Drama: The Persistent Weed Pt 2

This is a continuation of my last post.

I stopped writing last night because I have a race next weekend. This morning’s run was fantastic, and the endorphin rush and energy lasted me till 5pm. I’ve been so reticent about running in the morning in winter because the sun won’t have risen yet, and it’s usually windy/rainy/crappy. However, with the big race so close, I got up and ran a new personal best, which I’m quite happy about. 10.5km in 57 minutes = 5:25 min/km!!

The view at the end of a new PB run :D

The view at the end of a new PB run 😀

Anyway, my life is currently overrun with drama. Let’s talk about uni, which has once again become a large part of my life.

Teaching hospitals are hotbeds of politicking and drama.

1. My year is the first cohort of post-graduate students for this course. They gave us fanciful labels, like “pioneers” and “scouts.” Oh please, you mean “guinea pigs.”

I wish I’d gotten a photo of what MF from my study group wrote on the whiteboard one session:

Welcome to Journal Club. In your first year of uni, can you say that you’ve killed/sued/brought on a nervous breakdown on your professors?

Or something like that.

2. They have tried to treat us like the usual 17-18 year old undergraduates, who are basically children. When Nurse G tried to reprimand us, we immediately gave feedback to our class representatives, who got the staff to speak to her and say, “You can’t do that.” She got the message.

3. They are trying to dictate new clinic coat standards. P has told me there is no evidence for cross infection control, or research on the incidence of proven patient/patient transfer in our setting. But they remain adamant that we must meet their new requirements, despite the fact that students for the past 10 years have had short clinic coats, and neither they nor their patients are on anti-retrovirals. Fucking saliva splatter studies.

4. The replacement for the course coordinator who had a breakdown is a real piece of work. Why?

  • I can understand that you want our undivided attention, but it’s unbelievably disrespectful to snap your fingers at us. Our cohort has students of a comparable age, qualifications, and life experience. Your attempt to avoid conflict by a dictatorial attitude is not appreciated.
  • We will be your future colleagues. Who the hell do you think you are to tell us to lower our screens because we don’t need to take notes?
  • I don’t want to hear your life story, about how you went to the best university in America, and “dated your professor on the quiet” and got married. I don’t care that your son has final high school exams, or about your “amazing” daughter who’s never dealt with death before, but has taken on all the cooking for her friend’s mother’s funeral. Shut up. If you absolutely must, finish your lecture on the history of the topic, and then talk through actual important, clinically relevant topics, you twit! Jesus fucking Christ.

5. I’m not encouraged to excel with my practical work. Last week, I was ahead of everyone else for one activity, standing around, waiting for 45 minutes to get something checked in 30 seconds so I could proceed to the next step. The tutor asked me why I was rushing and the coordinator told me to hide my frustration.

But you know what? I get it. This is the way things are. I just need to keep my head down, use my time more effectively instead of standing around, get through, and then leave this crap drama behind. Water off a duck’s back. It’s not worth the emotional energy. I have more important things to worry about. Like study.

Today, I was ahead again. We were allocated 6 hours for our practical work. I finished in 3 and a bit. People started asking me to critique their work, so I did it a bit. And then more and more people asked. I felt like such a twat. I mean, I learned it at the same time as you and I’m ahead, but I’m not more experienced or anything. And here I am, playing tutor. Oh well, they asked for my feedback. It was better than twiddling my thumbs.

I have seriously considered transferring back home for the course. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes time.

There may be a part 3, on my clinic partner, and a small group of girls who have distinguished themselves in our cohort as bitches.

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Shopping Together

I have a study group. It’s been helpful. We had a schedule and we went through lecture material, came up with practice questions, shared cake… it’s been good. I imagine it to be like my very own version of Community. Without it, I would have been struggling a lot more because of my own laziness. In one of those lulls, the topic of shopping with partners came up. Nicole said that her husband liked going along and giving advice. I thought and said something to the effect of, “Bullshit.” Personally, I hate going shopping with anyone else. Much like sport, unless I’m personally involved, my feet start to hurt, the bags get heavy, I get bored and I don’t have that much money to spend.

On Friday, after my third exam (head and neck anatomy), I went to see Thoroughly Modern Millie, then slept over at P’s. After breakfast, we went shopping. It was actually a painless process, probably because:

1. There’s a couple of stores we both liked.

2. I didn’t ask for feedback on every single thing I picked and tried on.

I did buy some shorts and on the way home, P said, “I meant to tell you, your ass looked very bootylicious in those shorts.” First off, hahahaha!!!! Who talks like that?! Second, it did make me inordinately happy. I waited till I was home alone to dance around gleefully. So I guess Nicole isn’t wrong, you can go shopping together. I just don’t think it would work her way. I guess they’re the exception to the rule.

To any person dragged along on a shopping trip, be it sister, brother, father, mother, child, aunt, cousin, friend, partner, whatEVER by someone who does want to know if their ass looks fat in this, I condole you. Get a drink and find a chair. It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

Confessions

This blog was meant to be a place for me to write down crazy things that happened so my relatives and friends could read it. Then I looked at my stats and found out they didn’t read unless I told them I’d posted (sensibly). Then I decided I’d write down things I’d prefer they didn’t see, like a diary. With this in mind, I’ve made a new category: Confessions. This may be haphazard as far as categories go; it’s not like I intentionally plan my weekend around regrettable acts. Although, I did plan a pub crawl for me and L who is leaving the city for good. Thank goodness that break-up was easy. Anyway, time’s a-wasting!

 

Confession #1: I thought vagina dentata was a real thing. According to wikipedia, it’s a supposed condition where a woman has teeth in her lady envelope and is central to cautionary tales against rape. And the source of inspiration for an anti-rape device.

However, I was most firmly disabused of this notion by the medical doctor in my study group today. At least he was nice about it. Let’s pretend it never happened, like most of high school.

Confession #2: Normally, I snack on crackers while I study because they’re plain and cheap. But one day, I decided, no, it needs something more: Nutella. After a midsemester on Monday, I came home, opened up the jar, and saw that I’d eaten 75% of a 750g jar of Nutella over 1.5 weeks. Oops. At least I didn’t eat it with a spoon. Which I have done before.

As for the midsemester, I didn’t do that great, but I am consoled that other people who did study heaps were unhappy about random questions. Why would I ever need to explain “primordial juices” to a patient??

Confession #3: I dreamt I had a threesome with P’s best friend and his wife. Twice. It was so naughty, but good. The thing is, I felt so guilty, even in the dream! Crazy. I have no idea why, but I nearly told P about it during sex. Why? I don’t know. Thankfully, I restrained myself. Even I know a topic like that is a mood killer.

 

Ok! And we’re done! Let’s never have another embarrassing thought or incident, ok?