My Reaction To Being Published In The Guardian

In case you've somehow managed to avoid my relentless spamming and self-promotion through three different social networks (four if you count GoodLooksBook, the social network reserved exclusively for extremely good-looking people*. Though its membership is small. But ridiculously beautiful --Editor) an article I wrote was published in the online version of The Guardian, the UK national newspaper. I first learnt when I noticed that quite a few visitors were arriving from my Guardian profile page. At first I was happy as a London tube driver on strike.

Then I realised. People who read The Guardian are coming.

Here. To my blog.

My first Facebook status update when I learnt was

ohgodohgodohgod people who visit my blog from the Guardian article are intelligent, aren't they? They're going to expect incisive political commentary on the state of the NHS, aren't they? Instead they're going to get a meme about fucking Justin Bieber. Hoo boy.

 Yep. The intelligent sorts that inhabit the Guardian's comment sections are probably even now throwing up/going into mass hysteria/calling my parents and scolding them for daring to bring such an abomination into the world. But wait! I swear it's not all poop jokes and memes here! I do honest intellectual posts sometimes** too! And I promise a few more will be coming soon.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your stay. And if you don't, I find paracetamol usually helps.

*If you actually believed such a site existed and clicked on the link, please email me. I have a lovely discount on the Brooklyn Bridge. No really. Oh, I'm also secretly Barack Obama. Why else do you think my blog updates are so slow?

**The definition of "sometimes" is subjective and may differ from person to perso-- ah fuck it, I LIKE POOP JOKES AND MEMES, OKAY. LEAVE ME ALONE.

If you like what you see, please consider liking my Facebook page. Oh come on, you like Facebook pages with nothing but hot chicks posting "OH I'M SO BORED" on their statuses. You can like mine too. I'll make goo-goo eyes at you.

Why The Power Rangers Never Needed To Pee: A Meme

If you don't remember the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, you either had no childhood,

or you're too young for this blog. Go here instead. Friendship is Magic!

A little break from the usual medical posts. I suddenly had a blast from the past and decided to come up with this. Back to the usual posts soon.

(Yes, I have too much free time. I need to let off steam too okay! What do you people want from me?! --Editor)

Emergency at 35,000 Feet

 This is only a slight exaggeration of what actually happened. No, really.

Every doctor dreams about it - the emergency aboard an airplane, the life-or-death scenario where medical attention is not available and a stranger's life literally rests in your hands. Some doctors fear the responsibility; others wish it would happen to them. Older doctors are the best suited for the job; they stay calm under pressure and softly call out orders to the flight crew, so much so that other passengers don't realise anything is wrong at all. But younger doctors (like a certain ridiculously handsome blogger we all know COUGHCOUGH --Editor) immediately hear the theme song from E.R. blaring in their minds, pull their shirts open to reveal Superman costumes underneath and start shouting out orders to air stewardesses who are busy trying not to fall in love with them.

Okay, so that didn't actually happen.

I boarded a Malaysia Airlines flight out of Heathrow last week. I was really tired and after kicking a little old lady out of my seat (she mistook seat number 56 for 59. Somebody was a naughty girl when she was young. AHAHA geddit geddit?* --Editor) I said hello to the people sitting next to me. My neighbour was a sweet old Scottish lady (let's call her Mrs McHaggis**) and next to her were a British Asian couple (the gentleman was also bald. Such a sexy man. You hear that ladies? BALD IS SEXAY. --Ed.) whose female half kept chatting away to Mrs McHaggis. Shortly afterwards the flight took off and the air stewardess came over to ask for my number give us our headphones, and I fell asleep.

I was woken up in the middle of the night by someone shaking my shoulder. It was dark in the cabin, everyone was asleep, and only the ghostly glow of the nighttime cabin lights illuminated the plane. Everyone was asleep. Then I heard the Asian wife say, "This lady's not well." I turned to see Mrs McHaggis lying limp in her chair, her mouth hanging open and her eyes rolling.

I immediately snapped to attention. My mind was filled with heroic images of me calming Mrs McHaggis down, calling the flight attendant, ordering the Asian couple to vacate their seats and place pillows underneath Mrs McHaggis's feet to elevate her legs, then receiving thunderous applause as Mrs McHaggis came back to life and several starstruck air stewardesses dragged me to their crew bedroom upstairs to reward me.

Then the bald guy sitting to my right brushed past me and did exactly everything in the above paragraph.

I blinked. Wait, this was supposed to be my fantasy! But the bald dude hadn't got the memo. He called the air stewardess (who was REALLY cool under pressure and had already brought an oxygen mask and canister), laid Mrs McHaggis down across all three seats, and asked ME to raise her legs.

I asked him if he was a doctor. He said yes, and that his wife was a first aider. I blinked again.

What were the odds of sitting between TWO doctors AND a first aider on a plane - and then having a medical emergency??

And as if that wasn't enough - the airplane hit turbulence.

Life hates me.

Once again the stewardess came to our rescue and found us seats on the double. Mrs McHaggis's pulse was 40 and she managed to stammer that she was on propranalol and thyroxine. Dr Baldy (the other guy, not me) and I took turns staying with her and giving her oxygen, and we learnt that she had a history of fainting and dizziness - this, coupled with the cabin's unusually warm temperature and Mrs McHaggis's many glasses of wine, probably caused her dizziness.

Two hours later, she was feeling better but was still groggy. I heard her mumble something and decided it was time to wake her. I leaned forward, signaled the air stewardess, and spoke softly in Mrs McHaggis's ear, "Hello madam, don't wor--"

With a nice loud clap that echoed throughout the cabin, her arm whipped around and slapped me straight off the seat.

Seriously. What is it with women and slapping me?!

When I looked up, I saw the air stewardess standing above me, furiously trying to hide a smile. SHE actually helped ME up, almost carrying me at one point. Seriously not macho.

When Mrs McHaggis regained consciousness, she had no idea she had given me an Epic Backhand (and I sure as hell wasn't about to tell her). She thanked me and Dr Baldy profusely, and the flight purser came over to give us first class packages as tokens of appreciation. After the flight landed, the flight crew had all learned my name and thanked us personally as we left. Some of them even applauded (even though I really didn't do as much as Dr Baldy).

And that, kids, is how I met your mo-- uh, how I had my first airplane emergency. Not nearly as heroic as I thought it would be, but when you're a freshly-graduated junior doctor, you're rather glad to have a senior doctor around to run the show. And the Malaysia Airlines air crew was professional, calm, and well-trained. Oh and Mrs McHaggis? We exchanged emails, and even promised to meet up. Hey, maybe Mister McHaggis will turn out to be some rich lord or something. I can dream, can't I?

*She mistook 6 for 9. AHAHA geddit? No? For Pete's sake, ask a teenager. You're slower than I am! (or less perverted)
**Obviously not her real name. Though it would be EFFING AWESOME if it was.

Okay, Google Really Hates Me

I'm still abroad in London and kinda busy losing at drinking games with friends saving lives, so just a quick post about the totally normal and not-suspicious-at-all top search term for my blog this week:

Don't you just love memes? I don't even have to do my own Photoshopping anymore!

(What's that you say? Thank god, because my Photoshop skills suck? SHADDUP.)

Yes. You read that right. This week's top Google search term for my blog is "big headed retard".

I'm tempted to come up with a funny reason for this, but I'm speechless. Are people trying to call ME a big headed retard? Is there some funny comic or meme about immature idiots with superiority complexes? Or maybe my delusions of self-persecution are finally coming true and this is all because of my favourite theory of the lot:

Life hates me.

Gee, Thanks Guys

I have been blogging for six years. In those six years I have seen joy-filled highs and depressing lows. I've seen classmates die, and I've helped make some new classmates. I've made people laugh, cry, and get so angry they feel like chasing me down with sharp objects (and some have). My blog has even been archived by the freaking British Library!

And in all these years of great reporting, insightful posts, and touching patient stories, my top post, gaining the most views, and attracting the most comments on Facebook, has been--

--about me getting slapped.

Oh wow. THANKS GUYS.

In other news, I'm gonna employ a frequent trick used by bloggers when they are too lazy to get off their Jabba-the-Hutt sized butts and type a new post in between big posts, and list some of the Google search terms that have been leading people to my blog this past week. Because some of these are scaring me.

"angry medic" - This was the most popular search term. Makes sense, right? Nothing wrong with searching for a freakishly handsome stupendously boring funny blogger.

 

"angry troll face" - Second most popular search term. Um, okay. A little weird but not so bad I guess. Here's an angry cave troll for you. That's what you wanted, right?

"hot nurse" - AMEN BRUTHA'! Them hot nurses, they be all over me on tha' wards, oh yeah. No wonder people come here searching for them - they probably want tips on how to score hot nurses, or want me to share some of mine. Well, you can't haz. They're all mine.

"not ur car diss" - This is where it starts to get weird. Um. IT OKAY IF DIS NOT MY CAR. DIS NOT UR CAR EITHER. SO U GO BACK TO SKOOL AND LEARN TO SPELLZ, OKAY? NO DO DRUGS.

"i thought i was a retard" - Another perfectly normal search ter-- wait what? My blog is...a meeting point for PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY'RE RETARDED? Jesus. This is Google trolling me bigtime because I kept using Yahoo for all my blog pictures, isn't it? HELLO RETARDS. YOU NO COME HERE. YOU GO HERE PLEASE. OR HERE (if you're the other type of retard). NOW GET OFF MY DAMN BLOG.

Okay. Glad that's done with. Now I'm late for an appointment with my psychiatri-- UMM ERR BEAUTICIAN. Yeah, that's it.

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.)

Giant Penguins Invade Cambridge!

"Hey Kate."

"What?"

"There's a guy walking behind us."

"So? This is King's Parade, Tom. The centre of Cambridge. There are TONS of people walking around us."

"No, no, I think this guy's a bit...weird."

"Why?"

"For some reason, he's carrying a giant penguin."

Sigh. The things I do for art...

Medics Revue promotional penguin