Pain Tolerance Level: Asian

Why yes that IS Justin Bieber crying in the middle of a Scrubs meme. Sue me.

I see this elderly Asian farmer on the ward who has his foot covered by a cloth.

Me: Hello sir, I'm told you have necrotising fasciitis (flesh-eating bacteria). Would you mind if I took a look?

Patient: No, go ahead. It's nothing great though.

Me (uncovering the leg): Oh, I've only seen NF cases in the UK. They're just red rashes mostly.

Patient: Yeah, this one is nothing much either.

I uncover his leg - AND THE ENTIRE FOOT'S SKIN IS GONE. Seriously, it looks like a dissection model.

Me: ...holy crap. Why did you wait so long to come to hospital?!

Patient: Oh, it was starting to itch a little in the field, so I thought I'd get a doctor to check it out.

Stuff They Don't Teach You In Medical School: Inflight Emergencies

This is part of a series on medical school advice. To see the previous entry, click here.

Okay, so you don't really follow CPR guidelines, but what does he know? He's just some dumb kid.
(What's that you say? Not as dumb as the guy who Photoshopped this in the first place? SHADDAP.)

A few posts ago I wrote about how I single-handedly saved a beautiful woman from her heart exploding aboard a plane before making wild love to her and being dragged upstairs to the crew bedroom by about ten air stewardesses. Wait what? That didn't happen? Damn. I knew drinking coffee before bed would give me crazy dreams. Anyway,what I DID do was help a senior doctor resuscitate and take care of this elderly lady who had fainted after feeling dizzy on a long-haul flight. She had drunk more wine than she was used to before going to sleep.

I was woken up by the doctor's wife telling me that this lady was nearly unconscious. Halfway through rubbing my eyes, I remembered that I was a doctor and my brain started screaming the resus mnemonic at me. The air stewardess passed by, and I called her over and told her urgently "Get me a cup of water please".

"No, not water." Came the authoritative voice of Dr Baldy (not me, the other senior doctor. Imagine the rapper Pitbull except as a doctor. Wait, actually, that would make him Dr Evil. Never mind. --Editor).

I stopped. Both me and the stewardess looked at him.

"Bring her a cup of 7-Up instead. Just a small one," he said, and the stewardess nodded.

As she ran off, I asked Dr Baldy what type of doctor he was. "Oh, I'm a GP," he said. "What's with the 7-Up?" I followed. He proceeded to explain to me that in his experience as a GP, when people were feeling nauseous (like they're going to vomit), giving them plain water would often make them vomit, whereas a small quantity of a sugary carbonated drink actually helped fight the feeling and calmed them down somewhat. "7-Up seems to work the best, in my experience," he added. "I don't know why, but a lot of being a GP is working from experience".

He was right. The lady felt better and less thirsty, and she didn't throw up.

Later after the flight landed, I thanked him for the tip. "Any other last tips?" I asked him.

"Just one. Don't work in the NHS." He winked, put his arm around his wife, and headed for his connecting flight.

I started giggling like a schoolgirl going "ZOMG I WANT TO BE JUST LIKE HIM" over and over again picked up my bags and also left. Who knew 7-Up could be so useful?

So kids, the next time you feel sick from catching a virus/eating bad food/reading this blog, remember - SIP SOME 7-UP, NOT WATER. See? Who said reading my blog wasn't educational?

If you liked this post, please consider liking our Facebook page. If you didn't like the post, go like my Facebook page anyway. I love you long time.

Why I Am A Chelsea Fan

In case you missed last night's Chelsea-Barcelona match, here's what it looked like from my mind. (Warning: my mind is not representative of a normal sane mind):

I was going to apologise for this being a non-medical-related post, but then I realised this is football. Football fits into ANY blog, yo.

It's tough being a Chelsea fan, especially if you don't live in London. You're always surrounded by Manchester United fans, your team changes managers faster than Kim Kardashian changes husbands, and when you go to the pub with your friends to watch a match, you spend half the time in the toilet whilst your friends shout at you to drag your cowardly ass out and take Torres's excuses like a man.

So you may ask, if I know it's a sad life of torture and chugging antidepressants half the time, why did I even become a Chelsea fan? (Besides the fact that I enjoy pain and suffering, of course. I DID study medicine, you know. --Editor) Well, after last night's amazing match , I would like to say I became a Chelsea fan because I was inspired by the way they play and saw the potential in them to go far, and always had faith that they would shine when it mattered.

I would like to say that. That, of course, is a lie. I became a Chelsea fan much by accident.

When I moved to London, I found a lovely flat in Fulham Broadway to live. On my first day I rang the doorbell and a large Irish lady came out and introduced herself as the landlady. She very kindly showed me in, and after a short chat, she asked me the question.

"So, which football team do you support?"

At that time I didn't really follow football, and was going to tell her that. But something about the way she was looking at me warned me that she wasn't just making polite conversation.

That's when I noticed the blue scarf she was wearing.

And the blue welcome mat I was standing on.

And the ENTIRE FREAKING KITCHEN painted in blue. All covered with one logo.

"Chelsea," I said with the widest Honest Doctor smile I had learnt in communication skills classes.

She relaxed, then put down the rolling pin she'd been hiding behind her back the whole time*.

"Good. You better be a Chelsea fan round here, 'cos if you're not, you're likely to get beaten up!" She joked with a friendly smile. But the look in her eyes burned straight into my soul, and I knew she wasn't joking.

These days when I think about switching teams to Arsenal, or maybe even cheering for Man U at a match with my friends, I close my eyes--

--and I see my landlady staring at me with those eyes.

Chelsea. I'm Chelsea till I die. Yep.

*Okay I was kidding about the rolling pin. I think. 

SHAMELESS PLUG: If you thought this post was good/bad/made you throw up through at least three orifices, would you consider liking our Facebook page? I would love you forever and be eternally grateful and give all your kids free healthcare**. Thanks! 

**free healthcare may not be free. Or healthcare either, for that matter.

Blog Housekeeping and Maintenance, a.k.a. I Wish I Had A Latino Maid

You gotta do everything yourself these days. Sheesh.
(If you don't get the joke, it's a Family Guy character. Also, why don't you watch Family Guy?! Are you ill?)

Those of you who read this blog regularly (all three of you) may have noticed some changes in the sidebar and upon scrolling down posts. This can only mean one thing: The Angry Medic has been messing about with HTML and templates and other stuff too complicated for his tiny brain to understand (You're only half right. My brain is not tiny; it's just largely empty. --Editor). But because I'm such a nice guy (and because my inbox is overflowing with hate mail already --Ed.) I'd like to get your feedback on these changes. So let me just tell you about some new stuff around the site:

-- Despite my deep hatred of Twitter (more on that in the following post), I have finally succumbed and joined Twitter. You can follow me using the button on the right, and see my latest tweets in the box on the lower right in the sidebar. Please be my friend on Twitter. I promise to keep you entertained with the latest news from my miserable life. You'll feel better about yourself, because your life doesn't suck so much. Cough.

Here's a cute bird. Doesn't that deserve following me on Twitter? LOOKIT HIS BIG CUTE EYES. HE'S SHO CUTE AIN'T HE? Oh god, I think I need to vomit now.

-- Because a lot of my readers are new and haven't seen my earlier (even more vomit-inducing) but totally awesome and not at all mental-illness-causing posts, I've installed the Slide-Out Recommended Post application. If you scroll down a post (not the main page), a recommended post should slide out of the bottom right screen corner. It's only supposed to do this at the end of a post, but it's so excited to see you, it can't help but come sooner than expected. (A problem many of my friends face. For the last time guys, no I will not help you steal Viagra from the hospital. Get some therapy. --Ed.)

--  I also finally have a Facebook page! You can get my tweets, blog posts, and crappy status updates all in one place! If you're on Facebook, do a poor starving ridiculously handsome medic a favour and 'Like' my Facebook page. You won't regret it, I promise*.

But all this depends on whether you, the reader, likes it, or thinks this makes reading my blog even MORE annoying than it already is. So if you don't like it, please let me know, either in the comments or by emailing me at angrymedic [at] gmail [dot] com. Especially the slide-out thing. I already have enough people sending me flame letters and hate mail every day, thankyouverymuch (no, my lecturers haven't forgiven me yet for raising their blood pressure permanently over the course of six years. I HATE YOU GUYS TOO. --Ed.)

*Oh, who am I kidding. I crossed my fingers whilst typing that. How did I type with crossed fingers? I, uh, have very talented fingers. Just ask my rectal exam patients!

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.

I'll Be Right Back

So this place has turned into a bit of a graveyard since I went abroad, but I'm back and sleeping off my jet lag like the lazy ass I am finishing my next few blog entries. I've got quite a few stories to tell (which only means I've been through a lot of misery and want to share it with you guys like the generous giver that I am --Editor) including views on the British National Health Service, my aunt's cat (no, seriously) and how on my flight home I got slapped by an old lady.

Again.

Sigh...it's a long story. Bear with me folks, I'll be right back.

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.

Excuse Me Whilst I Go Graduate

So I haven't put up a post in a while, and haven't even responded to the angry comments and hate mail building up in my inbox. This is because I flew back to England to attend my M.A. graduation ceremony in Cambridge University - yes, I am now Dr Angry Medic M.A. (Cantab).

Ridiculously handsome, right? And you thought I was joking about my good looks.

Not that any of you care - it's also an excuse for me to catch up with old friends, get ridiculously drunk, fall asleep on a random roadside in Cambridge and spend the next morning running away from the same University proctors that I insulted years ago on my blog. (Not that I, uh, actually did any of that. Oh no. --Editor)

Anyway, proper post and photos are on their way. Thanks for all your kind comments on Facebook (I know you just want free medical leave certificates out of me. --Ed.)

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.

Stuff They Don't Teach You In Medical School: Who's The Boss

I have always believed in helping my fellow medical students. That's even why I set up this blog: so that I could share experiences and insights about the illuminating journey that is medical schoo-- ah screw it, okay fine I set up this blog because life hates me and I figured, I should at least share my misery and make people laugh. There.

Anyway as part of my effort to warn educate other medical students and members of the public, now that I'm a real doctor (I SEE YOU LAUGHING! STOP THAT! -- Editor) I thought I'd start a little series on the real-life stuff you find out as a doctor that you wish those bastar-- uh, loving lecturers had remembered to teach you in medical school.

So for our first lesson, children, I'm going to ask you a simple multiple-choice question. A simple one, but bloody hell is it an important one for doctors, students, and any poor fool who has to visit a hospital actually. Ready? Here it comes:

FROM AMONG THE FOLLOWING STAFF ON THE WARD, WHICH ONE IS THE BOSS?

Click to enlarge. Go on, it's worth it. I slaved five hours to make this! 

(OK so I suck at Photoshop. Leave me alone.)

Choose from among the following answers:

1. House Officers/Interns/Slaves - the lowest on the food chain, even lower than medical students (YES FOLKS! You think you're getting a PROMOTION when you graduate and become a real doctor? HAHAHAHAHA-- wait, you're being serious. --Ed.) and responsible for doing all the crap that other doctors don't want to do.

2. Registrars/Residents/Medical Officers (MO) - senior doctors with years of experience, one step down the food chain from big boss. They run the ward when no boss doctors are around, and are generally the source of both great teaching and great misery for junior doctors.

3. Head of Department (HOD)/Chief of Medicine/Chief of Surgery - the biggest, baddest, most experienced doctor around. Top of the ward food chain and has doctors fleeing before him in terror. House officers have been known to kiss the ground they walk on.

4. Nurses - The front line of medical care to the patients. They do the stuff even junior doctors won't/aren't allowed to do. Run things on the ward when doctors aren't around.

5. Patients - The point of the whole health service actually. Known to be either really nice or complete freakshows. If patient also happens to be a doctor, you're REALLY screwed.

Choose one. Done? Okay what did you answer? Check your number below:

IF YOU ANSWERED

1. - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Nice one. Seriously, I needed a laugh. Thanks.

2. - Not as ridiculous as the previous answer, but still no. Sometimes they are the boss, especially when it's 4am, the boss doctor who usually protects you is asleep, none of your friends are around, and the registrar/resident/MO remembers you as the funny-looking junior who insulted his hairstyle behind his back when you thought he wasn't listening. Oh yes.

3. - If you chose this, congratulations! You have a working brain! 90% of readers chose this option.

It is however, FALSE. Gasp! Why, you ask? Has Angry Medic lost his mind? (He has, but that's a story for another time.) I'll explain in a bit.

5. - Well...this is a tough one to explain. Patients SHOULD be in charge, especially with all this touchy-feely 'patient-centered care' crap that they pound into medical students' heads from day one. But sadly, they are not.

This leaves:

4. Nurses - That's right folks!

And don't you forget it.

A very, VERY important part of life on the wards that they don't teach you in med school (but surprisingly do in Grey's Anatomy. See Mom? And you scolded me for spending more time watching that crap than actually studying. HAH. --Ed.) is that nurses are REALLY in charge of the ward. Piss them off, and they can make life a LIVING. HELL. Treat them nicely and they'll help you put that central line in, tell you which doctors are nice and which doctors to avoid like a Justin Bieber album, and warn you wayyy ahead of time when Mr No-I'm-Just-Going-Down-For-A-Walk is actually smoking at the hospital entrance and is about to set his face on fire.

See, who says reading my blog isn't a waste of time?

*Thanks to Mother Jones RN of Nurse Ratched's Place for inspiring this post. Sort of.

The Angry Medic Gets Slapped

For those of you who, after my last emo post, are wondering if I put on a Robert Pattinson wig, stared at people passing by for annoyingly long periods of time in what I hope was an emo Japanese anime manner then jumped off the nearest hospital roof, fear not! I am still alive. (pause to wait for my ex-lecturers reading this to finish groaning in despair. I hate you guys. -Editor) I've just been having trouble uploading pictures onto Blogger, and my next post is pretty picture-dependent (read: 'cos I'm lazy and need badly Photoshopped pictures to be funny --Ed.) so instead I'll give you a purely text-based anecdote of what actually happened to me today:

Okay, a confession. I have a bad joke that I sometimes use on people I've just met. (pause to wait for all of you to finish groaning. Yes, I now know this is a bad idea. You'll see why soon. --Ed.) Usually people laugh awkwardly, or politely smile, or swoon uncontrollably at my ridiculous good looks and kiss me on the lips roll their eyes, so I've always thought it was okay.

Today was a little different.

I was chatting to this girl I'd just met, and after getting to know one another she remarked, "You look a little tired."

"Oh yes, you noticed. See I, uh, I have a terminal illness."

She frowns with worry. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear that..."

"Yeah," I say. "It's called laziness."

'Cos I'm terminally lazy, right? It's totally a phrase, right? Commonly known and is a least only a slightly bad joke, right?

This is where people usually roll their eyes or give me some sympathy fake laughter. But not this girl.

She slapped me.

SHE SLAPPED ME! As I clutch my face in shock and resist the urge to crawl into the fetal position and sob uncontrollably, she turns around and walks away.

Was it something I said?

Some People Never Learn

Some people never learn.

Some people keep making the same mistake, over and over and over again.No matter who they hurt, no matter how much trouble they cause to the people around them, and eventually themselves, they never. Fucking. Learn.

This time I'm not even angry at anyone else. This time I'm angry at myself.

Because no matter how hard it is when other people betray you, it's always worse - a hundred times worse - when you betray yourself.

So now for once when I'm not talking crap, listen to me. Learn from my mistakes, so you never have to go through what I'm going through.

DON'T. LET. YOURSELF. GET. COMPLACENT.

Ever.

You don't know what it'll cost you - until you've lost it. But you can never turn back the clock. Never. And maybe, just maybe, you don't deserve to.

Addiction sucks. Don't ever, ever, let anything suck you in until you lose yourself.

Because that's not the only thing you'll lose.

Life at Imperial College London - In Meme Form!

(DISCLAIMER: I did not make any of these memes. If you are offended, don't send me hate mail - address your complaints to...okay so actually there's no one you can complain to. You can, however, shake your fist in the air and curse youngsters and the deplorable state of society these days. I find it helps.)

In my last post I fried your brains brought laughter into your lives by highlighting some Cambridge memes. Now let's look at some Imperial College ones. These are a lot more subtle. And show some definitive patterns. Can you guess what they are?

 This was the first one I saw and made me laugh so hard I almost sued the author for keyboard damage due to spraying Coke all over my laptop through my nose. It's commentary on the infamous gender ratio at Imperial. Don't get it? Here's a hint.

Same trend as the above. This is why Jay-Z doesn't go to Imperial anymore. Getting it yet?

Okay, now on to the trend Imperial is perhaps, um, most famous for. Stop me if you've heard these before:

 

The 'Inception' meme, but this one has a creative use for Leonardo DiCaprio's slitted eyes. It's commenting on the ethnic make-up of most students at Imperial. Get it? No? Here's another one:

 If the meme above made me spray Coke out through my nose, this one made me spew other fluids out through other orifices. (Saliva. From my mouth. Stop being dirty-minded. --Ed.) Imperial's library is open 24 hours - except for one night per week, on Friday.

Walking from the engineering campus to the Bio building is like entering a different country. Kind of like driving into Ealing from pretty much anywhere else in London.

If you still don't get it, a popular saying at Imperial is "Imperial College is the best engineering school in southern China. Imperial College Medical School is the best medical school in southern India". These may not be statistical facts, but hell are they good for meme-making!

But wait! It's not all obscure satirical trends - we can still bitch and moan about normal university stuff too!

The Central Library is a battleground. Too many students, too few computers. Seriously. I know of students who were diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after an afternoon of trying to find spare computers in there.

 And if you do, you better damn well make sure your question's intelligent enough to need a PhD thesis with at least three Chinese graduate students to answer. Or else.

 

This one pisses people off. A lot. Somehow the past-year papers end up being e-mailed around by seniors though. When you first started pirating porn movies, music and games, did you ever think you'd one day be pirating exam papers?

And again, it wouldn't be Imperial if we didn't take a shot at our favourite rival London university, courtesy of the Sorting Hat from Harry Potter:

UCL = University College London. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't know what that stood for. It's just some small-time university up north of London with a bigass hospital and way too many club nights. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

The Angry Medic Discovers University Memes: Cambridge and Imperial

The 'Slowpoke' meme, used to make fun of someone who is slow to catch a trend, or...

okay actually it's pretty self-explanatory.

Having gone to two universities has given me a unique outlook on life. I have experienced two very different cities, with their own learning environments, outlooks and views on important issu-- ah screw it, it means I have over a thousand friends on Facebook (most of whom don't know who I am --Editor) and I can waste even MORE time on Facebook browsing not just one university meme group, but two.

If you, like me, are an out-of-touch old fart slightly late to the party, you may not know that university meme groups are sprouting on Facebook like warts on Martin Lawrence's butt in Big Momma's House. Because I'm so generous and like to share things that bring laughter to the world (and by that I mean too lazy to come up with original blog posts --Ed.) I'm putting the best of the memes on here. Let's start with the Cambridge ones - see if you can detect a trend here...

The popular Lion King meme. Every university seems to have one of these, making fun of their own

'bad places' - for Nottingham Uni it's Trent, for Imperial College it's Silwood Park - you get the idea.
Heck, I've seen two for London with Hackney and Tooting.

For those of you who don't know, Girton is the farthest away of the colleges, needing a bus or a cab to get to. This means it's gotten a bad rep, and is considered an easy college to get into. Poor sods.

 You detecting a pattern yet? 

The 'Oh My God Karen' meme. I'm told this has something to do with the film 'Mean Girls'.
And if you already knew that, you better be a girl. (If you're a guy and you watched that film, 
get the hell away from me. Now.)

 

Social commentary on the ethnic make-up of St John's College.

 Social commentary on the public view of  students who go to St John's

(in a nutshell: they're dicks. 'Nuff said.)

But wait! It's not all insider college jokes! We can make fun of individual courses as well!

That's a bit unfortunate. Usually at least McDonald's hires them.

("Got a 1st" = got a first class degree)

'Compsci' is the local slang for Computer Science.

I used to think their reputations for being nerds without social lives was unfair - until I met one.

And last but not least, it wouldn't be Cambridge without a snobby insult towards the other, much smaller, much less famous university in Cambridge, Anglia Ruskin University:

There's the University of Cambridge, and then there's the university IN Cambridge.

What's that you say? Had enough of bad memes? Okay okay, tomorrow I'll put up the best of the Imperial College London memes. They're not all bad...plus one of them involves Leonardo DiCaprio in Inception. As if I needed his help to fry your brains with my writing...

The Last Valentine

This patient's story is dedicated to those who are frequently overlooked on Valentine's Day - those who have lost a Valentine.

 Today is Valentine's Day.

The hospital is usually busy on Valentine's. Families come to visit, young patients take their loved ones down to the cafeteria, and those who are too sick to move have bouquets delivered to their bedsides. I smile at the relatives as I walk about, blood forms in hand. An elderly lady smiles back as she sits by her husband's bed. A couple of young kids smile sweetly at me as they play hide-and-seek around their mother's bed. I feel bad for interrupting them today, and take bloods as fast as I can.

The clock on the wall shows three o'clock in the afternoon. I am almost done. Just one more patient to bleed. I head to the bay in the far corner of the ward, checking to make sure I have the right bed.

Then I see him.

He sits on his bed facing away from the rest of the ward. The afternoon sun, peeking out from behind a distant hill, falls lightly on his bedsheets as he stares out the window. He is young. I glance at his notes, wondering why. My suspicions are confirmed. Autoimmune disease, and a serious one at that. He has likely been in pain for the best part of a year now, and will feel that pain until the end of his days. Which, sadly, is not too far away.

He turns and smiles as I approach the bed. "Come to take blood, have you?" I nod. "Sorry for the interruption," I say. "No trouble at all. I'm used to it." A tired smile. I know he has recently come out of a long, complicated surgery. I roll up his sleeve and set up my tools.

There are no flowers on the table. No cards on the windowsill. No chairs for visitors either. He sits with his phone, looking longingly at the screen. I steal a glance. A girl's picture smiles back at me.

Medical school teaches us to make conversation with patients to distract them from the blood-taking. So I ask the obvious question. "Is that your girlfriend?"

He sighs. "No."

"Oh..." I did not mean to offend him. "Your sister?"

"No." He says, looking away. I am afraid I have touched a nerve, but he does not turn the phone off. "My last Valentine."

"I see..." Now I am embarrassed. I have dug too far. I don't know what to say, but he saves me the trouble.

"We dated...for 4 years. It was amazing. We were at uni together. And we worked, you know? We had ups and downs, but who doesn't. When she first called herself my girlfriend, I told her she wasn't my girlfriend - she was my other half."

"I see," I add weakly. I do not know what to say. But again he saves me the trouble.

"She died."

I forget the blood bottle and the needle for a moment. "I am so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I broke up with her for another woman. She was demanding, and I felt it wasn't working, ya know? But it was partially my fault too." He looks out the window again. The sun peeks out from behind a particularly thick cloud. "Car accident. Three months ago. I never got to say sorry."

For a moment I think I see a tear in his eye. But he turns to me and blinks it away. "Sorry for keeping you, doc. I know you're busy."

"No, no trouble at all. I'll come back later when I'm not too busy." I smile, and turn to get up.

Suddenly he grabs me by the arm. I turn to find his hard blue eyes staring straight into mine. "You're young, doc. When we're young, we don't realise how fleeting life is. You know that cliche 'live every day like it's your last'? It's a cliche because it's true. Don't have any regrets, doc. Don't be like me."

He winces in pain as he lets me go. I know his wrists hurt. "Thanks," I say. He shakes his head apologetically. "Sometimes I wish that surgery really had killed me".

I find myself wondering if he would be better off if it did. I do not know if that makes me a bad person.

A Man Walks Into A Bar...

That looks painful.

Today I suffered head trauma when an old enemy hit me on the head.

As I walked into the kitchen heading for the phone, it watched silently, just out of sight. I didn't see it smile viciously, recognising its old adversary. I fiddled with the phonebook, ignorant of the danger, as it quietly plotted my downfall. Then, as I bent forward to reach for the phone, it struck.

BAM.

Damn you, wall-mounted cupboard, why must you be the same colour as the damn wall?!

As I was busy trying not to spray-paint the wall with my blood (which ironically would have made that %^#*% cupboard easier to see), a friend texted asking why I hadn't replied. I texted him back saying I was busy bleeding. And this, full of heart-warming concern and care, is the reply he sent me:

"LOL. if u had more hair on ur head dis wudnt hav happend"

Wow. Thank God for caring friends*.

Anyway, that's why I've been delayed putting out the hair-rippingly butt-slappingly funny (read: not at all --Editor) post I promised in my last post. Just lemme put some stitches in my own skull and I'll get right to it.

*For those of you who have just started reading/have forgotten/don't give a rat's ass, yes, I'm bald. THIS IS TOTALLY BY CHOICE. I shave, and I'm not balding. No, really. Don't listen to people telling you that's a bald spot, my head is just naturally pointy and hair grows at different lengt-- ah fuck it. 


Life hates me.

So I'm A Junior Doctor, Now What?

Yes, that's right, I'm now ACTUALLY a real doctor (Am I dreaming? Is this real? Pinch me! Wait, you're female? Pinch me lower...no, lowwwerrrr...what's that you say? Kids and my parents read this blog? Oh HARHAR, only joking. Hi mom! --Editor) and I have to admit, it's not...exactly what I thought it would be (As in, there's no marching importantly onto the ward banging through double doors or sex three times a night in an on-call room. Kids, if you're thinking about doing medicine because you saw an episode of Grey's Anatomy, STOP NOW. Go become investment bankers. --Ed).

Things are a little busy around the house now so I won't be typing my mega-long and totally super-interesting and funny post on what I'm doing after med school, but I do have a blog post series coming up about nurses* and how they can't keep their hands off me have affected my life as a poor bastard medical student, for better and for worse. I did however discover this blog post from the Militant Medical Nurse about junior doctors and why you should shower them with tender loving care:

I had some real bad days as an NHS staff nurse. I felt like the stress and frustration would kill me. But there was a never a day where I felt like I would rather be a Junior Doctor.

 Damn straight, Militant Nurse. (Can I call you MillieNurse? MILFyNurse? No? Okay I'll shut up now. --Ed.)

I've always been a big fan of nurses, and recently they've played a bigger part in my professional and personal life than usual. But I know they don't always get along. It's nice to see one of em sympathising with us**.

*coming up soon on The Angry Medic/Doctor/Whatever the hell I am - what medical school doesn't tell you about nurses! How I manage to piss off a nurse! How I manage to piss off a non-nurse by calling her nurse! Okay so maybe that last one doesn't require much explanation.

**okay, so in her very next post she also says "But once they [doctors] get past the level of "junior" I just want nothing to do with them." It's a, um, love-hate relationship...