost, and vaguely bored.  But as long as the consultant SEES you standing around looking lost-confused-bored they know that you were there, and so your duty has been done.

Truth be told, as I glugged back coffee and looked out of the window rather unimpressed with the rain, I was actually rather positive about the experience; I thought “Oooh, I can get some clerking done, and perhaps reduce the amount of things my procrastination has foolishly left for the last insanely busy week.”

Oh young naive MedicGirl. I swear that was my mistake; to dare to even think that. 

The morning was actually OK- I got to the department fine (impressive- it’s a locked ward, you can spend hours pressing that bell). I found the doctors fine (More impressive, in the past have been sent around 5 different teams before being sent back to the original ones). They were nice (Fucking golden).

Wardround ensued.

I did not make a fool of myself as far as I’m aware.

It was quite interesting, in content as well as smells.

I hung around a little after and then everyone got busy. It was nearing “NO MEDICAL STUDENTS NEAR THE BEDS!!!” time (imagine THAT being screamed at you by a twitchy little nurse), so I decided I’d probably stayed long enough, and I pushed off home in time for the roast that sibling and flatmate cooked-despite the imminent balls and social events Sunday-post-take is NO time to be thinking about ones waistline.

The rest of the day was taken up with work- Drug Essays and the like. Which I didn’t finish, mainly because it was boring.

MedicGirl.

Welcome

I originally intended to blog throughout the academic year; of course, I got distracted, and it is only now as we feebly limp into the last module that I’ve actually got around to writing a first entry. 

My personal statement many moons ago stated “I have always wanted to be a doctor”.  I’m not sure why: An unhealthy interest in death and disease? Because I want to help people? Because it would be a way to outshine my sibling? I have a feeling it’s the former and the latter, and the reason in the middle is just a side effect. 

So, medical school beckoned, however foolish a plan that was, and here I am, two years later, approaching the end of my first year in Clinics.  I think I’ve survived; I’ve seen my first death, developed an unhealthy dependency on coffee, been driven home in a doctor’s convertible, and have been humiliated on a ward-round, BUT a consultant has never made me cry. MedicGirl did good.

Still. It’s not over yet…

MedicGirl