Some updates

I realised I have not blogged for a long time, over a month in fact... there was no specific reason, I've just been busy... so busy that I have not had a chance to stop and realise how much I've got to complain about.

Our beloved School of Medicine (note sarcasm) has let the 2nd year medical students have a week off this week. I guess if they didn't do that they would be accused of unethical conduct. It certainly wouldn't reflect well upon UQ if someone wrote a scathing letter to the editor of some newspaper... or indeed if some acopic medical student jumped off a tall building.

This week off isn't a holiday as such, it just means that we are not forced to attend any lackluster classes, which means all the more time to catch up on study. Having given some thought to the list of things I have got to do this week, I am now feeling pressured enough to blog.

Alright that's enough complaining about med... in life, things like med happens, and you've just got to deal with it, one day at a time if necessary. (Such wise words from someone who is wasting her time blogging...)

Apart from med I guess my life is going along as per normal... in other words, at a halt. It's rather pathetic the way med takes such a large chunk of my life. I have not seen my friends in weeks (those friends outside church that is), I have to turn my brother down when he says "can you read with me", and romance is a mythical concept that happens to other people. Well actually the lack of romance I can't entirely blame med, there is also my caustic sarcasm and lack of conformity to the attractive stereotype of gentle femininity. Hmm, perhaps I can blame those things on med too...

Good grief, I'm complaining again. I'd like to say that I have so many things on my mind, but in reality I have very little, and a great chunk of it is med. Med assessments, to be precise. Med is great fun, if only there were no assessments.

I was the interpreter again this Sunday, my second time. I wouldn't say it went well, but I guess it was not a complete disaster. People seem to think that my stumbling block is my nerves, when in fact my stumbling block is a defective brain. (A friend in med once said that others think that he is a genius simply because he is in med, and he wonders what will happen when people find out that he's no different to others of his age. As for me, the sooner they find out the better. But for some reason many people are still unconvinced... I don't really understand why they must be so stubborn about it.) I suck at it, but even then I have not made any funny memorable mistakes (which is rather sad). My mentor, who has been doing this for years, once said while up on the podium that a colostomy links the intestines to the bladder. Unfortunately only he and I got the joke.

Speaking of my mentor, I was really quite annoyed with him yesterday. When other people are just starting to be an interpreter, he sits in the front and prompts them if there are words they don't know how to translate, or to simply smile encouragingly and supportively. Not so while I was up there. Each time I looked at him, he was looking elsewhere, and it became apparent that he was avoiding my eyes. (I mean, no one stares at the ceiling like that, unless they are taking a Bachelor degree in Ceiling Studies.) When I came across difficult words, I have to guess. According to him, he sees me being nervous, and that makes him nervous, and so he looks away. This reasoning is defective for two reasons - firstly, no one cares if he is nervous, and secondly, if he doesn't help me it will make me even worse. I decided to not argue with him, but in the true female spirit, I remained annoyed. (Even though I like to think that, unlike the stereotypical female, I had logic and reason on my side.)

In the end I decided that it matters very little, because I was supposed to be relying on the grace of God, not the grace of The Mentor. He can take his Bachelor of Ceiling Studies with Honours in Looking Around Nonchalantly, and it won't make any difference... I have God on my side, and if there are words I can't translate I'll just flash my oh-so-charming smile. Ha! Take that!

Hmm, it appears I have ran out of things to complain about. Except to say, I have a craving for calamari. I really don't know where I get these cravings from...

Barry Marshall to visit UQ

I received an e-mail today that would have given me a heart attack, were I not so meticulous about my diet and exercise (ha!). Barry Marshall is coming to visit UQ later this month to give a public lecture. Barry Marshall is coming to my campus.

For those who don't know, Barry Marshall is a Nobel Prize laureate for his contributions to medicine - specifically, for his role in the discovery of the Helicobacter pylori bacteria, which lead to the effective treatment of peptic ulcer disease - a painful and potentially dangerous disease which has plagued mankind ever since Man were given stomachs.

Last year, in March, I wrote a blog article entitled "If I Ever Meet Dr Barry Marshall" ... about his discovery and how crazy he must have been. I think I also wrote something about what I'd do if I ever meet him. I think I said something about giggling. <cringe>... This particular article caught the eye of Professor Marshall himself, and he got his staff to contact me to send me some memorabilia. This is all very good, but now he is coming to UQ!

I wonder if he remembers my blog. Probably not, but then, what if he does? If I were in his position, it would give me unspeakable joy to see what this girl would really do. It feeds my strange sarcastic sense of humour. I can only hope that he is not like me and has forgotten all about it, although, how much normality can you expect from a man who drank bacteria in a self-experiment? I better stop right here before I get myself into more trouble. The self-experiment did save lives, and it wasn't that crazy a decision given the gravity of the situation.

I think I will go and listen to this public lecture, but I'm don't think I will approach him afterwards, and if anything happens, I'm going to deny everything. The thought does occur that having contacts or knowing people (or pretending to know people) like Professor Marshall may be beneficial in some way. I could do what Sharon Stone did, and say things like "... my good friend Professor Marshall..." (Sharon Stone did it to the Dalai Lama) ... but it seems kind of like cheating, and besides, people would ask me how I know him, and that must be avoided at all costs.

Let this be a lesson to us all. It is embarrassing to write about Nobel Prize laureates and other famous people who are still alive. Save it for people like Einstein, Marie Curie, Mendel, Plato, and the like. Jesus is alive, but at least Jesus isn't going to come and deliver a public lecture at your campus.

Or will he? *shift eyes suspiciously*

Some updates

I've passed my mid-year exam. Not brilliantly, but I don't really mind. A pass is sufficiently brilliant, in my mind. I'm really thankful that my other commitments haven't gotten in the way of my grades or my career. I trusted God, and He didn't let me down.

I have taken on an extra ministry at church. Our church is a "bilingual" one - the preacher speaks in Chinese, and there is an interpreter who then translates the sermon into English. I will be taking on this role (as the interpreter, that is, not the preacher). I'm very nervous about it... I'm still not sure if my Chinese is good enough (I suspect not), or indeed if my knowledge of the Bible is good enough (I strongly suspect not). My first time is 13th of July, in about 2 weeks time. I've only been rostered twice between now and September, and each time I will be interpreting for the easiest pastor in the church (he speaks slowly and clearly and somewhat even repetitively). But in spite of all these things, I strongly suspect that I will be making a huge fool of myself.

But that's ok, I will be a fool for Christ.

I'm really feeling quite happy lately. Something which has bothered and hurt me on and off for a long time (well over a year, probably a year and a half or more) finally no longer has an effect on me. I'm not going to elaborate on the details here (that would be too painful, I think)... but suffice to say, I feel like a weight has been lifted. In fact I feel like an episode of my life is drawing to a close. Praise to God, who gives me liberation.

Mid year exam

Mid year exam is over. It was a very strange exam, almost eerie. As if the devil himself searched my brain, made a list of all the things I didn't focus on or hadn't memorised, and wrote an exam on it.

In general I think I would have passed, although I doubt I did very well. Strangely, I don't really care that much. I'm feeling rather numb about the whole thing. They were right, 2nd year med is the hardest year. They say it scars you for life. I guess I might have underestimated the whole thing.

Oh well. No point in guessing until the results come out. Time to get on with my one-week break.

Hanging On

I'm wondering for the first time whether I pushed myself too far. I've been in denial up until now.

This year, aside from uni, I'm also working, volunteer tutoring, and trying to keep up a small amount of involvement in church. That doesn't sound much, listed like that. I'm sure if I were in undergrad there would be no problems. The problem is that I'm in med, and the people I'm tutoring are also in med. I'm wondering whether tutoring was a bad idea, it is taking a lot more time and effort that I thought it would. I feel like I'm learning this year's contents, and re-learning half of last year.

Needless to say I feel a bit pressured at the moment, mainly because I brought this all on to myself, and I have no one to blame but myself.

My parents want me to cut back on church. For the first time I can see where they are coming from... no parent wants to see their daughter working late into the night, and only see her when she comes out for meals (and even then, to see her glassy-eyed and pale). That reminds me, I really, really ought to spend more time with my family.

The problem is that I enjoy things too much. There is no way I am going to cut back on church any more than I already have. I also enjoy helping the first-years... and so as long as I can manage it, and as long as they want me, I will keep tutoring. I hate work, but I enjoy the money (and independence) that comes out of it.

I'm feeling a bit pressured at the moment (I hesitate to use the word stressed, I'm going to put that off for as long as I can), but I know that somehow I will get through. No, let me rephrase that. Somehow God will carry me through. On the one hand, I feel tired and overworked. On the other, I feel great, because I am doing things that I love. I know that at the end of the year, I will be able to say with confidence that God has not failed me. I can't wait for that time. (In other words, I can't wait for this year to be over with!)

Back to School

Today was orientation for the second year of my MBBS degree. I feel thankful, amazed, and somewhat reluctant - thankful to be here, amazed I'm here already, and somewhat reluctant to let go of my holidays.

I've been assigned to the Mater Misericordiae Hospitals, which I can't complain about since it was my first choice. It is smaller than the other teaching hospitals and therefore I thought I might benefit from the smaller groups and easier administration.

The Mater Misericordiae Hospitals (or at least, the parts I saw today, which wasn't much) is very interesting indeed. The student sections were not impressive - one PBL room was an "annexe" that was connected to a larger common room (which had occasional seminars and was not open 24 hours), the other was a larger room with temperamental air-conditioning, also shared with "some 3rd years sometimes". The rooms did not have wireless Internet access (and indeed required some special procedure to access the ports). The lockers were of two varieties - one was abundant in numbers but becomes so overheated it is capable of melting laptops, the other is more secure but limited in number. I was disappointed with the studying conditions set up - it is as if the rooms were haphazardly chosen and prepared.

The hospitals are administered by the Sisters of Mercy and in almost every room that I have been to, there has been a small and unobtrusive crucifix on the wall. In a hallway I saw a large statue of Christ, and various other monuments of the Virgin Mary and what I assumed was various saints. Hanging in a PBL room was a large print of the Last Supper painting. Although I can't say much for the studying environment, I will be certain to study carefully the paintings and statues.

The topics for the next few weeks have already been given - and the first module is immunology, which some of you may know, is one of those subjects that I wished didn't exist. Even though classes have not yet started, I already have a list of learning topics and stuff fore review.

Sigh.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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)

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.

Where Sida becomes a student again and tries to resist despair

You may ask: since Sida is in medicine, which she's wanted for a long time, why does she need to despair?

I am in my 2nd week of medicine, and they (the educators, that is) say that these two weeks are the easiest, it gets tougher from here.

There is no easy way to express the plight I'm in. I can only give an example. Last week, in my Problem-Based-Learning group (a sort of study group, PBL for short), someone mentioned baroreceptors and chemoreceptors and everyone knew exactly what they were. I was the only one who had never heard of them before. The everything goes so fast, everything just swishes around in my brain in some sort of incoherent soup. And people assume that I'd know some things since I did indeed have science-health background. (But it's radiography! It's like photography with physics!)

But I'm resisting despair, mainly because I'm sure if I work stubbornly at it the way I work stubbornly at everything, it will work out. I am taking a rest from study, it is 4pm, and I have been in the library for 3 hours. The incoherent soup is (somewhat) less incoherent and certainly less daunting. Besides, I do like learning and I find the human body interesting, so if I get over the fact that everyone else seems to know more than me, I may actually enjoy myself. (This really sound like I have a pride issue doesn't it? Hm, perhaps I do...)

I never did consider my income to be large or even significant, but now I do feel it. Going from working full-time, to working one Saturday every 3 weeks (3 hours over 3 weeks) does definately put a strain on my finances. But I did get a call from the rival company today, so I may get some more work.

Um. Surprisingly, I have run out of things to complain about. Except that the air-con here in the library is really really breezy, it's freezing in here.

I can feel the library (and the abundance of medical students around me) doing me mental damage. I think I will go home now.

On recieving free stuff

Yesterday, we got 'attacked' by about 5 or 6 different Medical Indemnity Insurance companies, advertising to us and welcoming us to the profession (are they even in the profession, to be welcoming us? Who knows). What did they want? They wanted us to register with them for free as students, so we can learn about their company, and perhaps when we graduate and they no longer offer free services, to spend a small fortune on their company.

I counted 8 free pens, 4 cloth bags, 1 highlighter, 1 ruler, 1 case study CD, 2 drink bottles, countless lollies, note pads, lanyards, and ID clips. There were also draws for stethoscopes and textbooks. All this for a bunch of Med students who are on the third day of their career.

While I did enjoy this bombardment of smiling reps and free stuff, it did get me thinking. Suppose these were pharmaceutical companies. Suppose they gave their stuff to us so we would recommend their drugs to our patients. Suppose they gave it to our educators, so that they would teach us to use their drugs.

I know there is a big contention about this, and the issue is an interesting one. Firstly, everyone gets free stuff all the time, but marketing is everywhere and we develope a degree of immunity to it. The only time that I use fabric softener is when I recieve it free in the mail. Just because I have a free pen from company x it doesn't mean I will nessecarily use their products. But it does mean that I know this company and it will come to mind, and if their products are competitive then I will use them. I believe that this is not just me alone, but most of us have some degree of immunity to marketing.

Recieving free pens from companies does not constitute a bribe as such. They can not possibly hope to persuade us to use their products or services just on the basis of a pen or note pad.

I once read an article from a GP somewhere in the states (or somewhere else, can't remember). He works in a tiny practice that really has no money for expensive software and equipment, and he uses a prescribing software that comes at a low cost from pharmaceutical companies, but it is loaded with ads, and is programmed to make choosing certain brands easier. He says that it's not that he supports these companies, but an alternative software has been made unaffordable.

On the other side of the issue, some research does show that free merchandise alters doctors' judgements. I would suggest that it is because the doctors are more aware of the company that they choose it, rather than because they got the free pen. But as long as it is affecting their judgement, that is bad. Doctors should ideally research and know the best and cheapest drug for their patients, but inevitably there will be ones who don't, and will use ones that they are familiar with (ie the company name that is also written on their notepad). It would annoy me if I found out that my doctors' judgements were affected, however subtly, by a company, and similarly I would be annoyed if my educator's judgements were affected.

I'm at the end of what I want to say, and I still havn't come up with a conclusion. It's an interesting issue that I will follow and contemplate during the rest of my education and career. But I rest easy, for today at least, in that I only accepted free stuff from insurance companies and not pharmaceutical companies.

Where Sida attends Orientation, and ponders the ramifications of being a Med student

It was the first day of uni today. It was alright. (For those readers who just tuned in, I am talking about the Bachelor of Medicine / Bachelor of Surgery program at UQ)

The orientation talks were presented by the various Professors and Doctors and Chairs and Heads. It was all a little mind-boggling, just the titles themselves. Each of them congratulated us for getting in, told us what a good decision we'd made, and some pretty much hailed us as colleagues. There was some talk about what the different strands are all about (Clinical skills, public health, ethics and professional practice, and biomedical science). But a great deal was said that went along the lines of: "If you have any concerns, just realise that you're not alone, and you can come to [me/student support/your peers] for support." It was nice to hear the Heads and Chairs offer themselves to us, but also rather daunting. Is the course really that bad, that such a big deal is made about support and counselling? (Yes, this is how I think when I am in a cynical phase, which I suspect I am in right now.)

Much was said about how difficult this course is, and how it's going to be a long and difficult year. Actually, not a lot was said about it but it was certainly repeated a few times. The Head of School said "It's a long and difficult year which leads into another long and difficult year which leads into 2 difficult years of clinical practice" and I thought, you might as well add: "which leads into a long and difficult career". I realise now that I probably need to cut out some church stuff. Currently I attend Saturday afternoon youth group and Sunday morning service, and there is Wednesday night bible study too, to commense whenever our leader can negociate better work hours. I can't bear to part with any of them really. But if it came down to it, I suppose I will sacrifice Saturday afternoons. I also plan to work some weekends too. I get a headache just thinking about it. I need to plan, to rationalise, to be organised, and to work efficiently. Everything that I'm not.

It strikes me how people act when I tell them I'm a medicine student. Oh, wow, they say. You must be so smart. I have difficulty figuring out how I should act when people do that, so I just smile. It is enough that my parents brag about me, but I noted something strange this sunday. People at church are doing it too. This Sunday my bible study leader did it, and it's the second time someone from church paid me a great deal of praise to a stranger in front of me. My achievements are really just nothing, but I must admit it makes a great story, and, told the right way (with the appropriate pauses), it makes people say wow. (But the same trick is done by the 'current affairs' shows like Today Tonight, it doesn't make whatever dispute they've got showing worthwhile.) But when you tell people you do medicine, and they say wow, how do you deal with it? I want to say "actually, it's just that I'm too stubborn to give up. And God."

Speaking of God, I thanked the guy at church yesterday, the guy who showed me Isaiah 30:18. I didn't say anything, just "thank you for showing that scripture with me" and he said "That's ok" and tapped my shoulder in a knowing manner. It was as if he knew, which he couldn't have. I wonder what God has been telling him.

my MRBS offer

I recieved an email yesterday from UQ. This is what they said:

Dear Sida:
I would like to inform you that a Medical Rural Bonded Scholarship(MRBS) place has become available. If you are interested in receivingthis scholarship, please let me know as soon as possible (the next dayor so) so I can send you a contract in the mail.

Actually the email was sent on Thursday, so when I read this on Friday morning, you can imagine my panic. I have less than two short hours before work to decide to accept or decline!

Let me describe the scholarship to those who don't know about it. It is a bid by the government to try and get doctors into rural or remote areas. What happens is this: they give you around $23,000 a year, for the duration of your medical degree (four years, accumilating to nearly 100,000). After you graduate, you train as per usual, and after you have reached your destination (whether you want to be a specialist or a GP), you go and work in a rural area for 6 years. If you are a specialist, the 'rural' area can be a large centre such as cairns or toowoomba. If you are a GP it would have to be somewhere more remote than that.

I spent a whole agonising day thinking about it, the money is so nice it's hard to turn down. $23,000 a year as a student, it almost means I don't need to worry about work, and buy myself a niiice laptop and mp3 player and an expensive stethoscope and all that. But then, to give 6 years away post fellowship (which is almost 10 years down the track) is too much. I do have a view to work in rural areas, but only for short times, and only intermittently, and not BOUND to it.

To breach the contract, you will have to give the money back plus interest, but more importantly, you can't work privately and bill to medicare for 12 years.

I chose not to take it in the end, as I don't really want to be bound when my future is still undecided. I don't want to take it only to break the agreement. One day, though, I may regret my decision, I may end up spending 6 years in a rural place anyways (although I doubt it, especially post fellowship). When I look at people with scholarships, not worrying much about money, I will think, that could have been me. But oh well.