happy 2008...

The year 2007 is finally drawing to a close. And what a year it has been...

It is interesting, everytime I look back on the year I seem to look back with rose-tinted specs. The year was challenging, yes, but it was also stimulating, wasn't it? And surely it wasn't that bad. Challenges came, challenges went. It's been a good year.

Of course, then someone reminded me of the rough times I went through. My friend reminded me of times I joked about quitting Med, my tired looks and distracted ways. And that brought back memories... the late nights, caffeine highs, spending hours in the library, my silent wars against immunology/biochemistry/microbiology/ECG ... and last but certainly not least, those crazy Clinical Coaches... Oh, yes. Some things are best put behind us.

2008 would be much the same, although people tell me it's harder in 2nd year. I am old and cynical enough to know not to bother about making New Year resolutions, but if I have plans it would be to read through the bible in Chinese by mid-year (I have only read it in English thus far) and to complete my Women of the Bible devotional. Praise God... I have been, at times, been a rather lazy, cynical, and stubborn Christian this year, but my Heavenly Father still carried me through. Surely He is with me always.

Happy New Year, everyone! Have a blessed 2008.

A disturbing daydream...

This week I have been studying Sarah, wife of Abraham. She yearned for a child all her life; laughed when God promised her that she will give birth to a child (at the age of 90), then gave birth to Isaac. I really am enjoying this devotional (Women of the Bible - which goes through a woman per week). These women - Eve and Sarah - are both women that I had never given much consideration to; but provoked by the devotional, I realised that the short paragraphs in the bible that tells their story also subtly reveal some very complex, multifaceted and intriguing characters. But anyway, that's not what I want to talk about right now.

The devotional this week pointed to Sarah's want to have children, God's promise, Sarah's doubt, and the subsequent fulfilment of that promise. It asked the question: what's your dream? What dreams and desires have God placed in you, and do you doubt? Are you willing to wait patiently?

So dutifully I meditated upon this and discovered that I had no clear discernable dream. Do I dream of a perfect lover? (I'm ashamed to admit this is the first that came to my mind.) The answer was - well, perhaps, but that's not the most important thing. Career? Do I want to be a world-famous specialist? Do I want enough properties dotted around the globe to constitute a small town? What do I really want? Currently I wanted to be able to unreservedly serve my God without anything holding me back - namely, parents who frown and shake their heads and discuss me behind my back as if I am problem child. But that's not much of an ambition. And ever the cynic, I conceded that I could never serve God enough, and besides, there will always be something. Bigger obstacles, not smaller. I did not pursue the subject further, only made the conclusion that I was decidedly deprived of a dream.

A few days ago I met a sonographer who spends 3 weeks every year (sometimes twice a year) in Africa, in a Christian missionary hospital, training the local staff there in ultrasound. I was thinking today, while driving home from work, how wonderful that is, to spend a little of every year working to give a community some autonomy. That is when The Idea struck. I thought: I could erect my own hospital.

Once the initial Idea formed others flowed with it. It need not necesarily be in Africa, it can be anywhere, like Asia, the Americas... anywhere. It would be a Christian hospital, of course. I could buy my own buildings, recieve equipment donations, it need not be hard. Train the locals. It would be a Christian hospital of course. With some counselling services. It would be a lasting legacy. I could even name it after myself. No, no, no, no, no! At this thought I repulsed. All glory to my God! It shall NOT be named after me, nor shall it have my name attached to any part of it. Only God!

So there I was, rounding the little corners in my suburb, arguing with myself.

It's so ambitious. It's so big. It's almost ridiculous. But it can be done... I'm only at the beginning of my medical career, anything is possible. Probably hard to do single-handedly, though... you need a few more doctors to make one hospital; and you'd need a few doctors ALL the time, not when it's just erected. And not just doctors - nurses, radiographers, allied health, pharmacy... Staffing would be a night mare. Will I ever have enough money to fund it? But my God, I can really feel like I made a contribution. I can tell people that I built a hospital, in Africa. It's something that would last after I'm gone, something of value left behind for the world. Something I can present to Jesus. But is that why I'm thinking about it? For the approval of humans? For the laughable illusion of my ideas and works continuing after I'm gone? To feel as if I have given a worthy gift to God? But can I ever give enough? Obviously not; it would be frivolous to try. Furthermore: would this be my gift to God, or God's gift to me? More precisely - is this a self-absorbed day-dream, or a vision placed there by God?

And thus my thoughts ran, round and round in circles, in a sort of taunting self-torment, until finally I reached home and put the idea on stand-by (that is, until I turned on my computer and started blogging). And I still don't know. I don't know whether I will, whether I really want to, whether I'm up for the challenge, and what my aims really are. But to God I admit defeat: there is no way I could possibly know. Even if I were sure, there is nothing I could do right now, except perhaps study harder. God is wise: if all His plans for my future were revealed to me right now I might well faint from fright, or run away like Jonah.

I'm glad I blogged, the knot in my mind is untied. Thus I turn to my Tormentor and say: Har-har, you don't confuse me. I have handed over to the One who is above all powers.

The humility of the nativity

Imagine the little town of Bethlehem... Caesar had issued a decree that a census be taken of the entire Roman world, and so everyone from the line of David was flocked to the town of David (ie, the little town of Bethlehem) to register. King David lived some twenty generations ago, so you can imagine, there are a lot of people. A lot, in a small town. In the crowd that night was a young man, trudging wearily. The bible doesn't tell us but I imagine him to be in his early twenties. He had travelled a long way (most likely on foot... the distance between Nazareth and Bethlehem is roughly 110km, roughly the distance between Brisbane and Noosa Heads), the journey had been slowed somewhat by the girl with him. I imagine the girl to be a mere teenager (they married very young in those days), and she is heavily pregnant. The paintings have her depicted as very beautiful, with flawless smooth skin and a serene look on her face. But we know that God does not look on the exterior, as humans do. I imagine her to be very plain, and indeed one may never notice her in a crowd like this, excepting of course the enormous swollen belly.

To make matters worse, the girl starts contracting. It is Time... the contractions are getting stronger and stronger, and more frequent. Her eyes widen with fear, panic, and pain, and she alerts the young man. He forgets his weary feet, grabs her by the hand, and pushes through the crowd desperately, knocking from inn to inn. Won't anyone let them in? But no, they are all filled, and there are people everywhere. But is there really no room for a teenager about to give birth? Finally, they settle in a manger, Mary gives birth, and they are visited by the Magi and some shepherds. (Of course, this last bit is my imagination. Luke doesn't tell us whether she started her labour while on the road, or when she was already settled in the manger. Indeed, I don't even know whether she experienced pain. But considering that the adult Jesus laughed and wept and got tired like the rest of us, I would imagine his birth to be the same too.)

And thus, the almighty Creator entered into the created world. At this point, surely the non-Christians reading would scoff: does this not prove that he wasn't the King of Kings? Would the King of Kings come in such a way, borne by a scared, scandalised little teenager, impoverished and fleeing from the puppet ruler Herod? Is this the reception befitting a King?

The Nativity story is indeed a humble one. Why did Jesus come into the world in such humble circumstances? And yet, his entire life was a life of humility. He fled from crowds. He told those he healed not to tell others. He washed the feet of his apostles, including Judas, who was to betray him that very evening. The creator of food experienced hunger; the creator of the wind and the rain got rained upon. And finally, the creator of humans got crucified by humans, using the wood and nails that He created. Why? Well, we know why he came (John 3:16 - so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life), but why the humble circumstances? Why be the underdog?

When I started writing this it was never my plan to expound my own theological theories (God knows I have none). But I could probably hazard a guess. Jesus said: "My kingdom is not of this world", and indeed it was never His plan to become King of the Jews (or any such equivalent) during his time on earth, nor to convert the world by physical power but by sacrifice and love. Had he been born into a rich and powerful household, history might have turned out very differently.

If we take the story of Christmas to be the first great statement in the life of Jesus, the statement would be something like this: "I'm humble, I'm approachable, and I understand your feelings of poverty, hopelessness, fear, and oppression."

What a wonderful statement from the One who is exhalted above all things... the Exhalted who resides in heaven, understanding first-hand the likes of you and me.

And what better time to reflect upon this, than at Christmas...

Crime and Punishment

Just finished Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. You've got to read it. It's brilliant.

What is it about these Russian authors who manage to write a thriller, a tragedy, a romance, a philosophical/social/theological commentry, all in one novel?

End of elective...

Today was my last day of elective at Kingaroy General Hospital. It certainly has been an interesting time. Many times I have fought the urge to blog... but I didn't because, after all, Kingaroy is a small-ish town and I don't want to run the risk of revealing the identities of my patients by blogging about my experiences with them.

At the beginning of the year, when we were all wide-eyed 1st day medical students (oh how long ago it seems!), we were given a lecture named "Celebrating Life and Confronting Death". I think it is fair (and safe) to say that during my time at KGH I have celebrated life and confronted death, observed physical diseases, mental illnesses, and social ills (sometimes all in one patient)... and witnessed the best and worst of humans when faced with a challenge. The faith, resilience and courage of some patients (and their families) put me to shame... and yet some others really discouraged me as well. I guess you could say I walk away inspired and warned at the same time.

The doctors and staff at KGH are amazing... here, I found doctors who actually appealed to my idealistic naive side (rather than the caustic cynic). Witnessing them work so hard and yet still get bad press in the local papers is disheartening... but I guess that's the way it is, we live in a fallen world.

The town is a cute little town too... with two little look-outs to which I can ascend to watch the sunset. I'm in love with the dusk. The only complaint I have is that the water here makes my eczema flair up...

So anyway, tomorrow morning I will pack and clean out my room and start on my drive back to Brisbane... then holidays. It is going to feel so strange, to be on holidays. I don't want to work but I may have to, just to keep myself sane.

that time of the year again...

Yep, that's right. I turned 21 today.

Sigh.

Photos

http://www.flickr.com/photos/20012710@N05/ is the website where I've uploaded some photos of Kingaroy and surrounding areas. May upload more later, so keep eye out.

Facing a patient with terminal illness

The emotion felt by a terminally ill patient, the grief and despair, is a totally unique emotion. It is so raw, so vulnerable, so personal.

As a medical student, facing such emotions, I felt almost like an intruder. The patient is expressing his depair to his doctor, and I'm standing, stony-faced, behind the doctor, holding my breath. Of course, I'm here at the hospital to observe and learn. But in such an instance, I felt intrusive. It is as if I'm a journalist, a TV camera, zooming in and examining with excruciating clarity each sob, each tear, each word. My presence as an empirical, scientific observer, somehow offends the personal, emotional and delicate scene before me. I felt as if I was a ton of bricks, dumped upon a field of delicate daisies.

As intrusive as I felt, I could not physically move myself. I remained, statue-like, obtrusive and self-conscious. I had no encouraging words to offer. Cursed with a totally honest nature, I could not conjure up soothing words or comforting sounds to fit with a situation where I myself was not comfortable. I listened to the doctor make her encouraging remarks, my fellow med students coo softly and offer tissues, but I could do little else but stand there like an idiot. Hit with the scene before me, I could not remain emotionally untouched - I was grieved for the patient, for his pain, his despair, but also my own inadequecy in finding the right words. My fellow students and the doctors seemed to be able to remain untouched; they could offer their words or actions of comfort, and move on. I, on the other hand, was immobalised during the whole ordeal, and can not get the image of the weeping old man out of my head.

I think, it is fair to say, that this experience has upset me. Just a little.

At Kingaroy: Day 1

Today was my much anticipated (and somewhat dreaded) first day at Kingaroy Hospital.

I arrived at Kingaroy at 4pm yesterday, having already had a highly eventful morning (the details of the morning really deserve a separate blog entry by itself). My head was already throbbing when I started the car at 1pm at home, so I can't say I enjoyed the drive much. It was peppered by either following behind trucks or caravans that went 20kph below the speed limit, or tail-gating 4WD's that felt the need to intimidate a little asian with a little car. Sometimes both. But one thing I did notice, despite my sub-optimal state, and that was the simple beauty of the Queensland countryside. From my car window I saw a scene that looked like a child's drawing - small, mound-like green hills, rolling plains, tiny ponds (always with a small tree next to them)... and even, at one stage, a field checkered by different crops. It was an unassuming, subtle beauty, compared to the night lights of the cities or the sunny sands of Gold Coast. It is easily missed. But beauty can always be found, if you look for it. And when it comes to the Queensland countryside, you only need to look out your car window. (Sounds like an advertisement!)

The accomodation is everything I'd expected. Very small, very simple, very basic. Actually, Kingaroy is turning out to be not half the character-building exercise I'd anticipated. I thought that I would be in a room, with nothing but my books, my bible, and my laptop. Disconnected from all distractions, I would either read, or study God's word, or study med. Much to my surprise, there is free internet. So it's me, my books, my bible, my laptop - and the rest of the world at the click of a mouse (well touch-pad actually). I'd anticipated that I'd have to cook every meal for myself, as well as clean up after myself etc. Much to my surprise, meals are provided. I'm told that the provided meals are very small, simple, and basic (like the accomodation), but none the less, I think my mum would be disappointed to find that I probably havn't learnt much life skills at the end of this period.

The hospital itself - the staff are all very friendly, and keen to help. I'm actually very tired from having been standing all day. As a radiographer I used to be accustomed to it, but a year of sedentary studying has done away with that.

I gave my first injection today. It was only intra-muscular. But still, I've never stuck needles in people before.

The nurse said: "Have you ever given intra-muscular injections before?"
Me: "No..."
Nurse: "Alright then. You hold the needle like so. Then you clean the area. Then you jab it into the thigh like it's a dart."
Me (afraid to look at my patient's expression): "Uh, how far?"
Nurse: "All the way through."
I stared at the needle - it was about 2 or 3 cm long. I gritted my teeth, and jabbed... It wasn't too painful an experience, for me anyway.

Later on, the same nurse said to me: "I need to give one on the arm. You want to do it?"
Me: "Um, ok"
The patient (the same one as before) turns and says to his wife: "It's only her second injection."
I gritted my teeth, and jabbed again, trying to ignore the deltoid muscle twitching under my needle.

I'm not sure if I'll get to deliver babies this time round. But hopefully I'll get to suture. THAT would be coooool.

Well, that's all that I have to report. I have to prepare my own dinner today as I didn't know I could order meals from the hospital canteen. Will update later.

Farewell is such sweet sorrow...

I'm going to Kingaroy next week for my end-of-year elective. To those of you who don't know, Kingaroy is a small-ish town about 3 hours drive from Brisbane. I'll be living at the Nurse's Quarters next to the hospital, and the elective lasts for 4 weeks.

I'm not sure if I am going to be coming back to Brisbane for the weekends. Most probably, but it would depend on what I feel like. If I don't come back, I'll probably die from boredom. If I do come back, it's 6 hours of driving each weekend...

I doubt anyone cares, but this probably means that I won't be updating the "Quote of the week" and "Verse of the Week" columns for a few weeks. Or indeed this blog at all.

Hopefully when I come back I would have some photos to upload, hopefully of Kingaroy and the surrounding areas (if I bother to venture around). I'll be passing Wivenhoe dam on the way so if I'm not in too much of a rush I'll stop and take photos there. But chances are I'll miss the turn-off...

The difference between going away and staying in Brisbane is that, in Brisbane, if I have a terrible time or a terrible supervisor, I can come home, away from the hospital, and leave it behind. Over there, I'm living in the Nurse's Quarters, right next to the hospital. And I'm by myself. I pray, for my sanity's sake, that my supervisor is a nice person. He sounds alright, although when I called him yesterday, much to my amusement, he appeared to have forgotten that I was going to come.

Oh well. Back to packing. I'm packing a small library of books.

Exam Finished

Yep, she's finally through. Feels sooo good.

Yesterday, I made sure that I left the room early to avoid the rush (and avoid talking to people afterwards about the exam). I got on the next bus into the city and called my friend out for lunch / debrief. I hadn't actually planned on shopping the entire afternoon, but both of us were having fun, and I didn't want to be left alone with my thoughts. So I shopped from about 12:30 til 5, when the shops closed. At the end we were so exhausted I was talking gibberish (which I had been doing for the past few days anyway) and was actually feeling physically faint.

Back home, a quick dinner with my family, and off to bible study. Sounds kinda... sedate... for a post-exam celebration doesn't it? Haha... But I wouldn't have it any other way. Well I couldn't have anyway, I nearly fell asleep several times toward the beginning as it were. At bible study I played on the host's wii and regurgitated my vague memories of learning to play the guitar (I can still play a few chords! I can't believe it).

But all good things come to an end, and though I may run around and occupy myself with idle things, I must face myself sooner or later. My room is still a mess; my study notes nauseate me but I must tidy them. As soon as I stop moving my mind goes back to the exam.

Never before in my life had mental effort translated to such physical pain. By the end of the three-hour exam yesterday, my back was in pain from arching across my wobbly table, my shoulders, neck, and right arm were screaming after having been unconsciously tensed for 3 hours. I was starting to feel very hungry, and my eyes were starting to see double as I churned out that ridiculous ethics essay. My head was the most difficult to ignore, I felt like my head was in a vice. (Of course, then I went to the city and shopped for 5 hours, after which my thighs and calves and feet were also starting a rally.)

As I think back to the exam I don't even know how much sense my essay made, or how funny my responses to those depression/suicide questions must seem to the exam marker. Blissfully, that's all the detail I remember from the exam. God is indeed kind to me.

I'm slightly surprised. I have confronted my memories of the exam and found that I actually have no recollection of what was on the exam or what I wrote. Oh, good. Now I can move on.

My notes still nauseate me. But they must go into into retirement.

On the home stretch

Do I dare say it? I almost don't want to say it in case I jinx myself.

But I think I am going to be ok.

This week is the last week of class (most classes of which I'm not attending). Next week is cram-week. Then exams on the Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. 21st, 23rd, and 24th October.

If I can compare myself to one of those elite athletes, in the weeks preceeding the Olympics they may say that they are doing OK, that they need more training but they are on track. I feel a bit like that. I got a to-do list the length of my arm, and I'm seeing things that remind me of med everywhere I look. But I'm happy with my progress. One step at a time, I will get there.

Just got to hang in there, keep up the pace, for two more weeks. Two more weeks. Two more weeks. Then I can do what I like, drive myself to the beach and sleep on the sand all day. Well, I probably won't do that but it's a nice thought. Go on a shopping spree. Buy something colourful and extravagant and useless. Exercise more. On second thoughts, no. I won't bother with the exercise, I will just sleep all day.

Getting through the year...

It is now 4 weeks til the end-of-year exams. I have 4 weeks now to revise 30 weeks of content, memorise the drugs, micro-organisms, stuff like that.

I havn't really started yet. In fact, I am putting it off, by blogging. As you can undoubtedly see. I'm being scared by the people around me: they are all better organised than me, smarter than me, and have started revision already. I was putting it off, thinking I could get away with it...

I just want this year to end, so I can go on holidays and sleep all day. My enthusiasm and motivation (which I had at the beginning of this year) has decreased exponentially - the only thing that is keeping me going (ie, staying in med, studying) is my inertia. We all know that in physics, motion caused by inertia eventually ceases due to friction. How the heck am I going to get through the rest of my degree?

I must here devote a little paragraph in gratitude to my bible study group. Those kids are wonderfully unsympathetic - and they make a joke about everything. I made a comment about dissection lab and they didn't stop joking about it for 3 weeks. They force you to laugh at yourself, at those around you, and at your situation. Although my bible study leader keeps telling me that there is no point in trying so hard to get into medicine and then let it get you depressed. I think my problem is that I'm not depressed enough - if I'm depressed at least it will make me motivated to get my act together.

Ohhhh wells. Back to it.

Heard Dr Charlie Teo speak last night

Last night the famous Dr Charlie Teo came to UQ to deliver the annual (and 50th) E. S. Meyer's lecture... and of course I couldn't pass by such an opportunity. To those who don't know, Dr Charlie Teo is a very famous neurosurgeon who, to put it concisely, developed a new method of doing neurosurgery that is shunned by the general neurosurgery profession. In order to raise awareness of this new method, he has appeared on TV on numerous occasions. As far as I understand (since I don't actually watch TV I am only speculating about this), in his TV appearances he gave the impression of putting down other Australian neurosurgeons, which of course made him no friends. In response, the Neurosurgical Society of Australia made an advertisement in The Australian that described him as a "self-promoter". A very ugly saga, as you can imagine.

The lecture he delivered was entitled What doesn't kill you... makes you stronger. He took this opportunity to expound upon the importance of thinking outside the square. He gave numerous instances of times where his method had succeeded where traditional methods have failed. At this, I must admit to feeling some cynicism: so that is what they mean when they say he is a self-promoter, I thought. But then I realised, he wasn't promoting himself (although it seemed there was a small element of pride present, I thought), but he was promoting a method that he obviously felt would be of great benefit to patients. If nothing else, it is obvious that he is very passionate about his work - and surely, if he feels that this method is going to save lives, then it is natural that he should feel the need to go to radical measures to gather support for it. Dr Barry Marshall drank bacteria, Dr Charlie Teo goes on TV and speaks about it at every opportunity.

Being only in first year, (and having not even done the neuro block yet), I can throw no light upon the controversy. However, I'd love to hear the other side of the story. What are the differences between the endoscopic surgery (promoted by Dr Teo) and the current use of microsurgery and keyhole surgery? If it is so good, why are neurosurgeons slow on the uptake of this method? (Surely it's got to be more than just simply pride or laziness?) If there ever were going to be a public debate, I would love to be there.

I have mixed feelings about his approach, however. I haven't seen the television appearances myself, but I do know that his statements would sound as if he were criticising the competence of Australian neurosurgeons. What does this do to the profession? How exactly does this help the patient, who doesn't know what to believe and who to turn to? In a profession where trust is absolutely crucial, what does this do to the trust between patient and doctor? In medicine, the idea of self-regulation is important, where the profession "police" themselves. This question was posed to Dr Teo at the end of the lecture, and he answered remarkably well - when the profession's ability to self-regulate fails, that is when the public has to step in.

But my question remains - if he had done things differently, if his comments were not so easily misinterpreted, would there have been a better result? After all, understandably, people do not respond well to a private doctor going on TV to say "Well, I think I'm the best".

My reservations aside, there is one thing that is remarkable about this man, and that is his zeal toward his work and to his patients. And if his surgical methods are as good as his indicates (and I think they are), then they will undoubtedly eventually become the norm - and I feel excited and honoured to be a witness to this progress.

Well anyway, that concludes my spiel. As exciting as this is, I don't think I could be a neurosurgeon. Playing around with people's brains... gives me the shudders.

Good luck to interviewees

My clinical coach is an interviewer for the medical school entry interviews for UQ this year; and so some of our session times has had to be changed to accomodate this. Yes, you guessed it, it's reminiscing time. I was so nervous, I said some stupid stuff, and I giggled a lot. Sigh

If anyone is reading this, who is going for a medical school interview this year, http://supersida.blogspot.com/2006/12/uq-med-interview-experience-2006.html is the link to the post I'd made about the questions I got asked.

A word of warning, though. My friend and I were discussing this, and we both thought that it would be so much fun to just go and sit in the waiting room, and watch the nervous expressions on people's faces... and knowing what they will face if they do get in. It's like seeing people who are anxious to be given the opportunity to torture themselves. (Of course, we wouldn't really do it. Even if we were that sadistic, I doubt they'd let us).

But of course, I am just bitter and tired and starving for a holiday. I'm sure that if you are trying to get into medicine, nothing that I say will stop you. Certainly it wouldn't have stopped me.

Well, good luck to everyone else that is trying to get in this year. And if you don't get it, don't worry. It means that you have another year to live your lovely pre-medicine life. And if you do get in... well... you'll see.

SuperSida celebrates 1000 visitors

Yes, that's right. 1000 unique visitors, as opposed to 1000 visits by the same people. Well, probably not THAT much of a big deal, but I checked in to see the whole number, 1000. My own little slice of the internet. Cool.

Lets see where Supersida has taken us since its creation. Hmmm...

Well, the most exciting would have been how this blog got me in contact (well, not really contact... I have his office manager's contact) with Medicine Royalty (Australia's own crazy Professor Barry Marshall, whoes story would make a great David-vs-Goliath style movie... to read about it click here)... actually, now that I think about it, how much do we bet, that when Professor Marshall retires, someone is going to make a movie?

What else? I shared some tips about the gamsat, some experiences from the Med interview... and... that's about it.

It seems like I have my own little corner of the Internet, only to use it to complain about how I bought the wrong tea, a cake that went all wrong, and things like that.

Which is why I only have had 1000 visitors.

But ahhhhh well. At least it kept me entertained. And I got a sheet of commemorative
stamps for my effort.

The whinge of a hypochondriac

I have had this neck pain for ages, I can't remember how long. I've always attributed it to sleeping in a funny position, or studying for too long. The pain has always been on the same spot: on the back of my neck, on the right upper border of the trapezius muscle.

Yesterday, at about 10am, all of a sudden, I experienced a sharp stabbing pain in that exact location, whereupon I could not move my head nor my arm without excruciating pain. Sitting in a rather prominent position in the library, I managed to gather my things, log off on the computer, and leave the building before emitting a loud moan. As the day wore on, I was able to move my arm but my range of movement of my neck was poor.

I bet you're all thinking: she pulled something. That is what I thought too, except there was no trauma. In the afternoon, when I went to pick up my brother from his after school care facility, I encountered an old friend who was in final year physiotherapy, and who happened to be working there. She got me to sit on the children's couch , where she "looked at" my neck. The "consultation" ran thus:

She moves my head. I scream. The children gawk, then giggle nervously. "Wow, you've lost range of movement," She says. Tell me something I don't bloody know, I thought darkly.

She pokes my neck. I scream. The children are silent, all are concentrating on me now. Their eyes are like 20c coins. "That spot." I say. "Yeah, that's your triggering point... see?" she pokes that spot again. I scream again. I bloody well know that's my triggering point, you didn't need to show me, you twit, I think to myself. But of course, I appreciated her doing this and so I kept my mouth shut.

One little girl comes up to me. "Who are you?" she says. "She is my old friend, and she is training to be a doctor." my friend states. The little girl backs away.

When she was finally done, she said: "I havn't done a proper examination on you. But I think it's either disc, or spasm, or both. But that's only my opinion. Don't take my word for it."

Crap! I thought (completely forgetting about my friend's many disclaimers). Disc as in disc protrusion? How do they treat that anyway? I don't think they can! Arrgh crap!

The pain didn't get any better last night, despite my use of pain killers and heat-packs. I couldn't even sleep properly; dreaming about the pain and waking up to the pain. Sometime during the night (I think, around 3am), I woke up, and palpated my neck, at the "triggering point" and (drowsily) thought: shit, is that a lump? What is this lumpy thing? My gosh, what if I have a tumour of some sort, growing at my brachial plexus? It would have to be surgically removed. Bye-bye use of the right arm. I won't be able to be a doctor anymore. I won't be able to do ANYthing anymore. No no, hold on, I can be a phone-counsellor. Actually I can be a non-phone-counsellor too. I will go to one of those Christian colleges... I wonder which one? (Yes I know it's stupid, but it was 3am and I was in pain.)

Fast forward to this morning, when I finally saw a GP. She listened to me describe it, poked my neck, and said: "You've pulled something." She gave me a NSAID (a "doctor's sample", right off her desk), and basically that was that. No scans. No extensive range-of-movement tests. No questions about how much I study or what I do in my part time. And that was that. I left, feeling some ambivalence over the "physicians sample" drugs, my own hypochondriac tendencies, and why I am such a wimp. My mum bought me pizza to go with my meds and told me soothingly that everyone percieves pain differently (which I know) and I am just sensitive to pain. At least it was nice to be babied.

And now my life must return to normal, albeit with a pain in the neck. So no more procrastinating for me: Iron absorption and metabolism is waiting for me.

Snippits from a 14 year old

I found my diary that I kept when I was 14. I read it, and did NOT stop cringing. Was I EVER like that? I must have - not only did I write it, I vaguely remember writing it too. I've always thought that I didn't go through the teenage angst period, but reading my old diary it seems like I am any one of those crazy pimply teens. Here are some HILARIOUS snippets - I honestly don't remember being this way.

First page of diary:

"I got a new diary. Mum and Dad's buying things we need before the GST starts on the 1st July." - 29 June 2000. (Ha! I bet THAT can go on a lifecourse grid!)

"Mr Jensen says I might get a maths award at the end of the year. That would be cool, I can use it in job applications and such." - 29 June 2000. (At the age of 13 and a half)

"They won't let me go with Kate and Amy. They said they'll let me go if I was a boy. They say I'm only 13. That's bloody bull crap." - 20 July 2000 (HAHA, I certainly don't remember this!)

"You know, I'm not doing all this work for nothing. I'm sacrificing hours and hours for study to get a good career and earn a good living and have lots of friends. If you're not everything I ever wanted to be, then GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER" - August 2000, a letter that I wrote to my future self. (Oh, Miss 13 year old Sida - YOU think YOU're doing so much work? Boy, are you in for a shock)

"Maybe I should take up anorexia... My legs are like tree trunks and my arms are like telegraph poles. I wish I'd be around 40kgs. I wish I was taller. I'm mega depressed.... I will write again later, if I havn't jumped under a bus by then." - 17th January 2001 (That's funny, cos I have never seen a telegraph pole in my life. My legs are STILL like tree trunks. But when did I ever care so much?)

Every page is filled with this sort of stuff. It's crazy. I think I will stop embarrassing myself now... but I hope this provided you with as much amusement as it did me.

More updates

Havn't posted for a while. Now that I have handed in that horrific assignment (I don't think I blogged about that... and I don't think I want to), life has settled back to its previous norm (well, as normal as it ever gets for me anyway). I never realised that the reproductive system was so boring. All those hormones just to produce a baby. After the jokes were made about the tough little "swimmers" making the "torturous journey" up the "hostile terrain" to the egg, it was really rather dull. This week was genetics - accompanied by the usual jokes about the redundancy of the Y chromosome. (The joke is making me weary, so if you don't know, don't ask.)

Last week (or was it the week before? So hazy these days), my bible study leader said that as an "extra challenge", he is thinking that I would make a great leader (in our church community, presumably) and he is praying that "one day we can entrust people under your care." I know what you are thinking. How is him praying for me to become a leader present a challenge to ME? I don't know - this guy speaks in code sometimes, and it is a code I havn't cracked yet...

You can imagine, this came as a big shock for me - those who know me would undoubtedly say that I have as much leadership qualities as an ant. Without its little feeler thingies. Aren't leaders usually knowledgeable/wiser/more experienced/better organised/more fearless? I possess none of these characteristics. However, when I made this clear, he indicated (with some biblical backup) that none of these were crucial characteristics of a leader in Christ. As a final appeal, I said: "but you know me!" to which he replied: "Yes, and that is why I think you would make an awesome leader". So, what does a leader in Christ need? What ever it is, he seems to think I've got, and I didn't want to ask in case it seemed like I was seeking a compliment.

So this triggered me to go search for clues in the bible, and I found that the leaders of God's people varied greatly in abilities - the only thing they seemed to have in common was their faith and obedience. Could it be that this was the only thing that was required? No other prerequisites? It seemed to make sense - since the Lord Almighty is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords and would obviously provide the best on-the-job training possible - such that anything that I was not equipped with, He will give it to me, so that I can do His work. This sounded good but it had two flaws - one is that I came up with this myself so its probably wrong, and the other is that if it were that easy surely we'd have more leaders than followers?

Asking my bible study leader was now out of the question - he told me "No pressure - we will see what happens next - don't worry too much about it". (Now is it just me or is that a typical guy thing to say?) So I sought out another friend from a different church, who basically told me that I was on the right track and the reason why there were more followers than leaders is because not everyone responds to God's call. Interesting. He said: "God doesn't call the qualified - He qualifies those He calls." (Actually I'm not sure if that is what he said - it sounded a lot more eloquent than what I quoted but the meaning is there.) If He called me to take on a certain role, then He will equip me with what I need to perform that role. So I guess after this I was a bit comforted and assured. And I realised that Christian leaders are really Christian servants (actually I've always known this but now I appreciate what that actually means) - and although I have doubts about my abilities as a leader, I am willing to be a servant.

So anyway, that concludes my little spiel. My bible study leader told me not to worry about it. I wonder if he knows how hard that is. He is starting up a weekly group next month... I don't know what is going to happen, but there is nothing I can do but pray and wait. Relax, Sida. It can't be that bad, right?

My very first exam in my medical career...

I passed. But only just passed.

Very relieved... but I passed with such a small margin that I am highly ashamed.

Oh well. I'm just hoping that the School doesn't single me out as one of those who "needs a bit of help". That would be a bit embarrassing.

Sigh... back to work...

what I did this morning

I have done most of the things I had intended to do today, and the things that I have not done (sigh) I have decided to be worthy of procrastination. So here I am, blogging.

This morning, I went to pick up one of our pastors from the airport, at the request his family, who were unfortunately unable to greet him themselves. The entire thing was rather uneventful - we came, we picked up, we left. (By we, I meant me, and the pastor's 16-year-old son, who accompanied me.)

The reason I am blogging about it (apart from the fact that I am bored), is that speaking to this man reminded me of what C. S. Lewis called 'people who have their eyes set firmly upon heaven.' Indeed this man has his eyes and heart set firmly up there. I don't know him well, he only comes to Australia once in a while to preach to our church... he usually lives in Taiwan where he is the pastor of another church.

Upon leaving the airport, I said: "And there's the traffic again..." to which this pastor quickly said: "If there is lots of traffic, it means the economy is booming, and the government will soon build new roads. It's a blessed thing, if you look at it that way. Imagine if the streets were empty - we'd never get new roads..." I was very surprised by this postulation - this level of optimism can only be from the truly blessed (after all, we get traffic jams everyday without road upgrades in sight). I declined to suggest that if the streets were empty we'd never need new roads, and kept driving.

We were coming down Hale street, approaching Coronation Drive, when he suddenly asked me: "Sida, what is your role in spreading the Gospel to China?" ... There was a silence as I tried to think of what to say very quickly. At the same time, I knew the 16 year old beside me was suddenly rather embarrassed and was also thinking of what to say. Finally, we both spoke.

"Dad, she is only young..." said the 16 year old, 4 years younger than me.
"Um. I am not sure..." said I. "I don't think I am considering returning to China anytime soon. If at all."
"Ahaha," he laughed nervously, aware that he'd put me on the spot. There was a silence. "The Gospel need to be preached in China," he said, finally.
"Of course" said I.

Upon more questioning, it was revealed that he is heavily involved with evangelical efforts in China, their organisation has trained recently some 200 Chinese men and women who were able to spread the Word in China. These operations had to be done in secret, for fear of persecution (reminds me a little of movies..). In fact, a finishing-school had recently been built that churns out preachers... a sort of seminary, which of course is not called a seminary, not officially anyhow. He told me that he envisions China to one day have so many Christians that it would be able send missionaries elsewhere. "The British and the Americans have had their turn - this is now the century of the Chinese."

This sort of vision... well, it has all the characteristics of the vision that starts off great things. It is vast, grandiose, ambitious, and sufficiently unlikely for it to be scoffed at. This is the sort of visions that says to all other visions: "pfffft, you? you're not a vision, I'm a vision! You're a daydream!"

The topic was not pursued further, but I felt very guilty for not having shared in that vision. I guess my future plans involve working in medical aid with a missionary movement in third-world countries, but it did not occur to me to mention this - and I am glad. My plans, even now, sound flimsy and superficial.

Why do I not like the idea of working and spreading the Gospel in China? Why do I prefer the idea of Cambodia or India or Africa? I guess, for one thing, it's the prospect of exoticness - after all, I've been to China, I know what China is like. The other thing I think is the language barrier. I left China when I was 9, so I have the communication skills (in Chinese) of a 9-year-old. Well, perhaps a little better than that... but not much better. I have enough problems explaining my faith in English, the thought of using Chinese gives me headaches. In Cambodia, if you can't speak the local language, it is an inconvenience. In China, if you can speak the local language and yet the locals have no idea what you are on about - then you are an imbecile.

On the other hand, I can speak Chinese, and I can read about 80% of the written word (with my finger under the line and with a great deal of concentration). Perhaps that is where I ought to go. In the end, God will show me where I fit in His plan.

I just hope it doesn't involve China.

A funny excerpt:

"Most medical students faced with giving their interpretation of a chest X-ray either opt for a 'spot diagnosis' (usually wrong) or raise their eyes to heaven, hoping for divine inspiration. However, a systematic approach is generally more useful!"
- From Clinical Examination: a systematic guide to physical diagnosis by Nicholas J Talley and Simon O'Connor.

Funnily enough, as a radiographer, I know something of the systematic approach. If put on the spot by a clinical tutor, I may well hope for divine inspiration. Despite the two, I will probably still come up with a 'spot diagnosis' that is incorrect.

In the words of a friend: "we live and learn."

On maturity

Recently, a good friend asked me, across MSN: "Sida, when will we ever mature?" This question was asked during the time that I was cramming for my exam and I knew she was busy doing some gigantic assignment. My thoughts ran thus:

1. Soo sleeppyyy... whyyyy is she asking this me now? at this time? How on earth did she come up with this?
2. Hey! What did she mean, when will "WE" mature!
3. Lord, help me to answer my friend's question with Your wisdom, help me to address my friend's concerns
4. Hey! Why did you only remember the Lord at thought number 3? Are you loosing it?!

By thought four, I had sufficiently awoken myself to attempt a serious conversation with my friend. We considered what "maturity" meant to us, and discovered that our thoughts ran more or less along similar lines. Neither of us were capable of a succinct definition but we could both point out to characteristics of maturity in others, that we knew we lacked. She pointed out to her friends, who were capable of great self-discipline despite working long hours, and who seemed to be capable of working with an attitude of good cheer. I thought of some of my fellow Christians, who seemed to be able to take all difficulty in a matter-of-fact, uncomplaining sort of way, always trusting God. You never hear them complaining about anything. Our discussion ended with a consensus that we both had no idea. I think I said something about not knowing when I will mature but trusting God to use me all the same (this sounded very good, but says nothing about my own impatience with myself). Being a non-Christian and also being distracted with a gigantic assignment, she replied with something along the lines of: "mmmmmm".

Now that I have had time to think, if we were to look for the characteristics of a mature person, one need not look further than the good Lord Himself. One thing that struck me the most is Matthew 14:12-14, which describes Jesus's actions after hearing the death of John the Baptist. "When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick." The actual number of the crowd was five thousand, besides women and children (Matthew 14:21).

I can imagine how I would feel, in that situation: my friend has been killed brutally, I wanted to retire to somewhere quiet to pray and mourn... and there's the crowd again, five thousand this time... same as usual - with all sorts of infirmities, pushing forward, each wanting attention, each wanting to just grab at my robe. I can not say what I would have done, but I can imagine myself complaining, even if just privately to my friends. This is the maturity that I lack: the matter-of-fact way that I see my friends go through their daily lives, balancing work with ministry with family, and yet never complaining and always trusting in the Lord.

A few days after I'd decided to reprimand for my lack of maturity, I was reading Habakkuk when I realised that it less about "never complaining" and more about "always trusting". Habakkuk 1:3 says: Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrong? Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and conflict abounds.

In fact, I can remember several other instances of 'complaints' in the bible, from the biblical greats: - Moses, Jeremiah, David in countless psalms, Job, Elijah, Jonah... and I'm sure that those who are more theologically minded can think of others too. What is important to note, though, that in all these prophets who made 'complaints', they ended up trusting God nevertheless a few verses down the track. I guess Christian maturity is more about trust and faith than anything else.

Trust and faith - so simple. This whole blog entry comes down to simply trust and faith. But as I progress in my pilgrimage (so to speak), I encounter trials that test these simple things, such that I want to cry louder than all the prophets (and the lamenters from Lamentations) put together. I guess it's heartening to know that it is OK to do that, as long as (to quote from the bible, Lamentations 3:24) I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."

Post-exam blues

On Post-exam depression

The exam was bad. I don't want to talk about it... but I think I should have been more organised with my studying and perhaps approached a different way... anyway I'm not going to think too much about it until the exam results come out. It is sufficient to say that perhaps it is the worst exam I have ever sat. At least with the Gamsat, it was ok to do badly because everyone does badly.

Immediately afterwards, I went to a shopping centre to comfort myself with the latest fashion, only to discover that I am now too old for the latest fashion (either that, or I am too sane to wear it). I went to disrupt a friend at his workplace, but immediately guilt added itself to my general bad-mood, as I realised that I was disrupting someone at their work. I picked up my brother from school, and he had nothing comforting to say but "Well, we'll have to wait and see. Are you still buying me dinner?" (Although later, to his credit, he said "If you're so smart, and failed that exam, I don't know how all those doctors became doctors." Not bad coming from a nine-year-old.)

Fast forward to Saturday, I didn't have work. My mum said: "I'm taking your brother to art class, then we can go shopping."

"Don't wanna shop", said I.
"What are you going to do at home?" at the time I was still sitting in bed, albeit reading a book.
"Dunno..."
"You're not going to just sit around and mope all day, are you?" My mum was getting worried now
I kept silent at this point, putting faith into the view that if you ignore them, they will go away. It doesn't always work, but it works enough to always try it.
"You're not going to just sit around and mope until you get the results, are you?" she repeated.
"Yes"
At this point, my mum set her jaw and said: "No, you are coming shopping with me." (Actually, she doesn't have the kind of jaw that you can set. But believe me, if she had that kind of jaw, then she would have set it at the point.)

My mum believes in a sort of cleansing after a traumatic event. A literal sort of cleansing. After my exam, I gave my study room a cursory sort of clean-up, putting my exam notes in a pile under my desk. I felt nauseous at the sight of them, and I thought that I will sort them out after I get the results.

I was sleeping when I heard the banging, and I knew it came from my study room. In it was my dear mother, with a big broom, and a big pile of dirt, scrunched up paper, and, yes, my exam notes, sprawled among the other stuff. "I have swept everything that is on the floor into this pile. I even reached under the desk and shelves. I want you to take out what is important and then sweep everything else up." I guess that is one way to face your phobia of study notes... On her way down stairs, my dear mother said: "Oh, I am also going to do some washing for you. I want you to empty your closet of all the things you should have washed. And be quick about it, I don't have all day."

This, I knew, was part of my mum's way of literal cleansing, but I had nothing particular that needed washing, that wasn't already in the laundry. But I knew my mother... if I told her that she will storm into my room and no doubt the drawers will yield a dirty sock and some shirts that I should have hung up but 'forgot' to do. I knew from experience that the easiest thing was to appease my mother with a few socks and some pyjamas, regardless of whether they needed washing or not. Then she left me alone to my moping.

Actually, I realised that I spend more time talking about moping than I actually do mope. The reason is that, when I am by myself, I try anything to take my mind off things. But the result is that all my friends seem to be a bit worried about me. I'm ok, really, I just complain a lot.

Just realised that this blog entry seemed to complain more about my dearest mother than about that exam. I hope she never reads this.

Top 5 things to do immediately after exam:

Sida's top 5 things to do after I complete that damned exam coming up on Thursday:

1. SLEEP!
2. SLEEP more!
3. keep sleeping...!
4. maybe go see Shrek with my brother... then sleep some more...
5. go shopping! Then sleep...

As you can probably see, I am really tired right now, and I'm just so over this exam.

Euphoria explained

Study-induced Euphoria: where, after 6 or 7 hours of intense cramming non-stop, the student feels a feeling of intense euphoria. There is a feeling of light-headedness, whereby the student finds everything amusing, and will happily sit and giggle at the world. This has been likened to the euphoric feeling of drunkeness, and indeed the student is unfit to drive or dial. More aptly, it can be likened to the psychotic feeling of lightness that a person may feel, if that person were heading for the gallows.

Worship-induced Euphoria: where, after worship, the person feels a lightness of being, general happiness, and invincibility. Unlike Study-induced Euphoria, the person does not feel psychotic. Although this is generally a good thing, it can be slightly dangerous if the person is driving. At hearing a worship song on the radio, a worshipper may sing out loud. The feeling of indestructability may induce irratic behaviour.

Time to buy a bikini...

They said to us, in the first week or so: "You will meet some amazing people, develope some amazing friendships, that will last the rest of your lives. Because you do everything together, you will get to know your PBL group really well..."

I underestimated that last statement. Allow me to explain. We need to learn certain things involving the chest - for example, listening to breath sounds, heart beats, taking ECG's, etc etc. We learn to do these things on our peers, which means one guy from the group takes off his shirt and the rest of us poke and prod and then he has a go on someone else, usually another guy. But, sooner of later, one needs to learn to listen to female chests too, which is why sometimes girls wear a bikini top and the guys practice on us. Well, that is how it is supposed to go in theory. In the end, when we get assessed, we don't know whether our 'patient' is male or female.

I don't actually own a bikini top. In fact, the only time my shoulders ever see the light of day is when I am at home, or when I am wearing my one-piece. I had been meaning to go buy a bikini, but I keep forgetting, and I don't actually know how you would go about buying one anyway. How does the sizing work?

So anyway, this morning, at 6.30am, I woke up and thought: crap, we have respiratory assessment today. I don't have a bikini. I need something without underwire. Rummaging through my drawer (in a rush, as usual), I come up with the only bra I own that doesn't have underwire. It's old, it's got fluff all over it, and looks strangely mangled. Somehow, in the early-morning-fuzzy state that my brain was in, I thought: it will do.

Fast forwards to about 5pm. The assessor was male. The person being assessed (ie examining my respiratory system) was also male (let's call him X... hehe). So I found myself sitting there wearing a tank top (about as much exposed as I ever get) while X checked my fingers, eyes, nose, mouth, tonsils. Then he says, pretending to be the doctor: "Ok, Sida, I'll just get you to take your top off if you don't mind...".

What? This? But I wore an uncomfortable underwire-less bra today so you wouldn't have to do that!

"Er? This? Really?" I said
"Er, well..." Says X, turning to look at the assessor.
"Well, that is usually the way we do it. But only if you're comfortable." Says the assessor, kindly.
No, I am not comfortable with it! It's not that I am a prude, really. I am not comfortable with showing off my mangled old bra. I might be OK if I were wearing a bikini, or a normal bra with a bit more coverage. But right now? Comfortable with it? Of course not!

"Er, no, that's ok." I said. So the tank top is off. I had never felt so embarrassed in my life.

Of course, the rest of the examination was completed, in a typical doctor-patient manner. My friend X carried it off with professionalism, and I was soon able to put my shirt back on. (Actually, earlier that day, he'd said: "Well, we've all seen breasts before anyway." I wonder if he realises that he may be used to seeing breasts, but breasts aren't neccesarily used to seeing him. But either way, let me reiterate that I was not mistreated at all by my mock doctor (haha)... It's all me being the prude that I am. (Yes, I know that I just contradicted myself. It happens.) )

So, dear reader, I'll bet you're just in tears right now. That's right, go ahead and laugh at my misadventures. What does one learn from this experience?

Well, for one thing, buy a bikini before the cardiovascular assessment. Let my story be a warning to all girls out there who are contemplating doing the MBBS course.

Secondly, and (perhaps) more importantly, to remember that we (health professionals) may have seen all parts of the human anatomy a gazillion times (which I, as a radiographer, have), the said human anatomy may not be used to seeing us. What will one day become a routine part of our job, will be an embarrassing and perhaps even distressing experience for our patients. And, never underestimate the amount of humiliation experienced by a 20 year old asian girl, faced with two male colleagues on a mock hospital bed.

quick post

Just a quick post.

I am aware that right about now, many people across Australia are waiting for their Gamsat results (or maybe they have already received it... I don't know.) Anyway. I wish everyone all the best - unfortunately not everyone gets high results (otherwise the results won't be considered high), but if you didn't, then you will come to realise that the added year you get to work on it is really a blessing cos you can relax for another year. I don't think the GAMSAT is about intelligence, and am always the first to try to convince people that I'm not smart. (They seem easily persuaded to believe that I'm not smart. Is this a good thing?) I think that getting into medicine is more about perseverence. (AKA: too dumb to know when to give in.)

Special best wishes to my friend Teresa, who probably doesn't even know about this blog, to Aung, my anonymous reader, and to the-guy-I-met-at-the-supermarket-checkout-but-forgot-his-name. Hope to see you guys in medicine next year.

On my side of the world, I am doing fine. No, I lie. I have a feeling of impending doom. But I will be okay. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

Finally, I just want to share something I read by Philip Yancey AGES ago but never got around to posting it:

"For some reason, I find it much easier to show grace and acceptance toward immoral unbelievers than toward uptight, judgemental Christians. Which, of course, turns me into a different kind of uptight, judgemental Christian." - Philip Yancey, in his book Reaching for the Invisible God (Zondervan, 2000)

Hehe, I guess I am an uptight judgemental Christian too.

Updates

Realised I hadn't written in this blog for ages. In fact, possibly a record time.

How have I been doing? Good, and bad. Good because despite everything bad I recieve strength from Him (so I must give Him credit, although His strength comes in sporadic amounts and is unpredictable). Bad because of everything else. Where do I begin? I don't think I want to begin. I don't want to be negative. Well, I am negative, but I don't want to spread it. Sida, think of something positive to share with the internet at large.

Hmmmm.

This Sunday, someone said something really strange to me. I must give you the background. The person who said this is probably one of only a handful of non-Chinese speakers in our church. (I can count them on one hand, perhaps even on 3 or 4 fingers). This weekend, he sat next to me, so I proceeded to translate the sermon for him.

After the sermon, he said: "Now don't get embarrassed. But I think that you're a really strong woman, and that you're really in touch with this world but also with God and what He wants." (Incidentally, if you've read my previous entries, this is the same guy that randomly shared Isaiah 18:30 with me during a tough period.)

Now, that's positive. But you have no idea how long I sat there brewing over exactly what that sweeping statement meant. I'm not like that, really, and God knows it. Ever the cynic, I thought :"ha, if only you knew". But it was nice, anyway.

There you go, something positive.

superbugs - our own nightmare.

Picture the following scene, possibly from a movie, or some TV drama:

"You mean to say, we have created a superbug? It's resistant to everything we've got?" asks the doe-eyed young assistant (or not-so-intelligent colleague, possibly acted by Jessica Alba? She has doey eyes...). Of course, she is stating the obvious that we all have figured out by now, but these films must make its point super-clear, even if it is at the cost of making the "intelligent" female side-kick super stupid, and severely patronising its viewers.

The doctor/professor/researcher has a haunted, melancholy look. "Yes." he says, very simply. The camera zooms in on his brilliant yet troubled face, his haunted eyes... (I'm thinking Eric Bana, but that's only because I like Eric Bana, although I suppose, to be realistic, one must have an actor who is suitably aged. Michael Douglas perhaps fits the bill, is he still acting these days?)

The "superbug" then spreads through the hospital, on to the staff and relatives, and into the community. Amazingly, our heros are not taken ill. The pair work together, in a race against time style of thing. They figure out a solution of some sort, everyone leave the state, perhaps? As they work together, they fall in love (ew, Jessica Alba and Michael Douglas? No way. Who goes well with Eric Bana? I'm a bit behind with Hollywood stars.) However, as they are implementing their solution, one of them reveals that they are also ill with the superbug... In a self-sacrificial manner, this person isolates himself from everyone and dies the painful death. The film is ended - many millions died, but one of our heros survived (which is all that matters in these movies, really), and the bug is contained (this last bit is necessary, otherwise the movie would not be about a superbug but about the apocalypse).

The "superbug" is some sort of science fiction idea, an idea that we can all toy with, an idea that goes well with a comfy seat and popcorn and a night out. But it is actually very real.

Everyone knows antibiotics are wonderful weapon against bacteria. We all know the impact of the discovery of penicillin has had. But few know that bacteria can become 'resistant' to antibiotics. How does this happen? Put simply, in a population of bacteria that can be killed by antibiotics, there may arise some that are resistant to the drug. This resistance can come from gene mutation (which is very rare), or from the bacteria sharing genes with one another (microbiological sex, as my lecturer puts it. He even showed a picture of bacteria-porn.). The susceptible ones are killed off by drug A, but some are left which are resistant to drug A - these ones grow and prosper and make our patient ill. So we use antibiotic B, which, again, kills most, but leaves some resistant ones. We then use drug C, and D, E, F, G... until, hopefully, all has died away. But what if that doesn't happen?

If that doesn't happen, whatever bacteria we are left with, are resistant to drugs A, B, C, D, all the way to G. If we used every single antibiotic we had, and there are still some bacteria left, which continue to populate our patient and make him ill, then we would have our Superbug.

When antibiotics first became available, we didn't appreciate the possibility for resistance to develop. So antibiotics were administered lavishly, indiscrimminately, providing ample opportunity for resistance to develop. And - you guessed it - it developed.

MRSA - Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus is one such bacteria (aka "Golden Staph" - I have heard it being called "multi" resistant too). It is resistant to all penicillins, which makes it a very bad thing to have. We have one antibiotic - Vancomycin - which can kill this bug, but this is not used liberally to avoid resistance. Some strains are already showing resistance to Vancomycin (called VRSA), but this is currently rare. MRSA is not uncommon - even endemic - in some hospitals. What happens if VRSA ever reaches such proportions? The situation would resemble the above scenario somewhat - like a movie, but with uglier characters. This is scary. A fellow medical student said that it gave him night sweats (to which we all chuckled nervously... I think he might have been joking.)

What can we do about it?

Health professionals now avoid multi-resistance using many means. One of them involves killing the bacteria as quickly as possible - not giving it time to develop resistance (think maximal dosage and using 2 different types together). Also, we try to give drugs that are as specific to the bacteria as possible, and to limit the usage of very effective drugs that bacteria easily develop resistance against. As you would have figured out by now, the more liberally and carelessly we administer antibiotics, the more likely resistance is. So one very important way to control resistance is to educate the public about antibiotics. Which, I guess, is what this entry is all about.

The crux of it is, antibiotics are not the "solve it all" solution some people believe them to be - particularly for colds and flus (often of viral origin anway). One fellow student joked that at the pharmacy where she works, they have an ongoing joke - "With this drug, you will recover in 48hours. Without it, it will take 2 days". Many people go to doctors, feeling ill, but not wanting to slow down and rest, and demand antibiotics. Our tutor said that in her practice, they had an education campaigne where brochures were printed to educate their patients about resistance - and antibiotic prescriptions went down by 25%.

What else can you do, apart from not demanding antibiotics? Well, for one, don't take someone else's antibiotics. If you are prescribed with them, take them exactly as recommended - don't stop just because symptons have subsided and certainly don't "save some for later". Aside from that, general good sanitation would be good too.

That is all I have on this subject thus far... I feel better now, even if no one reads my blog and I didn't actually end up "educating" anyone.

The Sequel

This is the sequel to the strange story of how I came in contact with Medicine Royalty. I'm not going to reiterate the story here. If you don't know the story, go to: http://supersida.blogspot.com/2007/03/funny-thing-happened-other-day-youd.html for the prelude.

Following on from last time... I got home today, and I saw the bunch of mail on the dinner table. My mum waited until I'd gone through every single envelope and fallen down on the chair devoid of energy, before she casually mentioned that The Package had arrived and was in my room. OK, I know you're all just twitching with anticipation, so I will skip the bit about how excited I was, the speed at which I ran upstairs, the momentary confusion caused by my not finding it despite instructions from my mum, yelling from down stairs.

The Package held the following: a sheet of commemorative Australia Post stamps signed by both Nobel laureats, a "Les Prix Nobel" by Professor Marshall (signed with "Best Wishes to Sida"), a copy of a cartoon depicting the ingestion, and a note from M.

This week I'm studying Diabetes, and I'm also reading about the psychosocial effects of diabetes and chronic illness in general. (It's more interesting than I thought it would be - I will write about it some other time). So I'm feeling kind of guilty now. What are the psychosocial effects of fame? What are the psychosocial effects of generations of medical students learning about you? Of people writing in their blog that they think you're crazy? I flipped through the "Les Prix Nobel" (I'm yet to find out what that means), and it seems the decision wasn't that crazy after all. I feel really guilty now... One thing we learn - the pen is mighty, the mind may be weak, but a pen in a weak mind is still mighty. (Actually we already know this when we read some of the opinion articles in papers...)

I used to collect stamps, as a pre-teen, so when I looked at the stamps, I thought - wow, this trumps everything I've got. I've got to hand this down to my future generations... I will start my own family heirloom, my own family legend. They'd better appreciate this. I'm going to force the lot of them to study medicine - my sheet of stamps will not pass to a bunch of non-medicine-appreciative people... plus it's the only way I will have a family legend...

Somewhat embarrassingly, there is a rumour going around the 1st years that someone wrote a sycophantic article about Professor Marshall.

Funny thing happened the other day, you'd never believe it...

I was going to write about this after I finish my John Flynn Rural scholarship application, but I realised that, at the rate I'm going, I may never complete those selection questions. So I'm going to blog now, and do the "more important" things later.

So anyway, I refer to the entry I wrote about 2 weeks ago, on Professor Barry Marshall and peptic ulcer. http://supersida.blogspot.com/2007/03/if-i-ever-meet-dr-barry-marshall.html Basically in this entry I called Professor Marshall, the famous Nobel Prize laureate, insane. I never actually think that anyone ever reads my blog... I see the counter go up but it rises very slowly and I'd always thought that it was due to people coming across it by accident.

So imagine my surprse when I recieved a comment to that blog entry, which arrived to me via email. "Interesting article!" it said, "Please email M at xxx@helicobacter.com for more information."

I broke into a cold sweat on the spot. You can imagine my shock, horror, and fear. This woman obviously knew a lot about this subject. She was probably from information group, or research group, or support group, or something. I'd stirred up a bee's nest... Craaapp, I've put my real name on that thing. Crraapp, it's even got my photo on it. Sida, you stupid stupid girl. But it's ok! I'll just delete the whole blog! They'll never find me!

So anyway, I sent a short, tentative email back: "I can delete, or alter the post if you deem it inappropriate..." I was just short of saying: please don't sue me.

So anyway, M replied with (take a big breath...) "I am Assistant Manager of the Office of the Nobel Laureates – Professor Barry Marshall and Dr Robin Warren. Barry was pleased to read your blog and has asked me to contact you to get a mailing address as he would like me to send you a signed gift from him."

My first reaction was purely relief. I am not going to get sued. My parents can keep the family house. I do not have a black mark against my name. Then... "ARRRGHH! Barry Marshall read my blog! ARRGGHH! ARRGGHH! How embarrassing!!!"

So anyway, that pretty much concludes my tale. As suggested by a friend, I checked out www.helicobacter.com just to make sure the domain name exists, then replied with my address, with quivering fingers. M replied to thank me for supplying my address (thank ME?)... and to hope that I am going well with my studies, and hope that I enjoyed my H. pylori subject. I'd like to reply, but I'm not sure about the etiquette regarding these things. Does she expect a reply? Is it polite to flood the Assistant Manager of a nobel prize laureate with grateful emails? I decided not to. (But, if in case you are reading this, M... It's certainly more interesting than skin, immunology, or anorexia nervosa. I have already ruled out dermatology, immunology, and psychiatry...)

I told my friends, and the general consensus is that this is a great thing. I'm not so sure, though. Do I really want Barry Marshall reading about my strange misadventures? There is a lot of speculation about what the gift might be, too. Some (non-medicine) friend even joked that I should be careful when opening it, as it may contain a culture of bacteria. I jokingly suggested to a friend studying law that she should do the same about Justice Kirby... but she said that it had already been done.

If you're looking for the comment posted by M, you won't find it. At her request, I removed it to hide her email address. But this really did happen! I didn't make it up, nor did I dream it...

Ok, I'm going to get back to my John Flynn application form now. I would like to post an entry about what I think of selection questions posed mainly by large organisations, but since my blog is actually being read, I will simply say that I find them rather tedious. On that note, I am a hardworking, flexible, adaptable, proactive person, who would strive to be a significant contribution to rural communities...

(Sida's note: for the final chapter of this exciting trilogy, click here)

Corrections (and apologies)

In my post about Barry Marshall, I called him DOCTOR Barry Marshall. He's actually PROFESSOR Barry Marshall. Apologies to the Professor... (Actually I have a funny story about that, but I have promised myself to finish my John Flynn scholarship application tonight. Will regale my exciting tale some other time.)

My previous post, written last night, about the assumptions people make about me, was written when I was very tired and when I was in a very bad mood. You can probably tell this, both by the tone of the post as well as the horrendous spelling and grammar, and general poor style. Apologies to everyone who read it.

Top 5 assumptions not to make about me.

For those people who meet me for the first time... Just because I am an Asian and I am studying medicine, it does not mean:

1. That I am smart. Please don't assume I'm smart. And don't tell me I'm so smart because I do medicine. That is a fallacy.
2. That I work very hard, and put marks above all else.
3. That my parents made me do it, or I'm in it for the money, lifestyle, power, or guys. Or that I am in it because I'm Asian and it's one of those innate Asian things. I consider the sacrifices of doing medicine great that none of the perks forementioned are worth it (even the guys).
4. That I know everything.
5. That I know why your head/back/shoulders/joints/abdomen are achy these few days. Do not ask me why you're tired, or why you're sleeping more/less than usual. Know your own body, go to a doctor when necessary.

I met some people recently who I'm so sure thought that they knew me after just knowing what I study. It is very annoying, such that these days I only tell ppl that I'm a "student" and only say medicine if asksed.

Mint tea + lemon tea = EEEWWWW

Let me start from the beginning. Today, after church, I was approached by a friend who said that he needed a lift home. Sure, I said, I just need to go buy some tea (vital study-aid). So I run off to Woolworths.

Milk? Where do they keep the milk? Yogurt, I suppose I got to buy the yogurt too... Where on earth is the tea I usually buy? Why are there all these different types? Cookies-and-cream tea? Interesing... Lemon Twist? That sounds good. Oh, there it is, good old Lipton Green tea, packet of 50.

So, being acutely aware that someone is waiting for me, I grab what I see and run back to church to find that this friend's brother can drive him home after all. Ok, that's fine.

Until about 5 minutes ago, when I made some tea to keep myself awake (or to let my mind fool my body). I knew as soon as I opened the packet that it didn't smell right. Crap! It's green MINT tea! I can still remember the last time I had mint tea, it was at bible study and it was so gross the host poured it all out. And I bought 50 bags of it. Acutely aware that this tea cost money, and that money comes from working like a trained monkey every Saturday, I decided to make it anyway. Can't be that bad, right?

So here I am, watching my tea cool, smelling its tooth-paste-like odour. Then I had a flash of what I thought at the time was genius. The mint can be neutralised if I add something to it, right? Something with a stronger flavour. The first thing I saw as I looked around my desk was a packet of jelly beans. Don't be stupid, no one puts jelly beans in their tea. Then I saw the Lemon Twist, which I also bought...

Mint + lemon. How to describe it? In colour and texture, it is like any other tea. The smell is also not unique - it is the smell that wavers around the elderly and very ill patients in hospitals. The taste... sour, like the taste you would get if you ate an under-ripe berry. It resembles neither lemon, nor mint, nor tea, but seems to be an entirely new and newly offensive flavour. There is, inevitably, the after-taste of toothpaste. I had not disguised the toothpaste flavour, just added another dimension to it.

In fascination, ever the scientist, I drank the lot, wondering its effects on my body. Of course, it's just tea, I'm being fanciful, but you'd be too if you could smell and taste the thing.

Usually when I drink tea, my room smells like it, and it usually smells quite good... jasmine, or lemon, or just plain green tea. Today, my room smells like bed-ridden old people.

If there is one thing to be gained, this concoction will certainly wake me up. The question lies... what does one do with the other 49 tea bags?

"Should I tell them" by Shaun Groves

"Should I Tell Them" by Shaun Groves (from the album Invitation to Eavesdrop) is my current favourite song. I love the lyrics, even though it's not entirely applicable to me. The "What should I say to them? What if I'm failing them?" question is always on my mind when I communicate to others about my faith... and also, what if I'm failing Him? So when I do communicate to others about my faith, I am often, like the singer, just plain afraid. I feel like I am making a big speech, a speech that has a life-and-death effect.

On the other hand, I don't actually think that I am the perfect example of all He can do in a life.

Walking with you is not without hazards
Trippings this traveler's curse
Price paid for falling is more than my stumble
In a world that is watching and waiting for words

But I listened when You said to go
And I set out in spite of my fears
About truth mixed with my imperfection
And the question of what to say when I got here

And now that I'm here
Should I tell them that
You are the one who has made me
And saved me and set up a home there inside
Should I tell them that I am a perfect example
Of all You can do with a life.
What should I say to them? What if I'm failing them?
What should I tell them tonight?

Now don't get me wrong I'm thankful to be here
With this song to sing and a spotlight on me,
But lately I'm wondering if you are mistaken,
If you're seeing all of me there is to see.

Cause on every face I detect
The same questions I've posed to you
Like do you speak through the imperfect
Are we too dirty for your light to get through?
I want your light to get through.

What should I tell them when
They're thirsty Lord
My cup is empty Lord
Come and lead me here in this place
Cuz I'm honest, yeah, but I'm unprepared
And I'm just plain afraid

Lyrics copied and pasted from www.christianlyricsonline.com

If I ever meet Dr Barry Marshall...

Everyone knows what peptic ulcer is, right? (Actually right now I could write a whole essay on peptic ulcer, it being the case for this week). From memory, peptic ulcer had a small mention in the film Intolerable Cruelty. Basically it's an ulcer in the stomach or earlier part of small bowel, similar to the ones we get in our mouthes. As a disease, even the ancient egyptians had it.

In the early 1980's, a pathologist at the Royal Perth Hospital named Robin Warren noticed a bacteria found in the stomach of gastritis sufferers. This idea was considered outlandish, since everyone knows that the strong acid in the stomach means no bug could live there. Warren was soon joined by Marshall, who was looking for a research project. Together, the pair tried to culture (ie grow) the bug, but to no avail, until Easter came around. During the Easter break, there was a staffing shortage, and the culture was left for an unusually long time... and the bacteria grew. (Haha, love the Australian culture where everyone goes away during Easter and even the most important medical research is put aside...)

Once cultured, Marshall's job was to prove that these bacteria caused ulcers, which went against the commonly held notions of the time. In frustration, in 1984, he drank a culture of bacteria himself. Eventually, he became very sick, developing gastritis (which would have turned into ulcer if he left it). He then cured himself with antibiotics.

The road to gaining widespread recognition of the cause of ulcers was still a long one and it was 10 years before it was officially recognised, but his point has been made. And today, 20 years on, we at medical school are taught that H. pylori bacteria causes 70% of gastric ulcer and 90% of duodenal ulcer. Of course, it was a great discovery, as we can now treat ulcers such that there is a very low chance of recurrance. People's lives are improved. The need for surgery is lessened. Chances of complications reduced. Medicine at its best.

But, seriously, what kind of person drinks a culture of bacteria to see if he gets ill? My PBL tutor was working as a physiotherapist at the Royal Perth when this was going on, and she said everyone thought he was nuts. (Which is why he drank the culture, I guess.) Didn't anyone try stop him? ("There's got to be a better way!") And it would certainly have tasted awful.

Barry Marshall sounds quite insane. Which means, of course, if I'd ever met him, I would be too chicken to tell him I think he's insane. I would be reacting along the lines of - "Um, (giggle) um, um...big fan, read all about you. (nervous giggle) Um. Can I have a photo with you? Can I have your autograph? So... uh... uh... what did it taste like?"

Oh, and by the way, if you didn't know, Barry Marshall and Robin Warren won the Nobel Prize for medicine in 2005. According to my microbiology lecturer, Marshall had problems getting his research published because he didn't have ethics approval to test the culture on someone (ie himself).

(Sida's Note: to go to the sequel to this story, click here.)

Updates, I guess

I havn't written here for a while, but there isn't much to update on. Just hanging in here, trying to stay on top of it all, but failing miserably. Was going to write an entry about indigenous health before, but then realised that i really knew too little about the issue, and it's a lot more complex than I had ever imagined.

Agreed to a girl at church to do some 'service' on Sundays, on a whim. I agreed because I do enjoy to serve and because I hate to think that my studies interferre with my service to God. (Even though I know and He knows that it's already happened). It's going to be ok. God will provide.

Considering very very seriously a placement at the end of the year in a rural hospital. Don't have enough money to go overseas. Those two-doctor hospitals sound pretty cool, do lotsa cool things like suture and cannulate and intubate and deliver babies and get abused by drunken people who fall over and hit their heads.

Gave a friend some tips about the Gamsat today. She thanked me perfusely, and said she will try her best to follow my advice. crap. Obviously I hadn't put enough disclaimers in. Now I just hope she does well.

That's all for now. Helicobacter Pylori awaits me.

Success without compromise

This sunday I was listening to a Christian radio station while driving to church, and I heard a guy praying for the audience. It was a very nice prayer, asking God to bless the listeners and guide them and let them be a light for the people around them (ie non-christians).

Towards the end, he prayed that the listeners may have "success without compromise".

This stuck in my mind and I have to admit when I first heard it I was a little taken aback. Of course what exactly he meant by "success without compromise" I'm unsure of. But when I first heard it I thought it meant that we may have success (in the normal sense of the word, meaning worldly success) without compromising our Christian values. I guess it could also mean the other way around: that we be successful in a spiritual sense (pleasing God and being a light to others) without compromising our worldly needs.

Why did this statement offend me slightly? It's what we all would love to have, right? The best of both worlds - to be successful in life without compromising our conscience. I admit that I would love to have this 'success without compromise'. Currently, I spend a lot of time studying and the amount of time I spend serving others, or even just participating with others in religion, is compromised. That offends my conscience. I try to maintain my bible reading and prayers everyday but sometimes I am just so tired I only read a few lines of the bible before I know I will need to shut it or I will sleep with my head on top of it (and ruin my lovely expensive leather-bound silver-trimmed blue-ribboned bible). Success without compromise, yes, that would be nice. (I am being honest here...)

But to pray for it? I feel it is almost like saying to God: "Yes, I love you, but I also love the world, so please don't make me compromise my success in the world."... or "The worldly things are so important to me I don't want have to compromise them". Of course, I am not saying that following God necessarily means that we have to be poor, in fact, there is a school of thought that God intends for us to enjoy the fruits of His creation. But to pray to God that we don't have to compromise?

As I said before, I am currently in a state of 'compromise'. If I go to all the extra youth group activities, I don't study, and I fall behind, or at least feel like I am falling behind. If I don't, I feel guilty. I have never prayed for Him to take that guilt away, I just rely on his mercy and understanding. I also try to make my learning experience an act of worship, reminding myself of the ingenuity of His creation when I study. I try to remind myself to do mini-prayers throughout the day (something I read from a Philip Yancey book). I pray for Him to forgive me, to open my mind to his creation, and to allow me to be a good doctor one day. But never 'success without compromise'. The idea of it itself is strange.

I am in the process of finding in the bible all the bits that indicate our relation to the worldly, and how we are to enjoy this 'success'. This is an interesting topic, so I will probably consult my bible study leaders and the bible itself, and post here with the results. This is an appeal to whoever is reading this: what do you think of this "Success without compromise"? Perhaps I misunderstood the guy. All comments welcome. Even if you know me personally. Really.

Miserere Mei, Deus

I changed the "Sing for the moment" to "Miserere Mei, Deus", the great chant by Gregorio Allegri. Laudate Dominum by Mozart is beautiful, but the sound was of a poor quality and besides it's time for a change.

I don't usually make a blog entry about changes in music and in 'verse of the week', but I feel I must explain myself, seeing as I think that Gregorian chants written in the 16th century is probably not everyone's cup of tea. But be open minded, listen to it, with the volume nice and low. It's a beautiful piece. (Keep listening to it, there is a wonderful soprano bit in the middle.) I don't usually like chants myself but I make an exception for "Miserere Mei, Deus". (When the going gets tough, there are two circumstances in which I can have a good cry, one is listening to this chant, the other is sitting infront of the piano (which I play badly) when no one else is home).

Miserere Mei, Deus means "have mercy on me, O God", the first verse of the Psalm 51 (which is also a beautiful piece). Allegri wrote it for some part of the long complex Catholic mass, and some pope along the line liked it so much he declared it must not be played anywhere outside of the Sistine Chapel at the appointed time. Transcription and copying of the work was forbidden.

The story follows that Mozart, at age 12, in 1770 (a few hundred years down the track), visited the Sistine Chapel with his father Leopald during Easter, and heard the Miserere. That night, on returning to his lodgings, he wrote the entire piece down from memory, returning later with it hidden in his hat to make minor corrections.

Ok, well, I just felt like sharing that with you. Next time I will put something contemporary on, really.

Medicine is crazy

Medicine, and everyone in it, or associated with it, is crazy.

I have been a med student for 4 weeks. A good proportion of my lecturers and tutors is crazy. The course is crazy, the workload is crazy. The other students are crazy. The immune system is crazy. Everyone, and every thing, is crazy. Which can only mean one thing - that I'm crazy, and everyone else is normal.

1. The teaching staff is crazy. Many of them fit into stereotypes: eg- the hard-core pathologist, the confusing ethicist, the nurse who says, as a joke, "next time, bring chocolates". But then, there's the pharmacist who went through the mathematics of pharmacokinesis in one hour. And the other pharmacist who told us that pharmacists are obsessive-compulsive-anal-retentives. And the PA hospital orientation lecture, taking place at 8am, just to tell us that there is a library there and that we need to be nice to the staff and patients. crazy. (At this point I must say, my PBL tutor is lovely.)
2. The students are crazy. They somehow seem to find it okay. No one feels like it's hard or overwhelming. Everyone is having a ball. Perhaps they are just not admitting it? Or is it just me? Next Friday they are having a "sports day", where med students dress up in scrubs and drink and get red dye over each other. Those crazy med students drink like fishes. How can they drink so much when there is so much work to do? Someone is crazy, and I prefer to think it's them.
3. The immune system is crazy, in a good, interesting, but crazy way.

The reason why I'm complaining so much on blogger is, I've realised, because I have no one else to do it to. The other med students are so on top of it all, when I ask them how they are finding it, they say "good, good", even if they don't have a science background. When I talk to my non-med friends about it, they just say to me: "Sida, you're smart, you'll be alright" or something along those lines. I know they say it because they don't know what else to say. But I don't feel smart right now, and I don't feel like I'll be alright, and when they say that, I feel like I'm going to crash and burn even more. I guess what I need is validation, someone to say: "You're not nuts, Sida. It's ok to feel like you're going to drown." (Oh boy, I've applied the communication skills lecture to myself... now I KNOW I'm going nuts.)

*sigh* So there we go, another complaining blog entry.

Um, I did have fun at microbiology last week. We were doing a gram-stain (which is supposed to go: purple mixture (forgot name) - water wash- iodine - water wash - alcohol - safranin). We put on the purple thing first, then the safranin, then realised the alcohol comes before the safranin, so we washed the safranin off, then alcohol, then safranin again. Then we (my lab partner and I) looked at the iodine and thought: where does this come in? When we realised, we washed our slide with alcohol again, and then put iodine on, and then safranin. The gram stain is supposed to come out purple or pink, depending on the bacteria on the slide... my partner and I were dreaming of how we might have invented a new staining method and be rewarded with a nobel prize, but when we put it under the microscope, it was just a slush of brown. When the tutor asked us how we were going, the response was unanimous - "Fine, fine, thanks."

My microbiology lab partner is a cool canadian dude with a cool accent and a neuroscience major. But he's bloddy smart. Everyone's so bloddy smart.

Oh, it's Chinese New year's eve. Happy new year, everyone who reads this. Living away from China, one doesn't get in as much spirit as one should.