Uprising… or, the trouble with themes

I try and choose a theme to start every new year with. It acts as a guide and reminder of what I have set for myself. 

I decided that 2014 is the year of… 

Uprising 

It was so beautiful, so poetic. A slow murmuring rebellion building up to a magnificent crescendo. I had applied for a training post in the speciality I work in and absolutely adore. Jetting abroad to present at an international conference and spend two weeks in the sun with a friend. The new guy in my life and I were exchanging pleasant, flirtatious messages. Uprising fitted beautifully, the sense of optimism I had for the new year was palpable before it had even started. 

Then it all went to shit. 

I didn’t get the job, thus having to wait a year before I can apply again. The conference thing fell through. The guy I was due to meet with threw some crumbs my way when what I needed was a loaf. 

I’ll cover the devastation and what it means some other time. 

Man, dog, sunset

One of my colleagues said, “Fuck ’em. And rise like the phoenix” 

Uprising – losing what was never mine to begin with, starting at ground level right in the dirt, with nothing but blood, tears and gritted teeth. And now. Now it begins. 

Keep on bursting

Now that medical school has finished, it feels as if the imaginary safety bubble has burst. After 6 long years I can no longer refer to myself as a medical student and I’m not sure how to feel about it. Sure, it’s nice that I have finished and I can be all grown up, but while everyone is smiling and congratulating me, I cannot help but feel a little underwhelmed. Not in the sense that I’m disappointed in my achievements, but more in a spaced-out ‘did I just do that?’ kind of way.

On the flip-side, I’m reacting to both no more school + emigration with a jittery energy that’s making me super productive, like a lady of leisure on amphetamines. Then sometimes the pace slows right down and I have time to contemplate the past intense year; travelling, the breakup of a long-term relationship, medical finals and the decision to move abroad. In the past, my personality-type would have crumpled up just thinking about it, but now I mostly smile and laugh, because that’s all you can do, and it has all helped me to become a better person, so it can’t be all bad.

I still suffer from insomnia but I have come to accept that it’ll probably stay that way until I settle into New Zealand. It allows me creative time, just as well because I have huge piles of yarn to get through, and they can’t go in my luggage as I have already devoted large amounts of space to the ‘looks nice but will be off in seconds’ underwear.

Cold feet

Tomorrow is the last day of the month. Between then and the first day: I sat my finals, passed them and qualified as a doctor, took a small trip abroad, drank myself into a mini-oblivion and now I’m quietly contemplating the next small step of the big move.

Because of all this, I am not sleeping and I am stubbornly refusing to contemplate what I’m actually going to do in New Zealand. If anyone asks any questions I quickly change the subject, but I don’t think immigration will accept the excuses I am layering upon myself.

Gearing up towards graduation is my last excuse. After that, planning. Srsly.

Public therapeutic putty

Something very unusual happened at the weekend. I was on a train in the middle of the afternoon, drunk (this isn’t what I’m getting at) and my mother and I noticed that a young woman was crying. I asked my mum in Italian if she had any tissues or water, but the only things we had to offer was a box of petit-fours, given to us at the restaurant where we had lunch.

We tentatively walked over (I think I stumbled) and the offer of chat and chocolates was gratefully received. The story was that she and her partner had just split up and she was naturally feeling lousy, vulnerable and emotional. She was surprisingly open with us and her story sounded so similar to mine; never-ending heart-sinking cycles combined with the small but constant chipping away at self-esteem and the inevitable question of, ‘Am I going mad?’

I reflected on all the reassurance I was given by so many kind people who used their own experiences and common sense to show me the way, almost a year ago. The woman was looking at me through her teary eyes and asked the same anxious questions I did: Would I ever get through this? Would I ever meet anyone else? Am I strong enough to go it alone?

I was in turmoil out in South-East Asia and so many people told me that everything would be fine. Some were long-time friends, others carried on for me from a distance. There were new friends and others were fleeting faces I met at a parties. But the resounding message was the same: I would get through this, it wouldn’t be easy, but eventually everything would change for the better.

And it did!

I learned to trust myself again. I had confidence in my perceptions and found peace. And because of a great coincidence, I was able to pass on everything I had learned to someone who needed it. In time she’ll believe it.

Best pre-university advice I was ever given

…was from a Spanish waitress

“Drink! Take lots of drug! Have lots of sex!”

Breathing space

I shouldn’t give too much thought to life after finals since my written papers are the day after tomorrow [!OMG!!11one] but I’m trying to get my head around what I want to get out of emigrating and am I taking on too much by trying to secure a medical job straight away.  One of the reasons I decided to take on a big move was because jumping on the junior doctor conveyor belt in the UK wasn’t for me and booking a one-way flight was like taking back some control and popping the security bubble that has been my life for over 6 years.

So… is working as a doctor abroad the right thing to do or am I going through the process because it will bring me more security? I’m not in a place where I can afford to be fussy, but if I the opportunity to untangle knots in my heart is there, so I may as well take it.

Human drop in the ocean - that's not me. I was trying out the zoom on my camera. Thank you, snorkelling stranger!

Then there is the guilt. Halfway through our Bali trip, R and I were invited by a fisherman to his house for supper. Incidentally, his wife grilled the best mackerel I’ve ever had and I will spent the rest of my life going mad in trying to recreate it.

As the night progressed, we were talking about our lives and although I didn’t volunteer the information, my medical training came to light and the man beamed and said how proud my family must be and what an achievement it is. It was certainly a humbling experience, but I got that familiar pang in my gut, similar to times when patients – through their illness or pain – tell me how they wish me luck in my career.

I feel like a fraud. I get a lump in my throat when I think of my loved ones and the pride they exude because I am about to turn my back on a career path, like a toddler who has just thrown a bowl of pureed organic carrots on the floor, that his mother spent hours lovingly preparing.

Putting my logical hat on…

1) a medical degree doesn’t have an expiry date, so I’m not abandoning ship

2) a lot of my thoughts come down to my feelings of inferiority I had going through medical school – getting good grades, making a diagnosis or cannulating successfully meant very little because I would always put it down to luck than my own abilities.

It can go two ways: I can try to secure a medical job and prove myself wrong while I work, or I can take some time out and get involved with another project that has come to light which I think would suit me very much. I once read that in times of indecision, the best thing to is nothing. So I’m going to do just that. Then I remember that I can’t, because I’m revising.

3 balls of yarn, STAT

Purty

Perhaps the procrastination thing has gone too far. Crochet isn’t going to help me to become a doctor, but it’s providing a decent enough outlet for release and gives me something else to do with my hands.

I found the pattern on Ravelry, the link is here. I haven’t been doing crochet for very long, but the instructions were ridiculously easy to follow and it took only a week to complete. I used an acrylic blend yarn from Sidar, I really liked the pale teal colour (although it looks icy blue in the photo) and I found some ceramic buttons which I wasn’t too sure about at first, but once they were sewn on they just completed it beautifully. So at least my laptop will be warm and snug when I fly into New Zealand in the middle of winter.

Now, I must work.

Edit: Ceramic buttons from buttonmad.com, L343

Destination Procrastination

The last two weeks leading up to the big exams make a wonderful opportunity to avoid doing some much-needed revision. The extent of this lead up to me having my coil removed and replaced yesterday. I was expecting an afternoon of horrendous cramping, instead I went to the library. Damn.

Let rip-ple

So I have a handy piece of plastic ensuring that I stay baby-free for up to 5 years. I am at the stage where I know I definitely want to sprog in about 2 to 3 years so hopefully it won’t stay in there for the full amount of time. That said, when I imagine myself as a pregnant person, I worry that I am not patient enough to make it through the uncomfortable third trimester and sometimes I literally shudder internally at the thought.

Onto the blanket for the non-existant offspring and I haven’t been giving it too much attention as the weather suddenly became awesome and I didn’t fancy doing any crochet, but I am getting a better idea of how the finished product will look and every time I see it, I’m reminded of the spring colours outside, and I wish I had more time to devote to it.

I managed to rustle up a quick project in the form of a laptop case using some nice acrylic yarn. It isn’t finished yet, but I’m really pleased with the colour, pattern and the fact that it took no time at all to complete. I just have to line it, make a flap, add buttons et voilà. Pictures to follow.

Book-wise, I was less than impressed with “This is not the story you think it is” by Laura Munson. I really wanted to like this book. I really tried. The story in brief: husband tells wife he no longer loves her and wasn’t sure he ever did. Instead of flying off the handle heartbroken and defiant, wife remains calm and gives husband space to sort himself out, thus making him responsible for his emotions. Her essay in the NY Times attracted such a response that they closed off comments, and after reading the article I ordered the book.

After only 67 pages, I gave up and I don’t know if I could go back to it, I just found the prose so difficult to engage with, partly because the author spends so much time (and pages) in making a single point, I didn’t really want to ride out the long, meandering narrative. I was massively intrigued with the original essay, but it just didn’t suit me as a book.

—————————-

Back to work. After I’ve stirred some onions which I have left to caramelise.

In red

Writing is proving quite therapeutic for me at the moment, the only problem is that I relatively little time to do it. In brief, the ladybirds in the back garden have been at it like… ladybirds? I was pleased to read they’re very slutty insects.

Voyerism lite

To continue with the red theme, I have a ball of Debbie Bliss 4-ply in the most beautiful vibrant red colour. I have racked my brain over what to do with it and then I found a quick tutorial on YouTube to make little hearts.

Who doesn’t love little crocheted hearts? Think of the possibilities! I found a little heart-shaped candy jar which would happily house a bunch of crocheted beauties, they would look good sewn on blankets or placed in cards for friends. And nipple tassels. The latter idea was mentioned by a friend of mine and I am determined to rustle up a bunch and see if there are any takers (or shimmying?)

My first attempt was ok. I think the colour helps to trick the viewer into believing it’s heart-shaped; forgive the medicine buzzing around my head at the moment but to me it looked more like a spleen with its characteristic notch (which I couldn’t remember as a feature of splenomegaly until I had done the crochet – so hurray, crochet helps to educate!)

Other features of splenomegaly can be found in most textbooks

Other than that, I have got over my fear of public crochet and continued to work on my laptop case this evening. A rather wired looking city boy was sat next to me and asked me what I was working on. We had a small chat about our days jobs and it helped the journey to fly by.

Every time I tell myself I’m ready to leave London, I’m left with small glimmers of why it’s such a great place and how much I’m going to miss it and the people who have carved little emotional holes in me.

Always in my heart(s), I guess.

On the job

Medical students have a unique ability to flow through hospitals as if we are invisible. There are no staff members or relatives to chase after you, no one is really going to notice if you’re missing from a ward round or clinic, yet the ID badge and purposeful walk gets you around most places without being questioned. That’s why the stethoscope comes in handy – at least there’s an identifying marker that this person is either a doctor or another healthcare professional.

I used to wear the tubes around my neck, but not anymore. It isn’t a self-loathing thing, it’s partly for hygiene reasons; I doubt the patient wants whatever is lingering around the nape of my neck and hair rubbing against their chest and vice versa. The other half of me feels that they weigh me down – not that I hold the weight of the world against my shoulders, although pre-finals, it feels that way.

(Un)fortunately, I cannot hide my emotions and tears are a good means to make myself oh so less invisible. There were many of those after the mock exam on Wednesday. I was expecting to be signed off yesterday so I could go home, but he didn’t get the chance, and by this morning, I couldn’t keep a face without weeping. In the end, the lovely administrator told me to go home and she would sort the forms out.

I was worried about how the medical school would react to this, I’m normally conscientious about paperwork and I had a horrible gut feeling that I was going to get a number of emails, and I decided to call the medical school’s office to pre-empt any communication. Instead, I had a voice message from the medical school gently saying they’re worried about me and could I call them. A weepy but reassuring phone-call later and I discovered I wasn’t as invisible as I thought.