The dying patient

Lately I often find myself complaining about work, whining about the long hours, and generally feeling very sorry for myself and my lifeless job.

Because sometimes I forget that I encounter life and death on a daily basis.

Induction

Between people-watching from the wall-mounted mirror in one of my favourite cafes and taking a slow slp of my flat white, I decided today was one of those times to look back and not forward. It is far more pleasant to reflect when what lies ahead is work tomorrow (and having to remove your turquoise manicure for it). 

The first month of employment has been rather pleasant. My senior colleagues have been extremely lenient and tolerant of my various antics, and the staff have all been wonderful to work with - a lovely surprise taking into account the horror stories of bitchy nurses and my track history with species of the same gender. 

I wish I could remember all of my patients, but we usually only recall the mortalities, and the ones with angry relatives. Then there are the idiots who make for interesting stories, like the young man who needed orchioplasty because he had strangled both his testicles by forcing all of his external genitalia through a 1cm thick metal ring/sex toy that we could not break without snipping off bits of him. And of course there was the drug addict with COPD on long term oxygen admitted for a facial burn because his oxygen supply caught fire and blew up in his face when he was sneaking a smoke.

Time has been slipping away through my latex glove-cladded fingers like medical knowledge through the sieve that is my brain. It was only when I changed a suprapubic catheter again for the same patient did I notice an entire month had passed. Overall though, and I may or may not be writing behind rose-tinted eye shields, there has been more good than bad, and I definitely feel a lot more competent than I first started. Now, if only I could remember where I last left my pager... .

Working for royalty

The bigger hospitals here are mostly named after royalty, so let's just say I'll be spending my next three months at the Prince's.

That sounded sleazy.

After attempting to explain my working hours to my sister and friends, I am once again reminded of how inhumane the system is. Essentially, my life in the next three months will run in cycles of three to four days:

Day 1: 8am-6pm
Day 2: 8am-6pm-8am
Day 3: 8am- 6pm
(Day 4: 8am-6pm)

Whoever's decision it was to make house officers thirty-three hours shifts every few days is an absolute moron. Besides, taking into account my current unfamiliarity with my job, my days should start slightly after six every morning if I want to do a round on my patients before my medical officer does. I should start looking for a better eye cream.

You may say, hard work pays. Unfortunately, only minimally.

10 hours x 5 week days = 50 hours
4 on Saturdays = 4 hours
14 hours x 2 overnight shifts = 28 hours
Allowing an extra 8 hours overtime per week to accommodate the ridiculous number of patients in our overloaded public system
      = 90 hours x 4 weeks = 360 hours

Divided by our measly wages after subtracting costs of things like mpf and insurance, we receive less than seventy bucks an hour, i.e. just a little over a dollar per minute. In other words, it seems like a better deal for us to work at one of those 每六秒一蚊 sex story hotlines. The job nature is similar - 候召 - but with a better label.  

Despite all the ranting, I'm actually pretty excited to start finally contributing to humanity as a small potato at the bottom of the food pyramid (how apt). T-minus three and counting. 

Prologue

Life has been a whirlwind. As usual, I found myself overwhelmed by all that I had on my plate because, as usual, I'd bitten off much more than I could chew. Perhaps that's just the way I get things done - I push my poor self past my limits, crumble under stress like an overbaked cupcake, pull myself together, then write a literature review, plan a three-week trip, and throw a fabulous ball all within a month's time.

I have been in school for too long, and many a times it felt like I would never have to grow beyond the umbrella of my parents, professors and teachers. Yet suddenly, I find the end of my childhood dawning upon me all too quickly with work starting in two weeks. 

This will be a challenging path strewn with pebbles that will trip me over when I'm not looking, and most likely even when I am. Hopefully I'll find some boulders to lean on and climb a few mountains that will help me see further. And when I fall flat on my face like the time I ran down a flight of stairs in five-inch heels, I'll think of the insanity I subjected myself to this month and feel invincible again, even if only for long enough to get back on my feet and dust myself off. 

Look out, world.

Productivity

It's been three weeks, and so far this is what my literature review looks like:

Yes, my productivity has truly hit an all-time low, and desperate times call for desperate measures. After dinner today, I plan to paint my nails, pluck my brows and play Candy Crush.

Stress

You'd think that I would be completely stress-free with exams over and degree in hand, but apparently it's quite the opposite. It's times like these when I wish I had a vibrator

Aw! I googled 'cute vibrator' and this came up

Way To His Heart

I realise my level of attractiveness takes a sizable plummet as I finally graduate: as doctors, we neglect our personal hygiene because public hospitals are so busy one may not even have time to shower during an overnight call, life beyond our inhumanly long calls will be spent catching up on sleep instead of with friends over drinks, and any men with potential in our laughably small social circles will likely pick someone with shaved legs and a less intimidating occupation, i.e. a nurse.

In order to keep my game up, I've started cooking because we all know that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. The truth is it's probably via an organ further down south, but let's keep this blog remotely PG-rated and learn to make minced lamb pasta instead.

Please note that this is a cooking a guide for noobs that will hence be written in exquisite (unnecessary) detail. The following recipe was adapted from one of Nigella Lawson's. 'Adapted' is a professional way of admitting that I may or may not have forgotten one or two ingredients, while tweaking the amount of others. Here is what you will need:

If you are keen on saving some 婆乸數, certain things can be bought at a wet market...

- 3 tomatoes

- One and a half onions

- 4 cloves of garlic

- 2 tablespoons sugar

- Salt to taste

Others at a small local supermarket...

- 2 cans plum tomatoes

- 3/4 packs of linguine (or spaghetti if you prefer)

- 1 tablespoon tomato puree

- 250ml red wine (I've tried this with Merlot and Cabernet - both worked fine)

- Olive oil

Everything else you will have better luck finding at Citysuper...

- 500g minced lamb

- Oregano (4 tablespoons fresh or 2 dried)

- 200g feta cheese (you want the crumbly type, which is also the cheaper of the two options at the fresh cheese counter)

The Way To His Heart series: Minced Lamb Pasta

4-5 large servings

Requires 1ish hours but most of the time you are free to do other things (see step 8)

1. I know, you're thinking who needs to cook if you marry rich? Well, the point here is it's sexy for a girl to be able to cook, so throw on a racy apron.

2. Chop your garlic as finely as you can without compromising the number of fingers in your possession. Roughly dice your onions and tomatoes. 

3. Drizzle olive oil into your medium-sized pot and swirl the pot around so that its base is mostly covered. Set on medium heat and throw in your garlic, onions and half the oregano. Keep stirring for 5-7 minutes so as not to burn anything.

4. Add lamb, bring to high heat and stir until it becomes brown.

5. Add wine and let it cook until mixture bubbles.

6. Have someone take a picture of you cooking as proof.

7. Add everything else (except pasta and cheese!). Turn the heat just low enough to prevent everything from bubbling over. Let it cook uncovered for at least another 30 minutes, then put the lid over the pot and continue to let stew until it reaches desired consistency.

8. While that's cooking, freshen up your manicure/shave your legs/tweeze your nostrils.

9. Cook your pasta. While it is boiling, prepare your feta by smooshing it in a bowl with a fork.

10. Serve pasta with sauce. Sprinkle the crumbled feta over it.

Took a picture without the cheese because it didn't look good, but it really does elevate the flavours that much more. Tastes even better overnight - wink, wink. Enjoy!

A votre santé

By no means did twenty twelve go by in a flash - the last countdown seems like an eon and some away - but I can't exactly tell you where all that time went either.

For the first time in a long time, I spent New Year's Eve at home with family. Not that it was much of a celebration:  my sister and mummy were fighting for couch space and both began snoozing beneath my duvet by quarter to midnight, and this old lady was struggling not to fall asleep so she could catch the fireworks.

As you can tell, it was a very joyous occasion at our household indeed.

A true fobby Asian at heart, I religiously take pictures of myself and all my meals, so of course I also had to screen capture the pyrotechnic finale on television with my iPhone.

This year, I have much to be thankful for. I am thankful for the new people and things that have found their way into my life, and more so for those who have stayed a constant despite my turbulent personality.

Stepping into another new year (and Cafe Grey)

So here's to our loved ones, their health, smooth sailing, good food and more frequent updates with less narcissism. And nail polish that doesn't chip world peace.