Sex, Lies and Exams! The Angry Medic Tells All

Sheesh. You take a break from blogging and try and go into seclusion to set things right with your life, and what happens?

Why, your readers form an angry mob and drag you right back, of course.

But yeah. In a nutshell: I messed up, didn't do as well in my exams as I should have, and am now suffering from guilt. Which is why I've been as easy to find in the blogosphere as cellulite on Megan Fox's stomach. (The chick from Transformers, for those of you who a) are female, or b) are males with testicular deformations. --Editor)

I've spent several posts over on Medscape ranting on about passion, so much so that comments have ranged from a polite 'Um, why don't you write about something else for a bit?' to 'Stop whining, retard. Don't you have rectal exams to do?' But I worked hard, very hard at times, to get into med school, and when I got in I stopped and became what my tutors would diplomatically call "a lazy git". Which is why I was left wondering where all the passion went, where all the discipline went. (Not that I had much to begin with - remember I got into Cambridge on the strength of my eyelashes. Dangit. Now I wish I'd taken my mother's advice and become an eyelash extension model. --Ed)

To cut a long story short, I told my tutors, got a few textbooks thrown at me, got a few more whip scars on my arse (and some wheelchair tracks - one of my professors is kinda old. Don't ask. --Ed) and am on my way to fixing things. Which basically means that for the duration of the summer I have to SuperGlue my arse to my seat and study as if Dr Miranda Bailey herself was behind me holding a whip.

Thanks for the lovely words of encouragement to those of you who left some. They restore my faith in humanity. No that is NOT a tear in my eye. That's just, um, pencil fumes. Yeah.