B. What does B stand for, children? Let us count together.
Firstly, it stands for bitching. Which is what this post is going to be about. So if you can't stand a pissed-off medic ranting about his extremely sad but ironically humourous medicky excuse for a life, then for heaven's sake, press the back button now and go back to whichever porn site you came from. Or go here and dance with the fluffy bunnies.
Secondly, B stands for Type B. As in Type B medical students. As explained by Michelle of Michelle vs The Med Student.
Normally it's tough being a Type B in a med school. You aren't as driven as some of the people in your classroom, fine. You don't take as many notes, fine. You don't score 99% on every test, fine. You still graduate, get unleashed on the poor sods who are going to be your patients, and get to do doctorly stuff like jab people and stuff your fingers up their bums. And as long as you don't kill anyone, you'll be okay. (If you DO kill someone, then you're either 1) very unlucky, or 2) an idiot. Don't point at me and tell the judge at your malpractice trial "But some Cambridge medic said it was okay if I killed a few people along the way!" --Editor)
But to be a Type B medical student in Cambridge? Cambridge, Seat of Academic Power, Home of Zombie Lecturers Who Stay In Their Labs All Day, Birthplace of Research So Impressively Named It Makes Your Granny's False Teeth Fall Out Just Pronouncing It?
Burn in hell, SINNER!
Oh heck no. If you don't sit in the library for at least 8 hours a day and whack some fat textbook against your forehead until you can recite everything in it including the author's grandmother's favourite dog's name, then you're not fit to be in Cambridge. You're a Type B. Throw off those fake glasses, you bastard, and pack your bags. Here's a ticket to Hull. Try your luck there, and if they don't take you in, we've already told the British Institute of Learning Disabilities you're coming. Retard.
What else can we find for the letter B? Oh yes, here's one: burnout. As written about magnificently by the inimitable Sid Schwab of Surgeonsblog. I had a supervision today where my supervisor was a real doctor (you know, one of those sad blokes who slaves away in hospital, not some aging hippie who has a PhD and sits in a lab for 5 months obsessing over some obscure molecule which about 3 people in the world genuinely care about. --Ed). As some of you know, I'm interested in doing surgery as a career. I tell my supervisor this. And he tells me he's never doing surgery because it's a horrible, horrible specialty, where all the extremely competitive anal-retentive medics just backbite and bitch about each other in a mad scramble to the top. In fact, he goes so far as to say "It's just like an episode of The Apprentice".
Why the hell am I doing medicine again? Remind me, someone. Please. Answers on the back of a postcard to Jesus College, Cambridge. Either that, or send me a 9mm handgun so I can put myself out of my misery. (But not before taking out a few of my course organisers first. Hey, if I'm going to hell, I want company on the way down. --Ed)
And if you've managed to keep reading this far without passing out cold on your laptop or taking me up on my earlier offer of clicking over to Fluffy Bunny Land, then congrats! I'm not all moan moan bitch bitch, you know. There's some meaning to this B nonsense I've been spouting all this while, and it's that I've finally made the blogging B-list, according to this little Bloglebrity gadget. I've been wanting to make it out of the C-list for a while, and now I'm finally on the B-List. Give it a click and see what list you're on. (Disclaimer: The results are UTTERLY MEANINGLESS and don't mean a thing about blogging ability or popularity, in fact. It's just another one of my lame ways to pass the time whilst waiting to fail my degree. --Ed)
Now excuse me whilst I go do a little lame dance now to celebrate the fact that whilst I am totally and utterly screwed in my career and my life, I at least am nerdy enough to be able to maintain a blog. Though I may have to change its name soon. The Angry Lawyer, anyone? The Angry MBA-Holder? The Angry Construction Worker? Catchy, no?