Turning away

"When the going gets tough, that's when the real choice is being made - to trust God? Or to turn away?"

The above was from my mentor.

What choice? What choice do I have? What if I turn away? What do I turn away to? To whom do I turn? When he first said it, it sounded good. But now I have no idea what he is talking about.

When the going gets tough - what else can I rely on? What can I rely on, when I am let down by myself and those around me? If I wanted to turn away - what then? He is my glimmer of hope, a promise that every tear will be wiped away. If I let go - how deep will I fall... what will break my fall?

Wrestling with God

Here, I'm referring to the biblical account of Jacob's wrestle with God - it is to be found in the book of Genesis, Chapter 32. To save you reading it all yourself (but I do suggest you read it yourself), I will do a quick synopsis on it for you.

Jacob is the second son of Isaac, and through deceit received the blessings that were meant for the oldest son, Esau. To flee from his brother's wrath, he ran away to Paddam Aram, where he (to cut a long story short), got married and had kids and became prosperous. The time came for him to return to his homeland, and to face his estranged brother. One night, on the road back, he sent his wives and all that he owned across a stream, he himself spending the night alone.

What follows is so bizarre I must describe it using the bible's own words: "So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said: 'let me go, for it is day-break'. But Jacob replied: 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.'" (Genesis 32:24-26, TNIV)

I do not want to launch into an interpretation of this wrestling - I am not a sufficiently avid theologian to even contemplate it. However, I do have some personal experiences that may relate to this paradoxical wrestling.

It happened a few days ago, I won't say what happened exactly, but it upset me quite a lot. It is interesting - I've read enough books and enough of the bible to know why we face trials like these, and to know that God is always with me and will be victorious in the end. But... faced with something that upset me, none of these lofty ideas were good enough to provide much comfort. Instead, I wanted no less than an assurance from God Himself that everything will be alright.

And so it was that I locked myself in my room, with the lights out, tears streaming down my face, rocking to and fro in the foetal position, wrestling with God. I did not blame God for the things that happen, nor want an explanation. I just wanted God to assure me that He is here with me and that everything will be ok. So I pleaded like a child, and even childishly said: "Bless me! I am not sleeping tonight until you bless me!"  I felt a little like a young child, grabbing the coat-tails of an adult and yelling: "No! Don't go! I'm not letting go!" Unlike Jacob, I could not last the night, and eventually, somehow, during my pleading and tantrums, I fell asleep.

I can't help but wonder if Jacob's wrestle is similar to my own. Like my own, it was a time of distress, and like me, Jacob merely wanted God's presence and blessing. Jacob's struggle was a physical as well as a spiritual one - he came away changed in character, but also with a dislocated hip. While I can not boast of a limp, I also did not come away unchanged.

I guess you're wondering, as I did, why God could not overpower Jacob. I think perhaps the answer lies in that God is our father - a parent. Few parents want to really hurt their children, and when the children are as wayward as ourselves (we who rarely come home and spend time with our father), our Father may well enjoy our presence whether we are worshipping or complaining. Philip Yancey said, in one of his books, that God did not leave Jacob until day-break, just to remain with His child and be held by His child's faith.

The other thing you're wondering about is whether God really did bless me that night when I clung on to His coat-tails. To be honest, I think I was too tired and in no state to receive any assurances from God. But the answer came a day later, when the whole issue was more or less resolved. Praise God...

Christian friendship

"A despairing man should have the devotion of his friends, even though he forsakes the fear of the Almighty. But my brothers are as undependable as intermittent streams..." - Job 6:14-15 

Then Job replied: "I have heard many things like these; miserable comforters are you all!" - Job 16:2

Those who know me would know that I'm not always an adept communicator, particularly when it is most needed. But training as a health care professional has equipped me (somewhat) with some knowledge as to what to say and what not to say. Specifically, I'm talking about how to communicate with people when they are going through tough times, when they are sharing their feelings with you.

It is somewhat different when faced with friends, in particular Christian friends. As my friendship with my church friends grow deeper I'm finding that people are confiding in me more and I'm always at a loss as to what to say.

"God will carry you through," I want to say. "Really you shouldn't worry, Jesus said His yoke is easy. These trials are like a character-building exercise, the bible tells us to be thankful for these experiences, because through these we become strengthened and matured. I've had trials before, and I don't think they go forever."

Of course, I can never bring myself to say all this. These words sound so condescending, patronising, particularly if spoken to someone who is a more mature Christian than me. To someone going through all sorts of trials, how do I tell them to be thankful? How do I communicate these meanings without sounding arrogant and holier-than-thou? Furthermore, how can I tell my friends not to worry, to be thankful, when these are the very issues that I myself wrestle with every day?

Job lamented, among other things, that his friends were not able to empathise with him - instead they were patronising and condescending. But how easy it is to fall into that trap! How I wish I could say something, or do something to ease their minds...

But I guess it's not my place to do this - nor do I have the power. God is the God of healing, and God will heal them, not me. Who am I to imagine that I can provide comfort that only God can provide? Could Job's friends ever relieve his suffering? I can only turn my helplessness into prayer, a prayer of intercession for my friends. May God heal us all, amen.

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.

Deborah and Esther

I used to have a really biased view of Christian women. Well, maybe not of Christian women as they are today, but what it takes to be the optimal Christian woman. My view was largely influenced by the biblical Queen Esther, who had a whole book of the Bible devoted to her tale. Her story was told in children's books and Sunday schools (and yes, I had accessed both of these to varying degrees when young), and she dominated one's imagination like Cinderella or Snow White.

If you don't know the story of Esther you really should read it, if not in the Bible then you should at least wiki it. The story is a worthy read, if only for its entertainment value. Of course, being a Christian young woman, I study Esther somewhat more than for its entertainment value. The story of Deborah (described in the book of Judges, chapters 4 and 5) is also worthy of interest, the reasons for which I will expound upon later.

Queen Esther generally gives the impression of being someone very meek and indeed very feminine. Of course meek does not mean weak - Esther had incredible resolve and strength of character, and, perhaps, a shrewd wisdom. The bible describes her obeying Mordecai's commands, winning the favour of all who saw her, and winning the heart of a mighty and (perhaps somewhat ruthless) king. God used her greatly, using her to save the Jewish people from genocide (a feat for which few others could single-handedly claim credit). Perhaps that is her character - obliging, like water, yet resolved like ice.

I once heard a talk where the speaker (a woman) said: "Esther is God's gift to women - so we may see how we are to be like. Esther bent the king to her will - how? She dressed herself in her finery, prepared a feast, and pleaded through tears." Perhaps that is how you win a man over - dress up, feed him, then cry. But that left me feeling extremely dissatisfied. For a long time I held her up as the single role model to women provided by God, and greatly admired all the soft-spoken, gentle, acquiescent Christian women in the world. I strove to fit myself to what I imagine Esther to be - but I am too different, and was left feeling confused and extremely frustrated.

Then along came mighty Deborah. Though she did not have a whole book of the bible devoted to her, she nevertheless saved Israel from harsh oppression from Canaanites. Deborah is a stark contrast from Esther. She was a prophetess, a judge, and a ruler. She did not shy away from the bloodiness of the battlefield, nor did the prospect of Canaanite chariots hinder her. Like Esther, she had a resolve like steel and a humility that causes the beholder to pause and reflect upon his own pride. But God used her in a way totally unlike Esther. Could Esther have saved Israel by her royal finery and tears? I can only imagine what would have happened if Deborah was in Esther's place. The bible makes no mention of Deborah's beauty, nor her winning favours with everyone she meets (does a ruler need to win favours?). Indeed, I can imagine Deborah having a lengthy debate with the king (after all, she is a judge and ruler). Praise God that we can all be used in different ways! And... praise God... we are allowed to be different to Esther (or the gentle-soft-cliche) and still be able to be used by God!

I have not reached Esther or Deborah in my Women of the Bible devotional yet, but I can't wait til I do. These two are undoubtedly my favourite two women in the bible, but I've come to recognise that the bible contains many intriguing female characters waiting to be found.

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.