She died.

It wasn't the first crash call I'd been to. Whilst on placement at a DGH I went with the crash team to the gastro ward and watched them pump a very jaundiced man full of adrenaline and needles, and defibrillate his heart. However, he regained a pulse. Albeit briefly (he was expected to 'go off' again soon, but the decision was made not to attempt resus for a second time). The patient was old. He was very ill, with metastatic cancer. Somehow, it was ok.

This time was different. I was working in A & E, and the paramedics brought her in, one of them doing compressions as they moved the trolley. She was rushed into our cubicle in resus, and I took over compressions. I've taught CPR for a while now, but it's the first time I've ever done it in real life. It feels different, and there's no reassuring click when you're in the right place. But the major difference is that she was so high off the floor. I'm used to being down on my knees, using my weight over the dummy. I'm only small, I was struggling to get enough force into it and it was exhausting. Luckily this gave me something to think about so I didn't think too much about her. I stepped back, they checked her rhythm; asystole. Bad. My clinical partner took over. I stepped back and watched my consultant stick a central line in. I heard the paramedics talking to us, telling us how her son had found her at home. My partner and I swapped a few more times, she was still in asystole, and then as I was continuing compressions and starting to realise that we were going to stop soon, that it was hopeless, they let in the patient's son and mother. It was heartbreaking. He was wailing, screaming, holding her hand beside me as I was thinking that I was doing it wrong and not able to reach and his Mum (same age as mine) was dying beneath me and he was younger than me...

She was 47. No previous illness, no family history, no warning. He just came back from Uni and found her on the floor.

47.

Her husband arrived as we stopped.

Her daughter was upstairs on the maternity ward, 37 weeks pregnant with twins, admitted to reduce her stress levels.

She was just 47.

Feet.

I've just got back to my base hospital after a few weeks at a DGH, and it sucks. We have one designated ward instead of free run to go find relevant patients, and they allow us to sign up for half day sessions in various other departments and clinics. It would be a great system, if it weren't for the fact that there are 75 of us fighting it out for the same 8 slots. I made the mistake of leaving my sign-ups to my first week back. All I've been able to get is one lousy foot clinic. Feet. Joy.

On the positive side this has meant that I have a very empty timetable, to be filled with reading, catching up and maybe an extra ward session (I'm on A&E so these can be a bit hit and miss).

Or, I can sleep, go out and catch up with the people I've been separated from for the past 6 weeks, drink some gin and sleep some more.

There has been gin.

Maybe I won't be a nurse after all

Some days I love medicine.

Last week I had 5 of them days in a row. I loved every minute on the wards. Well, actually, no, I don't think I can say that I loved the cardiac arrest I attended. But I loved watching the doctors do their work, all having a designated task, and I loved it when the patient got a pulse back, albeit briefly.

I loved my time on A and E, particularly getting to suture someone's scalp. It was my first time stitching anything (my Mum was upset I'd never learnt embroidery when I was telling her how much I'd enjoyed it). It was medicine at it's most practical and logical- this guy's head has been split from having a lift fall on his head, sew it back together so you can't see the bone and it'll all be fine.

I also went to a phlebotamy clinic and stuck some needles in people. I can't say how much I appreciate the people that let me have a go, a shaky, red-faced little girl with a sharp object going in your arm... I'm reluctant to let the professionals do it.

Then I saw some bronchoscopies. Now they were brutal. People who had looked fairly well ten minutes previously, writhing in pain and choking. Didn't like that so much. But the pictures were interesting, and my consultant is an excellent teacher.

All in all, a fabulous week. Bring on another!

Got to love old people...

They do come out with some gems once in a while. I've had a few bloody awful homecare shifts of late, and sometimes that little thing that makes you laugh is all you need to get you through to the end of the day. This particular weekend one of my regulars (an 84yr old Jamaican man) was in bed whilst I had a chat with him.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.
"No, I don't have time." I answered. It's my standard response. I regularly get asked the same question. Or if I'm married with children.
"Good girl. You concentrate on your studies. But do you not ever get hungry for the boys?"

Brilliant. Perhaps you need the gesticulations to fully appreciate how hard I had to try to not laugh.

I want to be a Nurse

I'm on 'interprofessional experience week' at the minute. I've been spending my time shadowing nurses, support workers, phlebotamists, dieticians, healthcare assistants and occasionally, a doctor or two. I've been trying to keep my distance from them in case they ask me anything I don't know. Because actually, it turns out there's an awful lot I don't know. I've lost all confidence in my abilities as a medical student; everyone else seems to be able to ramble off some scientific gobbledegook at the appropriate moment and I just nod and smile. All drug names that I've ever come across roll into one, and the only thing I can remember is whether or not I've written out repeat prescriptions for them at the doctors surgery I worked at two-and-a-half years ago. I have absolutely no idea what I'm expected to have learnt over the past two years, where all this knowledge has run away to and how I'm supposed to get it back.

I have realised that I quite like nursing. I like spending time with the patients, the idea of them calling you by your name and being comfortable enough to tell you things without necessarily expecting you to know the answers. I like the routine tasks, like making hospital beds and dishing out lunches. And after this summer, I can deal with urine, faeces and bed-bathing old people. I like the sense of sorority amongst the staff team, and the bitching about the doctors (because they really do).

I think I'm in the wrong profession. Tomorrow I'm shadowing a social worker, and I think I'll like that one too. Speech and language therapy looks interesting. Anything but medicine right now.

Responsibilities

I am feeling old.

It is Freshers week. Everyone is young and carefree, and I have been in a bad mood. This has been caused by a number of factors, including:

a) It's dandelion season. That's daddy-long-legs to anyone but me. I have a complete phobia, and there was one in the car with me the other day. I cried. Which leads me to...

b) Emotions. I am incredibly fluctuant at the moment, with giggle fits and crying in public becoming increasingly common. Unknown origin, hoping to dear god I'm not pregnant.

c) Getting up on Sunday morning to discover my tyres had been slashed, then having to cancel my home care shift in order to sit in Kwik Fit and have the pleasure of paying them to fix it. Conveniently linked to...

d) Lack of money. I got my loan in August, and as I am terrible with money I have spent most of it. I earnt a small fortune this summer, what with my two summer schools (thinking about it, only one has paid me... hmmm), casual work on campus, and washing old ladies for 15 hours a day. I'm still well below the zero mark. Sigh.

There've been a few other minor things too. I think it's all getting a bit much at the moment. Perhaps starting back at uni (and being a third year 'student doctor') is just taking some getting used to. I had to learn to take bloods the other day. Bearing in mind I was scared of the video where they showed someone taking blood from a fake rubber arm, I've not been looking forward to having to do it on real people! On Monday I start what used to be known as 'nursing week' but is now known as 'interprofessional experience'. I'm really looking forward to it, despite being on Renal Medicine and hating anything to do with kidneys. I recently did my training to be an HCA, and was absolutely appalled by how little I learnt, therefore I am going to utilise this week to shadow someone and find out what the hell I'm supposed to do when I turn up for my first shift.

Here's to hoping they don't make me do anything important...

NAGTY says No!

I'm a bit fed up.

This could of course be the tiredness, the 25000+ steps I'm doing a day (yes I am still wearing the pedometer), or the fact I've not been home in almost 3 months. It could be the awful stodgy food I've been eating for 3 weeks now, the reports I have to write playing on my mind or the fact that one of my best friends is off to China in a couple of days, just before I'm free from this summer school job and so I won't even be able to speak to her properly for 6 weeks straight.

But mostly, there's one little thing pissing me off. For the past two weeks I've been surrogate mum to 8 15yr old girls. And they have been ace. Without a doubt my favourite ever group. Not one of them was in trouble, not one of them ever gave me cause for concern. I was greeted every morning (very early might I add) by 8 smiling faces, and even when a few of them were ill they were always adorable. I became very close to all of them, and although other RAs gave awards to a member of their group, I couldn't bring myself to pick a favourite for they were all perfect. On the last day they gave me a card; each having written a message about me. It brought a tear to my eye. When I saw them all off I cried with them, and I told each of their parents in turn how wonderful they were. Yet although I spent a fortnight gaining their trust, getting them to confide in me with medical issues, boy problems, and assuring them I cared, I now can't stay in touch. At least one of them girls wants to do medicine, and I could be of use in the future when she applies. I want to know how they all get on in life, but NAGTY says no. Anyone involved in NAGTY will know that NAGTY says that a lot.

So a girl in my group has attempted to add me on facebook, another on myspace. Completely innocent forms of correspondence. I have had to press that big button saying 'deny'.

That makes me feel mean. :(

Money troubles

I'm not feeling too good today. Partly sleep deprivation, partly guilt for spending too much on my day off. I drove to Tescos to buy some tea last night (post ridiculous shopping trip) and realised I had no petrol. I think I'm gonna have to buy some with my credit card just to get home once this summer school is over.

I don't get paid from this job until roughly when my student loan installment comes in, so I don't see any chance of my financial situation improving anytime soon unless I set up an illegal business with my students making them pay me to turn a blind eye to their lights still being on after bedtime. Kinda tempting actually....

So in the meantime I'm pocketing as much free food as is humanly possible. Alpen bars, juice cartons, biscuits and the likes are available 3 times a day for us and the kids, and seeing as it's already been paid for I see no harm in me taking enough to last me the final few weeks of the holidays.

Stealing or starvation... I'm sure I'm not the only one doing it...

The sleep deprivation kicks in...

Let me paint you a picture of what is going on around me. I'm in a small computer room with 22 hyperactive teenagers and one fellow staff member, who has the unfortunate job of giving each of the 22 little darlings their username and password to access the delights of myspace or bebo or whatever the hell the kids are on nowadays. He's surrounded by a crowd of them and I think they might be suffocating him whilst he tries to explain that he can't read out 22 at once and will they please just line up and do it nicely. Ha, fat chance.

I on the other hand made a quick getaway to the nearest vacant screen (tripping over 2 having wheely-chair races on the way) and decided to take a moment to myself. There haven't been enough of them today.

I'm currently at the University of Warwick working as a Residential Assistant (aka student ambassador, mother-of-8, group morale booster, reprographics assistant, personal shopper, first aid instructor, eating disorder expert, rounders coach and woman-who-knows-the-most-silly-get-to-know-each-other-games) and I will be here for the next few weeks. This is the National Academy for Gifted and Talented Youth summer school, and although nowadays it's not the only one I do, it's still the one I hold closest to my heart. You see in 2002 I was one of the first 100 students accepted into the academy and attended this very summer school. The year after I attended it's daughter project in York, and last year I worked at the Leeds site. Being back at Warwick seems fitting, I've come full circle and this is the last year that they will run NAGTY as I know it.

Watching these kids, sorry - students (they don't respond well to being called kids), as they progress through these 2 short weeks I can't help but feel sad that they'll be the last to experience it. For many it's a life-changing opportunity and the confidence these young people gain from it can't be underestimated. But the scheme doesn't seem to achieve the original aims it intended to reach- to provide the able top 5% of young people with an opportunity to extend their learning regardless of background. Many of the students here with me now will have parents who have forked out £700 for this experience. Most will have afforded £350. And those that can't? Well they're not here. The social profiles of the students vary greatly from the pilot year, when I was here, when it was free. It's a shame it can't always be like that.

So yes, my summer is very busy at the minute. To give you some kind of indication of the amount of work I'm doing in a day at the moment, I'll not bore you with a detailed breakdown but instead tell you I'm averaging 5.5hrs sleep and my pedometer today (which was only put on at 9 and I'd been up and running after small children since 7) currently reads 17648. I've 4 more hours to go before I can even think of sleeping.

I can't moan too much though. So far my group of girls are completely trouble-free, and I am of course getting paid to do this. I only wish that this and the other summer school I've just finished working at paid enough between them to clear my overdraft. Instead I'm straight back to work once my feet once again land on Manchester soil. Or in Manchester puddles. I think that's more likely.

Do you swallow?

Asks the nice man in the kebab shop. Now, forgive me for being so naive, but this is not what I expect from my kebab shop experience. It's bad enough getting abuse for asking if the curry sauce is vegetarian. The answer was yes by the way, that explains why some of it is on my beautiful silk top.

That was yes to the curry sauce by the way. You'll have to know me a lot better before I answer the other one.

It was an odd night. I like 5th ave, it's one of my favourite places to go, but 80p bottles are my downfall I feel, and I think I've had too many of them. I'm working tomorrow, and I have to drive there. I will drink water, I promise.

But I pulled a nice boy who went by the name of Nick. He asked me back to his place in Salford. Then he made the mistake of accusing me of being a Man Met student. They don't do Medicine at Man Met my love, you just lost yourself a good night.

I have a date next week that I'm quite happy about. It is silly really as I've been messed about by this man a fair bit, I'm sure I've mentioned it before. But as I say, I'm excited, even if everyone else thinks I'm crazy. Sod it. Hope it goes well.

Oh bloody hell work is sooner than I thought.

I'll leave you with a beautiful quiz from The Mint (or whatever ITV call their Quiz Call thingymabob)

Double....

They already have double act, double bed, double cream and double take.

We're going with double entendre. This could be above their usual viewing audience's intellect.

Results

Got up early. I would say 'so I could let the 'builders' in' but in reality it was because I'd not realised my alarm clock was still set from Saturday, the last time I was in my bed. It was just a happy coincidence that they didn't have to wake me up when they arrived.

Then again, they didn't arrive til about 2pm. Wonder if Landlord knows what slackers he's employed?

They were perplexed to discover I'd locked the side gate with a new lock, and came to the front door to question this. I told them off. At first they denied leaving the gate unlocked. 'Not us love' all around, and my particular favourite 'Ask your housemate, she was in when we left'. No, she flew home 2 days ago. Eventually they discovered that the youngest, quietest member of the group was the culprit, and the oldest and largest offered to 'bollock him' for me. They asked me to change the lock back. Not a chance. 'I obviously can't trust you...' I said in my most disappointed mother-like voice.

Fifteen minutes later the one with the best English came in and gave me a full, lengthy, sincere apology and offered to bring me 'some smokes' on Monday. Although I assured him that wouldn't be necessary, I'm glad he recognised quite how annoyed they had made me.

When they left (an hour later, it had started to rain) all six of them stood looking at the floor apologising again as I looked down from the doorway. I felt like I was telling off small children.

I think they've learned their lesson.

Oh, I passed. Second year (and pre-clinical) medicine is over. Bit of an anti-climax if I'm honest. Perhaps because they're the worst marks I've had so far. I mean, a pass is a pass... it just made me realise that I've wallowed a little too much in self pity this year, and put too much emphasis on partying. Hopefully I'll make up for it next year- I know I should be in the first quartile and as it counts from September, I'd best start acting like it.

Fun fun fun

Had a great couple of days. Went to London, got drunk, generally good fun. Even if my friend's 31 yr old brother (with fiance and small child) came on to me. Otherwise an excellent time.

Car went for it's MOT. Failed. Costing £400. But it's fine, I kinda expected it. Get it back tomorrow.

Came back to Manchester today to find 'builders' in my back garden. Damn. Had forgotten about them. Ah well, I thought, Landlord said they'd not bother me, he gave them a key to the side gate so they could get to the garden without bothering me. Turns out he'd also given them a back door key. I walked in the house to find them strolling in and out my kitchen. Ignore it, I thought, ring Landlord when there's more time to moan about it, but for now, ignore it. Went out to work.

Came back from work at 9pm. Side gate wide open. Back door wide open. Assume 'builders' left before 5. That's 4hrs of my house being entirely open to the public. I live in the ghetto. My laptop was in the living room. I was very thankful it was still there.

I have called the Landlord and *ahem* expressed my disgust. I have also replaced the lock on the gate for one only I have a key for, so 'builders' must ring the doorbell and speak to me on arrival tomorrow. I will be screaming my fucking lungs out to them too. How dare they leave my house like that?!

Also, exam results tomorrow. Argh.

That will be all.

Why girls can't drive.

So, I finally gave up having a strop at the DVLA website and decided to go pay my car tax in person. Paperwork-wise I was worried, as I thought my MOT was due July 1st, the day the tax disc starts, so I didn't know if they'd let me have it before getting the new one done. Rummaged through to find the certificate.

It doesn't expire July 1st. It expired May 1st.

Oops.

To Do List

Seeing as exams are over, and I'm having a rare night in, I thought I'd write my to-do list for the rest of my time in Manchester. And as I've packed up most of my stationery, I thought I'd do it online rather than on paper. Here goes:

1. Write to new landlord about arrangements for picking up keys, getting doorbell fixed, bringing extra furniture and being given a copy of the contract. Ought to have had one several months ago, so am worried that he's decided against letting us move in after all. I will cry if we don't get that flat, after all we went through... bring on July 1st (moving day!).
2. Pack up stuff. Bearing in mind that housemate-with-no-stuff managed to fill a car, I am worried this will take me some time. I am a serial hoarder, a serial shopper and I've taken over the living room as well as the kitchen and my room. I calculated earlier that my crap littering the living room is worth more than £1000. Which brings me on to...
3. Sort out contents insurance. I think a year's worth of good luck is probably all I'm gonna have.
4. Go into mobile phone shop and get new contract. Have been ignoring O2's mistakes for too long and I think it's time I was spending less than £45/month. Plus my phone is playing a mix-and-match game with all incoming texts, meaning it'll pick a random name out my phone book, tell me it's from them, and take the first half of one message and the second half of another and put them as one continuous text. Confuses the hell out of me.
5. Clean my car. Which will mean coming face to face with Freddy the spider that lives in my wing mirror, and Freddy Two on the boot. I hate spiders. Might pay my brother to do it at the weekend.
6. Book my MOT, and find a nice boy to come with me so as not to get ripped off by them charging me for the inevitable things that need fixing.
7. Pay my car tax, if the bloody DVLA will let me.
8. Take vaccination history to nursing agency so I can finally get my training done so I can actually start working sometime soon.
9. Pre-order Harry Potter from [generic online bookstore] so it can be delivered to me at summer school. Yes I am that sad. And that much of a traitor to a certain highstreet bookstore/newsagent/stationers that employed me for many a year. It's cheaper online.
10. Book doctors appointment so can be shouted at for not taking my iron, but be given some more, hopefully that tastes better.

This should keep me busy. However, I know full well that I'll do this instead:

1. Sleep until lunchtime
2. Watch Loose Women
3. Go on facebook
4. Go out and drink too much
5. Spend most of the next day feeling hungover
6. Occasionally manage to make it in for a shift with Students and Schools, only for wages not to cover the amount I spent on vodka the night before.
7. Have complete mad panic day before moving day and throw all possessions into bin bags which split whilst being carried upstairs to new flat.

Sigh.

Hungover ramblings

I'm hungover.

Since the exams finished, it's how I've spent an awful lot of my time. I've been out drinking 8 of the past 10 nights, and I think today it's all hit me at once. I didn't get up til 1pm, and it's now 3.30 and I'm still not dressed. I'm eating a jacket potato, a huge chunk of halloumi and a chilli. Yes, a whole chilli, I couldn't be bothered to wash up a knife to cut it up and make something exciting with it, so I just threw it under the grill with the halloumi and I'm eating it like a piece of fruit. Thankfully my mouth is numb from drinking ridiculous amounts of paintstripper vodka and breathing in nothing but secondhand smoke all week.

Much as I've enjoyed my post-exams fun, there have been a fair few annoyances too. Landlord has been as irritating as ever, though we've got him back by hiding and pretending nobody's in when he's come round for rent (despite there being 3 cars on the drive), refusing him entry when he's turned up unannounced, and finally facing up to him and telling him that we're not paying this month's rent as we don't think he'll give us our deposit back. Eventually he accepted this, and told us to 'leave the house as clean as it was when we moved in'. I'm working on the fridge mould as we speak.

Our neighbours on both sides have started noisy DIY. They're doing it in shifts, one taking early mornings and the other evenings and weekends. I wouldn't mind, but it clashes with my new nocturnal sleeping habits, and drilling doesn't help a hangover. What makes it even worse though, is that both sides give us dirty looks as we walk past, as if we're the awful neighbours. We're always quiet when we get in at 4am, and we've never had loud parties or caused any trouble. All we've done is left the grass to grow to shoulder height. But Landlord said he'd sort that!

My big moan though is the fabulous DVLA, who sent me a nice reminder that my car tax is due (joy) and a flyer advertising the benefits of using their new quick online system. After spending 20 minutes waiting for the bloody page to load, I was told that the reference number I've been given is wrong, and so I'll have to do it in person anyway. Useless waste of my time.

At least it's over.

The exam was a joke. I didn't know for definite more than about 10%, not a good sign. Nothing we revised in a marathon 12hr session the day before was on the paper. I can't really blame the medical school for that (though many of my friends are trying, arguing it was too clinical for this stage in our studies). I can however blame them for the 6 typos in a 100 question paper.

It's becoming a bit of a theme that 20 minutes into the exam there'll be an announcement along the lines of; 'Could all the medical students please turn to question 34 and cross out options K and L as your answer sheet only has room for A-J', or 'The blood pressure reading of 160/170 is wrong so ignore that part of the answer'. My particular favourite was semester 2 when one of the questions asked 'What is structure X on the diagram above' when there was no X. Ooh, and the question which had 5 possible answers, option A being 'all of the above'. Idiots. You'd think they could pay someone to proofread the exam. It's stressful enough without trying to work out if 'progestergen' is a typo or a hormone you've not learnt anything about.

So I went out and drowned my sorrows last night. Luckily for me everyone else seemed to be doing the same, and as we're marked relative to everyone else's mark rather than a set 40% pass that's usually a good sign. Surely someone's done worse than me?

I should have done Maths...

Perhaps two years into my medical degree isn't the best time to realise this. But I was good at Maths. I liked it. I got a sense of achievement from finishing a problem, and I was always pretty sure when I'd got it right. None of this silly multiple-choice nonsense, where all the answers are partly right but one is more right than the others. No stupid intracellular processes that activate millions of other equally complicated and equally dull processes. Best of all, no stupid kidneys. I hate kidneys.

Yes, ok, I never really got the point of integration. Or imaginary numbers. But I got the logic behind getting the answer, and I could get the answer. I didn't have to revise with 4 people that know more than me, because here's the thing- I understood it all.

Maybe if I'd done Maths I'd be happy now, not sat here on a bank holiday wondering whether I really need to know the functions of the liver at all. Ok, I accept, might be of some use in my future career. However learning some PHI models of addiction, health motivation and self-regulation will probably get me more marks. As we're into last-minute cramming, I think it's one or the other. I hope none of my future patients are jaundiced.

Maintenence during exams

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You're kidding, right?! *starts to hyperventilate* A few hours?! What am I supposed to do to procrastinate now? How dare they do site maintenance during exams. As everyone but my landlord seems to know, maintenance should be after exams so as not to disturb our already-fragile selves. Landlord seems to think that booking a 'builder' (landlorddictionary.com definition- noun: man who may or may not have once picked up a hammer, is willing to be paid pittance, doesn't speak English and is happy to do gardening/plumbing/rat killing as and when necessary) to come and pave the back garden during our revision time will not bother us a bit. He seemed to think he didn't even have to really mention it to us. Apparently it's fine for him to take potential 'builders' into our back garden without letting us know he's coming or knocking on the front door when he arrives. More than once now has my poor housemate glanced out her bedroom window to see strange men staring up at her from the 'shed' (noun: few planks of wood with badly-fitted old carpet on top, size of small house, landlord's pride and joy). 'I didn't need to tell you, we didn't need to come in the house.' No, actually, you did. We rent the garden from you too, idiot.

As you can probably tell, I'm in an awesome mood. Had an assessment thing earlier where we got asked questions on our group project and unfortunately one of our examiners had found fault with our research and instead of firing questions at us decided to give us a lecture on how wrong it was. With him being right (wish I'd realised before) there was not much we could do to redeem ourselves. Hopefully won't have failed on one tiny little section, but I can say goodbye to my honours point this year.

So it's back to revision for the semester test. Luckily this involves going round to a friend's and eating brownies so my day might get a little bit better.

CRAFT Syndrome

I did a little revision today. Started with the layers of the digestive tract, which could almost be described as histology but I'll not call it that as it puts me off. I have a thing against microscopes, having only ever seen my own eyelashes upon trying to look through them. They get in the way somewhat. So yes, revised exciting stuff about circular and longitudinal layers of muscle and all that, in the hope it might spur me to look at some things happening inside cells. See, the whole time I've been at medical school I've managed to avoid learning much about anything that's smaller than a cell. Enzymes, G-protein linked receptors (they seem to come up a lot) and the likes have always been put to one side. I think it comes from my hatred of A-Level Chemistry (and my Chemistry teacher for that matter), any time anything sounds vaguely like it's going to require me learning a molecular structure or at least knowing something about chemical bonds I tune out completely. Unfortunately for me there seem to be a lot of these sorts of things this semester, what with the kidneys doing such wonderful things with ion transporters and the liver having a lot to do with glucose. Sigh. I'll learn it all later, I've still got 9 days til my exam.

So instead of revising, I then went to Starbucks. It was a nice walk and I got to show off my new hair. My housemate coloured it for me yesterday. There was a small accident involving a large gloop of hair dye on my forehead which made me look like I'd been using cheap fake tan, but thankfully that had disappeared by this morning. I'm left with very shiny hair and no awful roots.

We also tried to create our own passport photos using a digital camera and a white wall in our living room. I have a job interview tomorrow and I need to take photos with me, presumably for ID badges, so I'm sure they don't need to be exactly to passport spec. I loathe photo booths. Being unfortunate enough to have very pale skin I always come out as a floating pair of eyebrows and dark hair. The only time I've managed to get some nice ones I'd made the schoolgirl error of wearing a strapless top, and so for all anyone could tell I was absolutely starkers. Since sixth form I've used my school photos for any form of ID, but I think I'm just going to have to accept that I am no longer 16 with waist length hair, and I do own GHDs. But if I can't get a photo I like tonight they will just have to do.

Stumbled across a brilliant facebook group yesterday, 'Good Lord I'm Dying... the Medical Students' Curse'. Reading through hundreds of members' comments I realised I'm not the only one that has discovered how dangerous a little information can be. I have previously worried about having all sorts of problems, all conveniently linked to that week's PBL case. I've been diabetic, suffering with osteoarthritis, chronic fatigue syndrome, ankylosing spondylitis, an alcoholic (before reading the contraindications for using the CAGE questions- apparently you can't use them for students, we're all too proud of what we drink), lactose intolerant (true actually, and it was nice to understand why)... the list is pretty endless. However this course did teach me that I am actually anaemic, and that I guess was fairly useful to know. I think at the minute my only big problem is a particularly common one in medics before exam time- CRAFT Syndrome (or Can't Remember A F*cking Thing).

Stress eating

I'm still not making myself work. If anything I'm going out of my way to make sure I can't, by arranging job interviews, shifts with Students and Schools showing small people around the campus, and, yesterday, by leaving the house to drop a form off at Uni and managing to wander round aimlessly for over 5hrs. I ended up in town trying on hundreds of pairs of jeans, knowing full well that a) none will fit me, and b) if they do I still can't afford them. I came back home with hair dye and not a lot else.

My diet's suffering- I must be stressed underneath my far-too-relaxed exterior. Yesterday I ate chocolate ready brek, a turkish delight, chocolate fudge cake and cream, a dairy milk, 4 chocolate brioch rolls, and pasta with vegetable chilli (made at 9pm after realising I'd eaten nothing decent all day, but I'd already had 2 glasses of wine and so my concentration wasn't all there- it was burnt). I've started better this morning (Weetabix, pomegranate and blueberry juice, only one brioche roll) but the chocolate cravings are ridiculous. I go through months without touching the stuff but now I can't get enough. You'd never guess that this semester my exams are on diet and nutrition!

Progress tests but no progress.

I still should be revising, so of course am not. I had my first exam the other day- the dreaded Progress Test. It's such a waste of an afternoon at this stage in the course. Basically it's an exercise in guesswork. Judging by my previous attempts at it (we take it every semester) I'm quite good at eeny-meeny-miny-mo. A quality perhaps one might look for in a doctor, I don't know. Personally I'd rather not be forced into spending 2.5hrs being reminded of how little I know, being given case history after case history that I don't understand. The only one on the entire paper I was certain on was the one question my 10yr old brother could answer:

A 17 year-old girl presents to her GP in May. She complains of a runny nose (clear fluid) and sneezing. The symptoms worsen on exposure to cut grass. Does she have;
a- Rhinitis
b- Tonsilitis
c- Asthma
d- Hay fever
e- Bronchitis

Sigh. It does annoy me when they try and dumb one or two down to make us feel better when we know one. It didn't make me feel better at all.

So I've decided that ER is a legitimate revision strategy, and Doctors at 2.05 prompt every day of course. This Morning has a health section at least once a week too, which means I never have to leave the sofa. I might regret this in a week's time when the panic sets in.

My week has been so dull. The highlight today was attending a debate on stem cell research. Annoyingly it had free wine. Wouldn't have been quite so annoying had I not been the dimwit that offered to drive. Could have murdered for a Merlot. Yesterday my excitement was cleaning the bathroom. I had an hour to spare before Desperate Housewives and so decided to have a bath. I thought I'd quickly clean around and about beforehand. Mistake. The year's-worth of thick grime that had accumulated took the entire hour to remove, and so I ended up having to leave my nice relaxing bath for another day.

Incase you were wondering, my date never happened. Last-minute cancellation, good excuse, not really holding up much hope for it being rescheduled. He's been warned against seeing his students during exam time, which I guess is sensible, and who knows if he'll still be interested in another fortnight's time. I'd like to think so, but we'll see won't we?

To revise or not to revise?

It's revision time, that godawful time of year when everyone seems to be doing more work than you, and yet still there are hundreds of people in the pub. It doesn't help that it's been beautifully sunny the past few days too, so beer gardens are far too tempting. I've managed to resist most of the time, but that doesn't mean I've been hard at the studying either. Shopping, facebooking and baking have been taking up most of my days. I really need to crack on, else I'll be coming back in Summer for the resits.

I had my last ever day in uni the other day. In September I'll be based in Hope Hospital in Salford instead of in Stopford, which will be a big change. I'm not sure I'm ready yet. I don't know anything!

I also have a date tomorrow. I'm quite terrified, I've not been on a date since I was 17.

I'm going to spend tonight trying to relax and not think too much about tomorrow. I'm looking forward to sitting infront of rubbish TV, after the madness that was last night. We went to see Jeremy Kyle being filmed, which was awesome. He is a very small, skinny man with an absurdly large head. He's quite funny though. Then we went to a house party, which was a horrendously drunken affair. Apparently it went on until 8am, so I'm very glad I left when I did. All-in-all, I need a night in and some decent sleep.

Letter to my landlord

Dear Landlord

Quite frankly, you’re pissing us off. For almost a year now we have lived with a torrent of repair men, handy men, builders, and lets not forget yourself as well, wandering onto the premises as and when you please. Are you aware you’re supposed to give us, your tenants, 24hrs notice before coming to the property? Yes, of course you are, how can you not be- WE TELL YOU EVERY WEEK. Yet still you insist on turning up unannounced, still you go out of your way to get under our feet.

Of course you’re not the only thing under our feet. As a result of your shoddy workmanship (why use one piece of wood when seven smaller ones and a lot of glue will do) and your apparent disregard for the council’s instructions, we have rats. We actually managed to let one decompose for several days before discovering the carcass as it happened to die underneath the broken leaky sink, which already smelt pretty awful. We had already asked you to fix that, by the way.

While we’re on the subject, there are a few other things we’ve asked you to fix this year. The broken tap in the bathroom that spurts hot water across the room and won’t turn off again. Well, it’s supposed to be hot water, but with the boiler being as temperamental as it is (and you never bothering to sort it), it does often end up being cold. While I have my cold shower in the morning I’m regularly hit on the head by the broken shower door, which we requested you fix in fresher’s week. The broken drawers in my bedroom that I have to store my clothes in could do with being repaired. Then there’s the hole in a bedroom window that lets in a breeze. The kitchen cupboard door doesn’t open the whole way. The door to the conservatory doesn’t close the whole way. And don’t even get me started on the conservatory…

So basically I want to tell you not to bother booking the people to pave the garden. There are a hundred more important jobs that need doing first. With our exams coming up, we don’t want our revision time to be filled with more workmen and more stress, unless they’re nice well-qualified plumbers and builders that won’t be in our way for weeks and might actually finish the job they start. Feel free to do whatever the hell you like after the 10th June though- we will all have gone home, safe in our warm, clean and rat-free houses. I can’t bloody wait!

The Tenants

Oh if only I could send it...

I am bored of incompetent men.

I've been back at Uni for two weeks and already I am plotting new and ingenious ways to murder my landlord. It appears a group of girls have signed for our house for next year. Poor them.

Over Easter the Ratman from the council came around and told us that the poison he had left had not been touched and that we had no rats. It sounded distinctly like he was irritated with us for wasting his time, but when you hear scratching most nights and have seen a rat running across the kitchen floor you can't help but think that there might be rats in the house, right?! Well, a week later a dead rat was spotted on the back step, presumably poisoned. We christened him Henry. A few days later there was a delightful smell in the kitchen. Now with the sink having been leaking dirty water into the cupboard for a while now, we put it down to that, until the bluebottles arrived. Yes, another dead rat (Horace-Hamley) under the sink. Ratman was phoned, and he told us that unless we had droppings and scurrying noises we still don't have rats, so they're not coming out again. Excuse me for thinking I can do his job better, but there are two dead rats in my wheelie bin. I can't help but think we do have an infestation.

Landlord of course has been as helpful as ever, by traumatising one of the girls by waving a rat corpse at her, and telling us to do the washing-up. It's a difficult thing to make yourself do when you know your feet will get a good bath as soon as you turn the tap on. He's coming round this week to cut the grass. Apparently cut grass and a half-built shed will sell the house better than working appliances and a lack of rats.

As for other men, I've bored everyone to death this week moaning about them. I'm trying my luck with someone who is technically off limits, until next week. With any luck we'll manage to get round to actually going on a date before he leaves....

From one building site to another...

As if it wasn't enough being woken up by Tomas the Polish builder and his very loud drill every weekday for the past month at Uni, now Mum and Dad are at it too. They're trying to make our house more saleable which apparently means using equally loud drills and screaming at each other. I'm not sure which is worse, drill + argument or drill + Polish singing. Either way I'd rather have the sleep.

I went to the seaside today with two of my girlies, which was lovely. Living where we live its almost a 2hr drive to the nearest water, so its not somewhere we get to go very often. I can't remember whose silly idea it was to go in April but anyway, it was fun. There are some very entertaining photos at least.

When I got home my lil brother's girlfriend had arrived from Liverpool. Can't for the life of me understand why he can't get a girl closer to home, but hey ho who am I to question it? She seems lovely anyhow, even if she does say 'boss' when not referring to a senior colleague. We all have faults. The only problem I have is that they're laid on the sofa in the communal living room kissing like... no, scrap that, we now have a hand wandering to an arse... god I can't look. The worst part is, as well as thinking 'not in my day' I'm thinking 'how come he's happy at 15 and I'm this old and alone?'. Isn't that bitter of me? But I really do feel like he's rubbing in the fact I'm unhappy. The world isn't fair. And before you all start thinking it, I'm aware that up until very recently I did have someone and its my own bloody fault I don't anymore. Unfortunately though, as anyone that vaguely knows me really should know, I wasn't happy. Well no, I was at first, but for the last 9 months I've not been. 9 months of hoping that the happiness would come back and the bad stuff would go away. Well it didn't. The world sucks.

So now I'm single and low instead of taken and low. The only thing putting a smile on my face is watching Dad trying not to look at the sofa either...

Murders and mysteries

Its been a while since I've bothered with a blog. Had it printed out and passed around school back in the day, and ever since decided it was a bad plan to put my thoughts on the internet. But after some coercion from my housemate, here goes, me. I apologise in advance, I have a tendency to ramble about not an awful lot.

So what do you need to know to understand my innermost thoughts? Lets start with the basics, I'm a 20 year old medical student at Manchester University, currently in my hometown for the Easter holidays. Home is a little inbred town that nobody's ever heard of, and it has its own language. There was a murder here the other night, and police are wanting to speak to anyone that was in the local club (yes there's only one) that night- me! Funny that, I moan that its boring around here and then get myself involved in a murder enquiry.

At Uni I live with 3 fabulous girlies and a rat called Herbert. Herbert was found a few weeks ago in the kitchen running through a hole in the wall to my bedroom, and as such I have been sleeping with my housemate ever since. It's a good job we're all so close! This will no doubt be continued (if she'll let me) after the holidays, as the landlord (also known as 'that wanker') has a mysteriously large number of excuses for not blocking up the holes or putting a fence up in the garden or doing anything that might prevent further infestations. Instead he came round to see what the ratman from the council had done so he could see what he needed to do 'next time'. Thank god we have a new flat with a new landlord next year.

Hmm what else? I recently broke up with my boyfriend of two years. I suppose that's relevant as looking back on years of diaries I realise men appear to be all I have to talk about. Currently the ex and I aren't best of friends, which is awful but I suppose to be expected, and I am filling the void the best way I know how- flirting ;). But its not filled, I can't pretend it is, and I'm not really ready to take on someone new. Not yet anyway. And plus I've nowhere for a new bloke to stay, unless he fancies kipping in with Maz and I.

But anyway, thats enough for one day. I'll get off to my rat-free, housemate-free double bed in a house with heating and free food. I love the holidays!