After three long years of being stuck in lecture theatres, of getting minute biochemical facts that no one in the world bloody cares about (except for about three random overworked biochemists with no life and who haven't seen the outside of their labs for months) crammed into the very limited space in my head, of being sniggered at for getting questions wrong by pompous blowheads who take the sticks out of their arses once a month to have their monthly shits*, of seeing patients twice a year and staring at the floor when the old lady in front of you faints and someone shouts "Is anyone here a doctor?" --
-- after three years of all that, I am finally, FINALLY in clinical school.
And the urge to start writing again has been niggling at the back of my head like a kidney stone niggles at a ureter (hah! see? I actually know what those are now! --Ed.) Heck, even The Fake Doctor (formerly of Ah Yes Medical School) has started writing again. Unfortunately even my most loyal readers have started searching their newspaper's obituary pages for my name, so if I started writing the only people to read this for the first few months would probably be my parents, my pet cat, and the bird who drops by my window every morning to crap. But I've got too much wide-screen madness in my life not to document it so some suicidally depressed person can read it and think "Wow, my life isn't that bad after all!" Besides, if ever there was a comedy show it'd be my life, and the first episode would be titled 'My First Week In Medical School'. Which I'll talk about next post, if I can keep dodging the homicidal nurses, evilly grinning professors and angry patients that populate my hospital long enough to survive the next few days.
Happy Rosh Hashanah!
*(cos they're anal-retentive. Geddit?)