Not my knickers

Simply because I can multitask, I can combine eating 'gathered earholes'*, ironing and watching ER season 5.

Because I'm simply amazing.

*I have no idea why my mother calls lemon curd tarts gathered earholes, but she does.

Climbing the walls

I've been home less than 24 hours.

Already I appear to be trying to get vertical on the building supports, if you get my drift.

I love my parents to pieces, but being an only child at the age of 25 and suddenly losing all independence is a complete pain in the arse.

I can't do anything, go anywhere or call anyone (because I have no phone signal) on my mobile.

Yorkshire is a wonderfully bleak place sometimes, and I love that, but I do wonder how the hell I would manage now if my parents didn't have broadband (they only got it less than 2 years ago, and when I first started uni broadband wasn't available in my village at all!).

I'm going to be taking a series of photos over my period at home to show you what I've been up to, so expect lots of crap pictures of the dog, wrapping paper and the tree, etc. I'm certainly no photographer...

Ho ho ho and all that jazz!

Making hay while the snow falls

I look forward to holidays with a mixed feeling of dread and pleasure.

The dread because a little bit more of the academic year has passed, and I am aware of how much harder things are going to get. 

The pleasure because I get to take a break. Maybe.

Or perhaps I would get chance if I wasn't having to work so hard to make my hay.

Take the next week for example; I seem to have collected a fourth job somewhere down the line.  I mean I have 2 pretty much stable regular jobs and two less so. Two are more casual. They call, I agree if the terms are right. One of those is the outdoor adventure centre - business varies at this time of year along with my ability to run around in the cold when I have joints that get more painful with dodgy weather.

The other job I have only worked for once before. It paid disgustingly well. In fact I'm slightly ashamed to say I was on between £27 and £55 an hour for some very easy work. And before some smart arse comments on this, it was totally legitimate, legal and taxable at 22%! 

Two days ago they called me up again. Would I be interested in two full days of work for £95 per day from 9am-6pm. Conveniently I've finished uni by then and my two hospital shifts that week conveniently fit around it as well as my bar work.

Sadly I can't tell you exactly what my job entails, as A) I feel a little bit of a pillock doing it and B) it's a bit too obvious to give me away.

You'll just have to all trust me that I'm working insanely hard.

You know you're tired when...

Perhaps this made more sense in my head, but that's what I wrote for the last patient history I took.

Auditory stimulus

In the bar, my familiar sounds make me smile. Make me happy.

The sound of glasses clinking, beer bottles opening, pool balls being sunk, the strange click the door makes. You see where I'm coming from.

There is nothing in the bar that scares me. Makes my heart pump faster than I would like. It's my comfort zone.

The hospital is a different matter. My comfort zone at work there revolves around call bells, the word 'nurse' being called repeatedly, bleeps going off and telephones ringing, remaining unanswered.

My comfort zone does not include the crash bell. 

For the first few seconds of bleating, I'm always confused. Horrifically oblivious for a few seconds as to what that particular sound signifies.

I was talking to a porter the last time it invaded into my subconscious. For a second, confused by the intrusion. Then running following the stampede of nurses. 

Today my arms and shoulders burn from the effort I put in. Still feeling broken ribs against the heel of my right hand.

We are all trained for it, yet it still catches us unawares. Adrenaline pumping for a considerable amount of time after the event. A small part of me becoming detached each time. 

I wonder if I will lose my soul completely?

Cleave me in two with an axe

I apologise once more for the long absence in posting.

Since the beginning of October I have been unwell, and despite trying desperately to 'soldier on' I've had to admit defeat (and some advice from the dean) and take a couple of days off uni to stay in bed.

I've been back and forth to the doctors like a yo-yo, and eventually have a neurology referral, as I've been suffering with severe headaches for ages now, with little break in between them.

My bed has become by friend, along with paracetamol.

So for the time being, I'm here in body, but not necessarily in spirit.

Back soon, hopefully

disasterous

I really am a disaster zone.

I've managed to injure 4 fingers.

FOUR!

Not amused.

Resits vs MTAS

The way I see it, this post could potentially lead to arguments. My facts may be wrong, but it's time for me to get back to where I started with this blog: writing about my course and medicine and less about my personal life.

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I've done two years of medical school so far and had a resit in each year.

Going to check the resit results always surprises me, as the people who are also waiting for results are never the people I expect to be there.  They aren't the students who repeatedly skip lectures, PBL, placement sessions.

They're the students who throw their heart and soul into medicine and extra curricular activities. The students who work hard voluntarily, who have families, who have jobs, who are on committees etc.

What worries me is that for me, I'm becoming involved in committees and voluntary work not just because I want to, but because I am aware that it could benefit my MTAS application at the end of medical school.

What worries me more, is that people are more concerned about applying to deaneries than actually getting the grades.

In the fifth year we are ranked into quartiles based on our academic progress through medical school.

As I understand it (and this could be wrong) our rankings count less than our supporting evidence on MTAS.*

Should it really be this way?

Comments welcomed...

*Please let me know if this is right.

I'm sad

I've always been a huge reader of fiction. Scientific, medical, random fantasy. You name it and I'll probably read it.

I also have a bad habit of buying plentiful second hand books, and while one day browsing a charity shop I came across Coma.

Instantly hooked I've been a massive fan of Michael Crichton ever since.

Without Monkey Girl I would not have found out about this.

I am now incredibly sad.

Rest in peace. I shall treasure your work forever.

Starting over

I've had a small re-evaluate.

Contented as I am with love life and stuff, I've gained all the weight I lost with slimming world.

Curves are a wonderful thing, but my back and knees just weren't loving me as much anymore.

Weightwatchers has been duly started again, this time online. Fingers crossed for me guys!

Stone off by christmas day is my aim...