Kampung Tullamore

Tullamore Hospital-25 minutes from the BnB I'm situated in

Dinnis Cottage!

My room :)

Old-School

“Could you give me a hand, son?” asked the old lady who had just came out of the bathroom.

She was on crutches and was struggling to hold on to her change of clothes. I immediately helped carry her things and asked her to lead me to her bed.

The ward was full of elderly ladies. They seemed cheerful.

“I see you got yourself a nice boy toy over there,” said the lady in wearing a yellow dressing gown.

“Ooo, hello there son, I tip very generously,” said another, showing off her pronounced wrinkles as she winked at me. The rest of the gang sniggered in the background.

“Now you keep your hands off him! I found him and he’s mine,” said my patient.

I didn’t know where to hide my face. So I smiled at each of the ladies.

“Now you take good care of her. And no funny business!” said another one as I closed the curtains to my patient’s bed.

I helped seat her on to the bed.

“How can I help you there?” I asked her.

“Well, unless you have a thing for old ladies, I suggest you leave so that I can get dressed....”

Sheesh talk about mixed signals...

Home away from home

I was glancing through my files and realized I forgot to post this. It was written about three weeks ago, detailing my journey from Kuala Lumpur back to Dublin. Enjoy

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So begins my long (very long) journey back to Dublin.

The two months spent back home seemed like a flash, though my stomach would beg to differ. Being away from home for the most part of the year leads to the assumption that one has to be fed till he cannot feed no more. Enough about my gastronomic exploits...

Hairy-zilla

I’ve always been fascinated with the concept of the unibrow, where one’s eyebrows meet in the middle and form a single eyebrow.

Never for the life of me could have imagined that hair could extend from the chin(beard), down to the neck(neck hair?), and ‘connect’ with chest hair. Now what would you call that?

I couldn’t keep my eyes of Hairy. He was wearing a polo shirt which was buttoned all the way to the top. And his chest hair was thicker than the hair on his head.

Oh I googled 'the world's hairiest man' and found this picture

It’s not polite to stare. It really isn’t.

DUBAI Airport

I’m a quarter way through my ten hour stopover in Dubai Airport. I felt extremely refreshed after taking advantage of the free shower rooms situated strategically beside the prayer room.

After spending half an hour browsing through duty free shops, I realized that 142.50 Dirhams doesn’t really give me a whole lot of purchasing power.

The free buffet was a disappointment. I couldn’t stomach anything but the macaroni and cheese. So, off to Burger King for dinner number two.

Burner King

No that wasn’t a typo. They burnt the meat in my double swiss mushroom, which cost a whopper 46 Dirhams! And it tasted like charcoal. Waste oh waste...

Displacement

India has a population of more than 1 billion. Ireland has a population of 5 million. Most countries in Europe have small populations. Hence the term ‘personal space’ is understood differently.

I am not a racist. This is just an observation.

A European couple were seated at a table for four. They weren’t really eating, just hanging out and having a conversation.

Along come two Indian ladies, who asked permission to occupy the two ‘empty’ seats in front of the couple.

What? Who does that?

The couple looked at each other uncomfortably without really saying no to the Indian ladies. That was the cue, the ladies sat down without batting an eyelid. It was awkward, even for me to watch. My table was right beside them.

Thirty seconds later, the rest of the Indian family arrived (in sorta like a scene from the Nutty Professor), carrying a whole bunch of whoppers and fries.

They just hung around the table, without really asking the couple to leave. They started to have animated conversations with each other, making a whole lot of noise in the process.

It was a psychological battle. I could almost feel the tension in the air. In the end, the couple left. The Indians won. They got the table without even having to ask. Classic.

It didn’t end there.

The table for four just wouldn’t fit the SIX of them. They weren’t exactly small. The two ladies inched closer and closer towards my table. The little ones had already arrived at my table, cautiously eyeing me as I hid behind my laptop. One of them finally sat down right beside me.

The invasion had begun.

Another glance at the clock. 7 hours to go.

Birmingham International Airport

I finally arrived in Birmingham. The immigration queue was ridiculously long. It took a little more than two hours to get my passport stamped. Just 5 hours left till my flight to lovely ol’ Dublin.

I found a cosy spot on one of the unoccupied massage chairs. Not that I wanted a massage. Nor did I want to hear groans of pleasure by the Arab beside me after he inserted a pound into the machine. Geez.

Bimbos & Bones

“What is the name of the gene that causes FAP?” asked the “bimbo”

“I can’t remember?” I gulped.

This would be the second time I failed to answer her question.

“What do you mean you CAN’T remember!? Did you ever know the answer?” she asked condescendingly.

For a moment I thought I saw a flash of red in her eyes.

“Errr, I did read about it, but I still can’t remember,” I was fumbling to find words.

“You read about it. And you can’t remember. What’s the point then? That means you didn’t LEARN it. You READ it. There’s a big difference!” she rattled on.

I vow never to forget the gene that causes FAP. The APC gene on chromosome 5.

I was still having palpitations as she left the room. The Bimbo wasn’t someone to mess around with. Not even Hermione escaped her wrath.

I’ve got to start studying!

......

Orthopaedics

The next two week’s will be spent in The National Orthopaedic Hospital, Cappagh, situated about an hour and a half from where I live.

I actually like orthopaedics. I don’t know why. It seems so simple and straight forward. And it involves a lot of anatomy which I excelled at during my pre-clinical years.

Even the ortho lecturers joke about how they’re regarded as thick and brutal

What's the difference between a rhinoceros and an orthopaedic surgeon?

One's thick-skinned, small-brained and charges a lot for no very good reason....the other's a rhinoceros.

This might just be the job for me.

Welcome Back You Drones

“You there, what’s your name?” asked the blond haired tutor, affectionately known as the ‘bimbo’ among med students.

“What can you tell me about the anatomy of the biliary tree?”

I froze. I honestly knew nothing.

“Well I’m waiting...”

I mumbled on about the gallbladder and bile. I really wasn’t sure

“Okay you’re at least you’re NOT a total idiot. So what produces bile young man?”

“Errr, the pancreas?” I answered.

My partner groaned. I knew I was in trouble.

She got up to explain the whole anatomy of the biliary tree.

“I’m gonna ask yous again next week. If anyone of yous do NOT know the answer, I’m gonna ask yous to leave my tutorial, is that alright?”

Welcome to Medicine II

Cervix Wars

“A D&C, or dilatation and curettage is a diagnostic test, where a dilator is inserted up the vagina to ensure the walls are patent. Then a currete is used to obtain samples from the endometrial wall which are then processed in the lab to obtain a histological diagnosis,” explained Aisling, the enthusiastic gynae intern.

“If you’re lucky you might be able to see one in theatre today”

I was one of the “lucky” ones...

...................

The women was quite obese. She laid in the lithotomy position. It wasn’t a pleasant sight

They inserted a metal rod right into her vagina, which I assumed functioned as the dilator. I cringed. It looked painful.

Suddenly, she started moving.

“ The patient is waking up!” cried the scrub nurse. Everyone froze for a second.

The anaesthetist was furiously turning knobs and injecting more white stuff. He was in trouble.

The patient started excreting urine and faeces. She was writhing in pain.

THE ROD WAS STILL IN HER!

Thank god for the surgical mask. My mouth was wide open. I was terrified.

The consultant anaesthetist came over to assist. It was all over in 10 minutes.

I glanced at the anaesthetist. It was Tom...

Stoma-phile

In medicine, a stoma (Greek - pl. stomata) is an opening (a direct translation of the Koine Greek would be "mouth"), either natural or surgically created (artificial), which connects a portion of the body cavity to the outside environment.

One well-known form of an artificial stoma is a colostomy, which is a surgically-created opening in the large intestine that allows the removal of feces out of the body, bypassing the rectum, to drain into a pouch or other collection device.

Wikipedia

Case of the week

A middle aged female, presented for stoma bag replacement due to contamination of its contents. When asked further about the reasons why her bag would be contaminated she finally gave an honest reply,

“My husband ejaculated in my stoma”

Sick!

Bottoms Up

“Hi, my name is *****, I’m a medical student and today is my final exam....” as I shook his hand, praying for the life of me that he didn’t suffer from one of them rare and complicated syndromes.

And so it began.

I had 40 minutes to figure out what he had, before being grilled by a couple of consultants. The curtains were drawn....

40 minutes later...

“Mr JN is a 62 year old gentleman from Dublin, presenting with a painful and swollen left elbow on a background of Rheumatoid Arthritis for the past two years...”

“Go on,” said Dermott, my examiner for the day.

40 minutes ago...

“Do you have any allergies?”

“I have a rash on my elbows after taking Humira,” replied JN

Things were going smoothly.

“I also have a rash near my bottom,” he continued.

“Your bottom?”

Within a “flash” (literally), he pulled his pants down.

So there I was, sitting in a chair, with a naked man’s buttocks held up to my face.

“Can you see it doctor?” he said, peering in between his legs.

As if the day couldn’t get any better...

Exams and all that jazz

No one enjoys exams. Period.

At this point in time, all I can think of is home.

Homesickness is exacerbated by exams.

Sounds like one of them lines from the untouched clinical textbook just lying on my desk, almost teasing me to pick it up.

.....................................................................

“I just want to pass, that’s all that matters,”

I don’t even need a reference for that quote. All of yous have said it before. Especially medics.

In truth, a pass is never enough. It’s a consolation, yes. But deep down inside all of us high-achievers can’t stand to see anything but an ‘A+’ on our result sheet. Sad, but true.

However, admitting that you want an ‘A’ could potentially ostracise you from your friends. Or even blow up in your face when you fail to get it. Therefore most of us settle for “..as long as it’s a pass”.

And this isn’t a shoutout asking any of you to stop pretending. In fact, I do it, and will continue doing it. It’s much more comforting when you have low expectations. You just can never get disappointed.

Aim for the stars. If you miss, the fall will hurt like hell.

While it’s nice to dream about getting a perfect report card, it sucks to wake up and realize that you chose medicine as a career.

So, a pass will do...