I will try to be droll

I always though droll had a bad meaning, like someone that's a bore and always complaining (i.e yours truly) but i found out today it has totally opposite meaning.

droll /dr@Ul/
· adj. amusing in a strange or quaint way.
· n. archaic a jester; a buffoon.
– DERIVATIVES drollery n. drollness n. drolly /"dr@Ulli/ adv.
– ORIGIN C17: from Fr. drôle, perh. from MDu. drolle ‘imp, goblin’.

The weekend has been wasted, but in a good way. I still have things unfinished, but im not too worried yet.

I watched Frida (the movie), slept tonnes, read up on greek mythology and malaria. Oh, and i called up my parents.

Must finish off pbl tonite and call up some friends just to chat.

Did i tell you all how im in love with my surgical registrar? He doesnt give two hoots about me, but im a smitten kitten anyways.....

Inarticulate

i'm spending the weekend in harlow- spent my time wisely....i watched the whole first season of Heroes and got tonnes of sleep.

Think i might be able to face next week.

I was suicidal on friday. The horrible mix of bad week, PMS and nasty luck making me hate life and forsee no future.

I still cannot forsee any future for myself, not in medicine, not in anywhere. Its like i lost my 3rd eye. Im used to knowing what to expect and now i just cant see where this is going.

I've lost motivation and really, i dont know what im doing..............

What the hell was i thinking when i thought i could do this whole medicine thing.

Argh- i my hate life, i hate me, i have no idea what's going on.

Will have proper update when back in london in a week.
Thank God its a nice autumn day outside.

Humdrum hospital life

Going for clinical placements is supposed to be a great and exciting time, where im learning at the frontline of medicine, putting my knowledge and skills to the test.

Instead im taking naps at midday.

Its been a let-down. And i dont know if its me, my firm or my house-officer. I've been on firm for 2 days- and the total hours ive been on the wards is probably 5 hours. Today was slightly better than yesterday. Yesterday i went in for about an hour- got some teaching on taking a history and appendicitis and then was sent to the library to do some 'reading'. The library was cold so i went to my room for a nap. My post-mortem at 12 was cancelled so i faffed about till the lecture at 1. In the afternoon i hunted down my house-officer for a good 45 minutes, i bleeped him 3 times! When i managed to call him, he sent me home for the day.

Today i came in bright and early and had a ward round. Saw a patient and did a clinical examination, though not throughly. Got some teaching and then got sent off home. The firm only has 3 patients- we did have 4, but one got sent to another department. I arrived back at my room at 11.30, napped and hit the local library for some internet.

Not what i was looking for. Or expecting or anticipating from my clinical firms. I would've been content if everyone else wasn't learning anything- but they're all running about and doing things. They're taking blood, clearking patients, being grilled by consultants (its twisted, but i really want to be grilled- it makes me learn) and having a proper clinical education.

I haven't even met my consultant.

Maybe its me. Maybe its the fact that i had a bird shit on my head on Monday.

A bird with diarrhoea.

I was standing in Liverpool St. station when suddenly i heard a splat and felt wetness on my head and saw green white bird poo all over my lovely red jacket. It killed all the excitement i had for firms. Some people say its lucky. I think its a bloody chore and fucking embarrasing. I had towash my hair in the sink at the station toilet and pop my jacket in a paper bag to clean later that evening.

Maybe some would consider it lucky that i get to take afternoon naps, eat pizza and be stupid and lazy. I dont want to. I want to learn. While im still motivated, shiny and new. Before i start hating hospitals, become fat and lazy and get bad habits.

Or maybe, just maybe, its me.

Pauper no more

I hate always being the broke one.
I never have enough money.

Its always been an issue with me. Am i too lazy , too blase when it comes to finances?

Do i spend too much or care too little about making money?

Its envy, everyone else is doing so well, and here i am, pretty much a proper starving student. Im living off free dinners, the kindness of others and Sainsbury's basics oven chips.

What happen to the cycle of wealth? What happened to all my savings, all that planning, all that self denial?

I have no fucking idea. I have to get to the bottom of this. I really need to check. I dont wanna always be the broke one, hell no.

Deep s**t

Im gonna be in trouble.

Im actually 2 and a half months behind my rent, and i have no money to pay it off.
I broke my camera and i want a new one.
Im moving away and i need to travel back and forth often.

I dont wanna run to my parents for help. But there's no other way to get money. No other way.

I knew they'd be hell to pay for summer.

Friendless and angry

I do realize that im a social retard with no friends, what i didnt realize is the extent of my anger. I have made enemies. I thought they were friends- i hoped that we were.But now that i've let the evilness out, i've made proper enemies, the kind i havent made in a while. I try not to pick fights- when you're a social retard you wanna keep what few friends you already have.

Like all major fights, this was a bad case of miscommunication and stubborness. Everything else i was willing to forgive. Not telling me anything, when you knew i had vested interest, is upsetting. What is infuriating is that you spent the whole evening with me. You talked to me. You knew it mattered a lot to me and i was losing sleep over it.
And they couldnt have the courtesy to wait, to ask, make a short phone call.

I think i kind of screamed at them on the phone. And hung up on someone. And argued face to face.

I hate it when people hate me. But i lost self control this time. Good thing i didnt spontaneously combust.

Sorry Big Guy Upstairs. I hope you'll give me strength and temperance.

Sing it like it is

Thank Buzz- i wouldnt know of this song if it werent for you. This is one of songs where the words could have been taken straight out of my mouth.
Im not particularly wednesday-sy at the moment, but this song captures the slight desperation and hopeless questioning i feel every time a wave of the 'wednesdays' hits.

He's arrived!!

He got here today! I wasn't expecting him to arrive so soon, but he did. He's a little smaller than i expected, but he feels just right in my arms. I love him already!

i love talking and i hate sneaky bastards

Those who know me will realize that i love talking. Im not a wonderful conversationalist, sadly, because of of my social retardity and lack of wit. But given a person strapped in a chair with eyes taped open - i could probably talk to them to death. They'd die of bad conversation or boredom or both.

Talking rarely gets me anywhere. Not to bright, i'm limited talking of happy, simple everyday things. Simply said i talk more than i do.

My procrastination is killing me; this usually because of the 'talk more than do'. I say things and hell, i never get them done. It will kill me one day and more painfully than rusty poles stuck into my abdomen. I'm try my best to work around it, but somehow, i fall into the trap time and time again.

So far im lucky that there are always people to catch me, kick my ass and get me going. It's not gonna last and they're not gonna be there forever. One day i'll fall, hit my head real hard on the landing and die of a subarachnoid haemmorrhage.

Im sneaky bastard; and i hate myself, so saying that i hate sneaky bastards is not a contradiction. Its worst when they're sneaky bastards i think i can trust, people i spend time with and talk to. I trust these people, i have long, albeit boring conversations and i was just beginning think that they'll bother to talk to me about something that may affect me (a lot).

Then they do something, quickly, quietly, and serve me up with an ultimatum. What's even better was that i was made to look like the idiot because of my fucking procrastination. What's brilliant (i can appreciate a good sneak, even if im the victim) is that they know they have the upper hand. The ploy perfect. Sneaky bastards. Damn it.

Im not a very good victim- Lets use a Jaws analogy (not that im a vicious sea creature on the top of the food chain). As the shark, i see a shadow on the surface and take a nibble, and realize that this is not the yummy seal i thought it was, its a chubby human thigh. Humans taste vile to sharks and so they usually let go, and the shark attack victims dont usually get eaten, they die of blood loss (clinical shock). Fooled by the sneaky fat human thigh, the shark will trash, make waters murky and generally make a mess. I do that when i get duped- not make people bleed, but bitch and whine liberally to anyone who stand within hearing distance for longer than 3 seconds. Im not very good at getting back at people- my memory's too short for revenge. So i murk out waters as much as can while i remember and let people manage through the mess. In most cases people dont care and dont realize that ive been bitching about them for hours.

The shark analogy is rubbish.

But my memory is not as bad as i think it is. I do remember the grievances, its just that i carry them inside. My core's all rotten with bad thoughts that have festered too long. In a year or two i'll get paranoid, think that the world is plotting against me and never leave my room.

over and out

lovies

huggies,

kissies and

a pout

Feedback

I had volunteered to interview a 'patient' (an actor) in our communication skills class today. It was nerve-wrecking. It started with me waiting for the patient, and when she came in, i stood up, asked her name and mumbled something about taking a seat.

The introduction was standard, and i began with the prerequisite open question. Got a bit of the history from the open question but 2 minutes in my ears were turning hot and i had run out of things to ask. What to do you ask a patient with a history of non specific epigastric pain brought on by stress and large meals? I couldnt even phrase the questions about bowel movement questions right.

And the whole empathy thing makes me feel like such a hypocrite- as part of 'good communication skills' we have to say things like 'i understand how you feel' and 'im sorry to hear that'. There should be a glimmer of genuine empathy when saying it, but really, i feel like a faker. Im just saying these things because i know i have to show the patient im listening and i care. Its not that i dont care about the patient, i just think saying a phrase doesnt necessarily mean you care. It just appears as if you do. I felt so fake- during the interview i was thinking, "oh yeah, say that, sound empathic..."

My ears were burning and i was running out of questions fast. I was going through my mental list of questions and trying to tick then off, which by the way, is not the way to do a consultation. I did the classic stalling technique- quick recap of information gleaned from the patient, hopefully it'll trigger either fresh questions from my point of view or a comment from the patient. Didnt work for me though. I was stuck, and stuck good.

I did get the patient to open up a bit more, but i had totally missed a clear clue/flag in what the patient was saying. I was so harried, i didnt really listen and picked up that her symptoms were brought on by stress. It was my cue was to ask her to elaborate about the stress- i missed it instead and so didnt get a whole chunk of information.

By this point i was looking at my tutor (the very fit, yummy and slighty quirky young lecturer) with a desperate 'come and save me' look. He ignored me the first time, but the second time he got a hint and ended the session. Relief.

What was really surprising was i didnt get shot down, criticised or screamed at for being such a twat. The feedback was mixed. It was like criticism wrapped up in lots of candy floss and fluffy cushions so i wouldnt feel the slight slap on my wrist or terrible the burn of embarrasment (there were 7 other people, my classmates, watching me do this).

It bothered me, because i work better when i know exactly what how i've screwed up, where and when. I can fix something when i know what, where and how badly its broken. I dont really like 'lets look at what was good' approach to feedback- hell, if im doing that ok i dont have to know about it. I wanna know where i suck. And how to fix it.

What ive learned is that i gotta 'signpost'- a fancy way of warning people subtly that a sensitive question is coming up. Just so that the patient knows its coming and is not surprised by the bluntness of these personal questions. Also, signposting can also be a show (read:show) of empathy.

i also have to learn to be comfortable with silence. Ask a question and let the patient think. Not to be so quick to lead the patient, offer ideas or alternatives. Instead, allow the patient a good 30 seconds to mull the questions and formulate their answers- if they're still stuck, then yeah, either clarify the question, rephrase it, or offer up some vocabulary to kick start the patient's brains.

And most important is to not get so hung up on the symptoms. Most of the time i find im asking questions to confirm my diagnosis. In a sense im being biased because im looking for the 'right' answer from the patient. I ignore or pay less attention to other things the patient is saying that doesn't support my diagnosis. I close my mind to other options or alternatives explanations and in this lies the danger. I might miss something important because it didnt fit in what was the diagnosis in my mind. Worse, if i do that im caring more for the disease than the patient.

There's a lot more things, but these to me are probably key issues i gotta address. Sigh, the suffering of a witless social retard.

Onde-onde

Disclaimer: nicked this pic off someone's blog. I wish my onde-onde looked this good. Let's start with something sweet before we get on with the bitter and ugly.

It been a trying week. The first few days of ramadhan- the fasting month- have not been kind. My stomach rumbles and roars. I get exhausted and light headed from the lack of food and water. Just when i think im getting the hang of it, i get my period, so i get a break from fasting. So im happily eating during the day, enjoying a full blown lunch and many cookie and coffee breaks. I seem to be lacking my usual ramadhan resolve. The holy month is a time to reflect and repent- for a month we are free of satan's presence. But satan's influence lingers. And im fighting a failing battle against temptation. I find it difficult to fast, what more everything else?

It's difficult to explain. Im still trying to figure it out. Im a hypocritical, undecisive, flaky person. Im keeping the faith, just flaunting the rules.

I've got conjuctivitis of my right eye- it's clearing up but im still feeling a bit crummy. Add a good measure of PMS and cramps from hell- i feel absolutely shit.

I accidentally swallowed my clear labret retainer. That's the plasticky thing i use to keep my piercing open but invisible- i had to go to the wards this week. I didnt cap the end because it was a bit too short, and during dinner that day i acccidentally swallowed it. I didnt realize till i looked in the mirror and realized it was gone! My piercing is ok though- got my usually metal thingie back in.

I made onde-onde for the malaysian society fresher's fair- it turned out pretty well. I got the balance between sweet potatoes and pulut flour just right. So even when the onde-onde is cold the texture was still soft, not at all chewy. A good bite will release the dark, smoky sweetness of gula melaka that contrasts so well with the lightly salted coconut in the outside.

I gave myself a cramp kneading the dough and all the way i was bitching about Z. There's a long story there apart from the fact he asked me to make the onde-onde (there was no one else to bully). Still, I think he got unfairly bad-mouthed (slightly more that he deserved) because i was manifesting all my 'men' angst on him.

Thanks to S for making me realize that "sitting, waiting, wishing" is not a happy song.

Thanks to another S for getting the Escape (pina colada) song stuck in my head.

Thanks to all the drivers in London for not running over the fat girl on the black and orange bike.

Thanks God, for everything.

Yours

Chubbette xx

I miss you

Basikal saya!

Basikal saya berwarna hitam dan penuh dengan pelekat promosi syarikat telecommunikasi Orange. Topi keledar saya tergantung di 'handle' basikal saya. Saya amat menyayangi basikal saya, walaupun tempat duduk basikal saya terlalu tinggi. Akan tetapi, itu masalah remeh temeh yang senang untuk diselesaikan jika saya dapat mencari sebuah 'spanner'.

Hello, im a third year medical student

I've started class- and i've hit the ground running. Most days we've got 9 oclock starts and classes that drag till late afternoon. Ramadan has started and that's a bit of a strain, especially when im biking up and down to classes. It takes 15 minutes, but i feel the strain on my poor chubby thighs.

I'm acquiring patient phobia and selective amnesia. Im AFRAID of going to hospital. I cant even take a decent blood pressure. Im going to be so FUCKED. I dont want to kill anyone. I dont remember even basic shit ive learnt. Its TERRIBLE.

And so, i have 3 and a half weeks to reacquaint myself with all the stuff i learnt before. I HATE my damn selective amnesia. I dont remember anything! And in the same period of time be decent enough at doing all the 'doctor' stuff- do blood pressures, take bloods, do examinations....decent enough to do them on real sick people. I REALLy hope i dont KILL anyone.

Random thoughts for today

The ball end of a labret stud is really hard to put on. I've spent so much on the piercing, and half the jewellery is too short by 4 mm. I had to have a really fat lip.

Im forgiving the super-bass-voiced lead singer of interpol. The music is too good to be ignored anymore. Even if i cant stand his voice.

Beirut......beirut is good. The Gulag Orkestar album was bought last weekend, and now cherished. Im a full-fledged folk fan (forever?).

I didnt think i'd look good in apple green and white lace, but actually, i look pretty snazzy.

I spent my saturday rolling roti jala and selling it. At my friend's parent's stall. By the end of the day i smelt of ghee and batter.

I have read the last harry potter book.

I leave for norway in less than 7 hours. I dont have clean jeans to wear. All that i have packed are my toiletries and my bikini (skewed priorities, i know..........)

I am the proud owner of a television ( its been passed down for generations- my name is being added to the long list of owners). It's occupying the space i had for my printer. I have so much crap.

demi-dreams

demi-dreams are those dreams that occur when im at the place between sleep and awakeness, when the alarm clock has rang twice and im telling myself just another five minutes and i'll be up.

There was a girl- blond with all black outfit- jeans and maybe a leather jacket. And black lipstick. There was a rollercoaster ride- going up and down my head whipped around by the sharp turns. And her, just there, looking at me quietly.

Then im back in my bed- i can see myself, lying in bed, but im also the one in bed, asleep under my comforter. The sun is streaming through the half open curtain and she's standing there in my room here. She comes close, puts a hand on my bed and leans in. Then she kisses me. A slow kiss, the kind that starts off gingerly, first just a touch and then it becomes deeper and stronger. Im no longer seeing myself, im now the one in bed, being kissed awake by this blond girl with black lipstick and all i can think of is how im getting black lipstick all over me.

And then i wake up, properly this time. I knew it was all a dream, but it felt so real. My lips are slightly swollen and sore- like ive been throughly kissed, or been biting my lips through the night.

Very odd. I shouldnt be posting this really, but this is dream that i wanna remember. Because in my gut it feels important. This is my paper-saving diary after all.

Curveballs

Life throws me curveballs.

I had the meet with the Swedish guy who said hi through couch surfing today- he's nice and sweet- not a psycho axe-murderer as i had initially worried.

We had coffee, walked a bit round southbank, saw a free play, had nasi lemak and char kuay tiau for dinner at a malaysian restaurant. We did find common stuff to chat about, and i think i went into my insano chatty mode (i must figure out if there is a discreet mode i can put myself on and an intelligent mode so i can not sound like a silly chatterring twat). He listened, and it always bothers me slightly when people actually look at me when i talk. Like really look at me, in my eyes and pay attention to what i say. I guess im used to being ignored so much, or dismissed as a background noise that when someone actually is really looking at me when i talk i get a bit thrown off. Im used to difficult audience and so when i get a captivated one im at odds at how to act. But im a trooper and i do what i do best: chat.

After dinner we met his friends for a drink.
His friends are these two totally hot french guys. I didn't meet any hot french guys in france, i had to meet them in london. Like in yum yum hot. One's white, tall, with aristocratic features and has that haughty arrogance which i find so attractive and the other is gorgeously tanned and simply beautiful to look at and really easy to talk to, with a bone-melting french accent. Now i understand the thing about french men. Its not just the accent, its the stuff they talk about, their mannerism. And the way they look at you.

I'll be honest- i looked a mess. I had not touched up my lipgloss, my face was shiny and my hair was falling outta my braid. And i wore a manky T-shirt.

I hate curveballs- i can never hit them right.

interlude tois

Was lazy, whiny and mopey and then suddenly- meeting loads of people and having a great time.

That's life going 'surplise, surplise!!!!'

I met a malaysian guy who's cycling around the world. He's just finished the united states and now going through the uk and europe. He's been up Everest and planning to swim the channel next year. His cycling buddy has swam the channel and said it was one of the most boring things he's ever done- he was swimming for about 9 hours. I would think you'd have deep profound thoughts about an experience like that. But there you go- they're so down to earth.
Best bit is these guys are nice, sweet, regular and unassuming; you'd never think they've climbed up the world's tallest peak, cycle thousands of miles and do all these amazing things.

To find out more about him: clickhere and here
And his travel bolog: clickhere

Meeting him was random- through a friend of a friend, and the reason was they were looking for someone with a bike to give him a cycle tour of london. And the free orange bikes save the day!!! His two londoner friends borrowed bikes off the housemates and the lot of us cycled for 4 hours around london. It was good fun and i really enjoyed the whole day. I had cycled on my own that day to Hollaway Rd and Camden- for the heck of it. In C's words "ah, eliza, passion de velo!" Cycling in london is risking life and limb- but i enjoy it. I'd cycle here for fun. I break all the rules though- cycling on kerbs and cycling through red lights:

Demon cyclists of London- UNITE!!! We have nothing to lose but our chains!!!!

Didnt sleep last night because i was at C's- chatting for hours and eating pizzas, noodles and ice-cream. Her new apartment is a yuppie penthouse with a great balcony to watch the sun set, drink and smoke. And the neighbours have a cute chubby cat that comes over (i named her fei mau!). At 2 or 3 am last night C took out her knitting project and taught me how to knit. Im rubbish at it, but we stayed up to watch the sunrise and then went to sleep at about 7. The churchbells woke me up at 10. I had to apologize to a friend for a late text reply, my excuse was 'i only got home this morning, so i could only get it then'. It sounded so cool, i just hopes he never finds out that i spent my saturday night out chatting away with a friend at her house eating and knitting.

Oh god, im on the fast track to spinsterhood!!!

Spent the day with 2 french girls- one of them a londoner and the other just visiting. We went to brick lane, spitalfields and petticoat lane markets and did a tour of tower of london, tower bridge and walked along the Thames all the way up to St. Pauls. Enjoyed the sun, listening to french being spoken and the company.

Its been a cool, albeit unexpected few days.

New developments: i got my first couchsurfing message. What do i do?

Travellings: France! First stop : Aix-en-Provence

Flew into Marseilles on a thursday-i was greeted by glaring sun and T, my pal who's been studying in France. From the airport its a 20 minute bus ride to Aix, which is a little town somewhat west to Marseilles. Its pretty- lots of fountains; big ones, little ones....it gets pretty hot there so its nice to have a stop at a fountain, have a drink, splash some water on my face and just run my fingers in the cool water. The town is built around a main street called Mirabou which is where its at in Aix. The street is tree lined, and it shades the little cafes and shops. Off the Mirabou are winding cobbled streets- lotsa brand name shops and posh restaurants and further off you've got all the other little shops and things. T's place wasnt far from town, about 10 minutes away. His place was small, so i tried to stay outta his hair and be in town most of the time.

On the first day i went to an art gallery- the Musee Garnet. There were a few pieces i found really interesting and all day i kept on doing this thing where i would think of a song that went along with the painting. I kept on chuckling to myself because some paintings would make me think of the randomest songs-who'd think Eve 6's song "think twice" would be the perfect song to a painting?

I lunched there at the gallery, and after wandered the town a bit. I managed to trek all the way to this park slightly outside of town where i spread my pario on the grass, lay down to read my novel and eat yummy french artisan cookies.

On the saturday we went down to Marseilles- and hit the beach. We arrived at the beach at about noonish, but screw sun safety- we covered each other nice and good with sunscreen and was out there for a good 3-4 hours. The beach was gorgeous. Not sandy, but i can handle a beach of small pebbles. The water was lovely. It was cold, and it was a great way to cool off from all that sun. The water was really salty and so very buoyant- it was perfect to just float in and swim....... Oh, and allow a moment of vanity. I wore the cutest purple halter neck tankini that i had bought at the airport before i flew in. I didnt get matching shorts, but i had tiny-tiny black shorts with hot pink swirls on them. I thought i looked very cute. That's a personal opinion by the way. T didnt say anything. Not like he would. I could've been sunning topless and he wouldnt say anything. Not like i would ever do such a thing.....no........

That evening we met up with some friends of his for dinner. I was lost in the midst of french menu and french chattering- still, his friends were nice to me. There was a spanish girl so i was trying my rubbish spanish, but all of them spoke english (bless!). I had pastis for the first time: initially it tasted a bit like mouthwash, but i liked it in the end. We washed down dinner with some local Rose and after that went to his friend's place for cocktails. Had a few and then went to a little underground bar for a giraffe of beer. I had one slow, and was falsely informed to down my next glass. Before you can guess it i was tipsy and dancing inappropriately. Was dragged home at 4- i didnt remember much to be fair, except walking through the sprinklers and T being very sweet and letting me have the bed.
My allergies didnt flare up much (hurrah! and no hangover) but T suffered somewhat (apparently there's a lot of people with this kind of allergy.....i never would've guess- im glad im not a freak).

I was in Aix for a week- didnt do all that much really. Sleeping in, watching Death Note, siestas, hanging out at cafes, reading my novel and generally chilling. There was a bit of work involved as well, i was expected to earn my keep :P . T made me do his laundry (to be fair a bit of it was mine) but to make up for it i got sunflowers. Im still a girly girl at heart, flowers can make up for a lot..... on a side note- sunflower petals are NOT yummy.

There was the horror which was trying out the moving van: he couldnt figure out to get the damn thing to reverse for like half an hour and i was getting a stitch from laughing. Apparently there's a funny trick to it, which the lady at the car rental place showed us later. So brainlessly simple, but both of us couldnt figure it out. Brains isnt everything, i guess. That night we picked up Paulo and headed for a midnight drive around Aix- just to get T to get used to the van (it was massive and tall) and practise parking.

I helped pack up his stuff and clean his room- honestly i think i was just in the way, but i tried to help out where i can. We were all done at about 9-ish and set off from Aix about quarter to 10.

Bye-bye Aix, here we come Toulouse!