Writer's Block

Everyone gets it. Sometimes you sit in front of the computer, and you want to write, but it just. Doesn't. Happen.

It's not that I've been lazy to update this blog. It's not that I have no stories to tell - on the contrary I've just finished my General Practice rotation, and have had my whole worldview on GPs radically altered. It's not that I haven't pissed off any doctors/nurses/janitors with access to lots of sharp pointy objects recently - on the contrary some of my colleagues have suggested wearing a paper bag on to the wards to avoid persecution.

And I've had ups and downs. Rollercoaster rides the likes of which I haven't experienced in years. People who've come into my life whom I can't decide whether I love or hate. In short, the things that medical school does to you.

But it's all happened so...suddenly.

So I'm kinda reeling from it all right now. And I ask for your patience (yes, all three of you who still bother to check this blog. It's an old joke, but probably never more true than now. --Editor) Updates will come soon. You'll laugh. You'll cry. But most of all, you'll wonder--

How the hell did they allow this guy into medical school?

Do Not Disturb: Medical Students At Work

Newly graduated doctors, class of 2009.

As a medical student you get used to a feeling of power very quickly. Striding down the hospital hallways, stethoscope draped prominently across your shoulders and an important look on your face, patients and staff make way for you, reverent looks on their faces. There is an implicit trust across the consultation room table, even though the only lives you're going to save anytime soon are those of your greedy intestinal bacteria as you choose which sandwich you're going to have for lunch.

It is with full awareness of this trust that I bring to you these vignettes from med school. I've only been on the wards one week, but have managed to piss off two consultants, three janitors and one VERY large clinical teaching co-ordinator who may or may not have been wrestling champion in her original village in Africa. Stay tuned for more faith-reinforcing tales like this:

On Tuesday afternoon, three supposedly world-class medical students in a supposedly world-class university stand in the hallway of a supposedly world-class hospital. Their brows are furrowed in intense concentration, as if lives hung in the balance of their deliberations. Thick textbooks are clutched in their hands. The conversation goes something like this:

"Hey dudes. You watch House, right?"

"Um yeah. Why?"

"Cause here comes Asian Cuddy. Act natural."

"Dude, why're you using that textbook to cover your--"

"ACT NATURAL!"

Three supposedly world-class medical students, between them holding degrees in Cardiology, Surgery & Anaesthesia and Experimental Psychology, whistle nonchalantly as the Clinical Teaching Co-ordinator walks by, smiling sweetly as she chats on the phone.

"Dude that did NOT look like Cuddy."

"It so totally DID! Did you see the cleavage on that one?"

"Meh...I see the resemblance. But-- ooh she dropped a pen. She's bending over!"

Silence for a moment.

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"NOW she looks like Dr Cuddy."

More silence.

"Hey, didn't surgical rounds start like ten minutes ago?"

"SHIT."

In Memoriam: Yasmin Ahmad, 1958-2009

One of my favourite filmmakers, the talented indie film genius Yasmin Ahmad, has passed on.

Her films were often controversial and like so many geniuses throughout history, she endured censure from many quarters for daring to speak her mind; still others saw her genius and showered international praise on her work for being ahead of its time.

Her films have been screened and praised at film festivals all across the world: Cannes, Berlin, San Francisco, Singapore, Tokyo, the Créteil International Women's Film Festival ; you name it, she's been there. And been applauded. And been told her work is visionary.

Yasmin Ahmad passed away with the same drama that sadly plagued her whole life: whilst recording a program for national television, she suffered a stroke and slumped forward in her chair, motionless. She was rushed to hospital and successfully thrombolysed, but sadly succumbed to intracranial haemorrhage 48 hours later.

Her first breakout film was filmed in my old school. We all developed a special affinity for her, and she never let us down, even in the face of censure and resistance.

Another shining star in the international arts scene has been extinguished. She will be missed.

Christopher Lee Finally Knighted; Balance of Universe Restored

Note: If you've been living under a rock for the last 60 years (or are a first-year houseman doctor) and do not know who Sir Christopher Lee is, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE DO NOT POST THIS IN THE COMMENTS OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL TRACK YOU DOWN AND BITE YOUR HEAD OFF WITH MY BLUNT, GAP-TOOTHED, CAVITY-RIDDEN FRONT TEETH. You think those terrorists who capture reporters and saw their heads off on camera with blunt knives are scary? You ain't seen my front teeth. There's a reason why I alone out of 500 students was asked not to smile in my graduation photo. Now excuse me whilst I go take my Ritalin. --Editor

Image taken from the official website. He holds the Guinness World Record for most movie roles, so you've definitely seen or heard him before. If you haven't, FOR GOD'S SAKE DO NOT POST THIS IN THE COMMENTS. If you do, hire a bodyguard and tell him to watch specifically for crazed fanboys.

Veteran actor Christopher Lee, one of my favourite people in the world (see above Note), has been conferred a Knighthood in the Queen's Birthday Honours List, making him Sir Christopher Lee.

Lee, 87, has spent his career terrifying cinema-goers.

As well as appearing in classic horror films such as 1958's "Dracula" and 1959's "The Mummy", Sir Christopher also played memorable baddie Scaramanga in the 1974 James Bond classic "The Man With The Golden Gun".

In recent years he starred as Saruman in "The Lord Of The Rings" trilogy and Count Dooku in the "Star Wars" prequels.

All I have to say to this is:

LIKE, DUDES! FINALLY!

You know, I was the one who originally broke to the world the news that Christopher Lee was reprising his role as Count Dooku in the animated film Star Wars: The Clone Wars. I posted the question on his official website and his son-in-law replied, making the official announcement that was picked up by news sites everywhere. Yep, that was me, folks. And my mom said I'd never make an impact in life. Hah! (Oh wait, my parents read this blog. Hi mom! You look lovely today! --Ed.)

Actual Star Wars statuette by Gentle Giant. No, I do not own a signed edition
which I keep in my room surrounded by flowers and love candles. Really.
Stop asking or I'll hit you with my signed edition Force FX Count Dooku lightsaber.

In Search Of Unprotected Text - Another Blogger Bites The Dust (Or Does He?)

(Apologies in advance for those of you arriving at this post from Google expecting a discreet dating service or Thailand travel agents. Not that I can't tell you about both, including which massage parlours to avoid - gonorrhoea's a bitch. --Editor)

If you've been reading the comments on my last post, you'll have heard that the Unprotected Text blog has mysteriously disappeared without explanation. There's a comment on my last post by an anonymous visitor announcing the worst:

I've (sic) very sorry to report that the author of 'Unprotected Text' blog tragically died earlier this week in a road accident. His family requested the blog be taken down, and this was done so in accordance to their wishes. My thoughts are with them this week.

A couple of other commenters, who seem to know Unprotected Text's author and refer to him by name (which the above bad-news bear doesn't), have found no sign of this being the case. I hope he's okay - sometimes shit just happens to bloggers and they have to stop blogging. (Or, as in my case, you're so lazy you have sloths protesting outside your door for putting their species to shame. --Ed.)

This reminds me of the Dr Crippen death hoax last year, which I covered in this post, and which was revealed when Dr Crippen suddenly came back to life, becoming the world's first zombie doctor. The culprit was a disgruntled nurse who took offense at his nurse-bashing ways and took advantage of the good doctor's writer's block/holiday/meltdown. Things ended well there though (well, except that I slaved for hours on Photoshop to create this masterpiece for him and he didn't even mention it. Ungrateful old man. All I wanted was a little love, daddy! *cocks gun*)

Any news on Unprotected Text's status would be appreciated. Coming up: Christopher Lee FINA-friggin-LLY gets knighted, and I reveal my fetish for old British men. Completely unrelated posts, of course. Cough.

Look at this shit! I slaved for hours to create this Da Vinci-shaming
artistic brilliance! What's that you say? Your Indonesian maid could

do better and she just learnt to use Photoshop yesterday? Oh screw you.

Free Surgery For Spammers!

The changing room door squeaks loudly as I enter, hoping to change quickly and sneak into theatre without anyone noticing how ridiculously late I am. Naturally, this catches the attention of everyone in the changing room, and who should be sitting closest to the door but my latest boss, Komrad Konsultant Surgeon. God must still be mad at me from last week when I kicked that little puppy down my road. (I was reading a textbook whilst walking, okay? Also said textbook may then have ended up on said puppy. NOT MY FAULT. --Editor) I mutter under my breath to the door, "Thanks a lot, asshole." (And yes, I talk to inanimate objects, okay? It makes up for the fact that I have no friends. DON'T JUDGE ME. --Ed.)

Komrad Konsultant sweeps out the door, giving me a look that would make even Ron Jeremy's* unmentionables shrivel so much he'd need Viagra for the rest of his life. I go to theatre and look at the surgery list for the day, and I swear God must've heard what I called that door, because typed on that sheet were 2 haemorrhoid repairs, 2 anal fistulotomies (back-to-back!) and a rectal biopsy.

Bummer**.

As I scanned the list and prepared for an afternoon of going where no man had gone before (colonoscopes don't count), I swear all I could think of was -

how I wish these patients were all the spammers on my blog.

Hell, I'd do it for free. I'd even give them a huge discount on anaesthetics.

It was a while before I realised the scrub nurses were staring at my evil grinning and hand-rubbing. Man, I hate spammers.

*Famous porn star known for his huge-- um, ego. Good friend of mine. Birds of a feather must stick together. Right ladies?
**No pun intended***.
***Oh, who am I kidding.

What They Don't Tell You About Medical School

1. That calling a doctor "Sister" or worse, "Nursie" by mistake is going to earn you an hour-long scolding (during which the word "bastard" is used, and not in reference to the illegitimate child being born to the crack-dealing prostitute in the next ward), a very sore ear from previously-mentioned scolding, and a knowing snigger from every nurse you pass by for the next two weeks. (Not that I'd know anything about that, of course. Cough.)

2. That when you put in a cannula in an elderly patient in ICU (Intensive Care Unit) for the first time, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GET IT RIGHT. And yes, the ward nurse WILL call you in two hours telling you that the patient's arm has swelled up bigger than Donald Trump's ego, and the patient's family wants to know which third-rate night-school retard doctor put that cannula in. (Not that I'd know anything about that either, of course. Cough cough.)

3. That your time management skills are going to decrease to those of a hyperactive chimpanzee addicted to Ritalin, and that this combined with a succession of emo posts and a very unfortunate exam timetable (Sunday afternoon clinical OSCE. 'Cos that's the only time they can clear the hospital's outpatients department --Editor) is going to reduce your previously impressive blog readership (three whole readers! --Ed.) to shameful (myself. Ooh, and my flatmate's dog. --Ed.)

That's all for now, folks, but right after exams I'm going to start posting reasonably regularly again. Med school has once again become the widescreen madhouse it started out to be, and hey I figure as long as I'm suffering, I might as well make some people laugh. (And if exams DON'T go well, forget the blog - come see me at your local McDonald's and I'll tell you the story in person. I'll be the guy mopping the floors - did you know they DON'T pay minimum wage? --Ed.)