CUT ME OPEN – The story of a clinical rotation in general surgery as told by an aspiring physician.

 

I look down at my blood stained hands. My mind races, thinking about the possibilities of how I got blood on them. Did I murder someone? Unlikely. I must’ve hurt myself. But I don’t see any cuts or bruises. How could a seemingly innocent person have blood on their hands? Doesn’t it seem mysterious? I could be tested for DNA, or worse, be thrown into jail for it, if the person that this blood belongs to is dead.

//deep breaths//
I’m okay. I shouldn’t panic. I haven’t done anything wrong. I trace back my steps to this morning.
Okay so I woke up, begrudgingly, at 6.30 am, showered and set off for the day by 8. Then someone asked me for the reports to an abdominal CT. I pretend not to hear them and walk towards the cafeteria because I didn’t have time to drink my morning coffee. A second person came up to me and asked me to write a discharge. This seems like white noise at this point, blaring in the background; mixed voices echoing about ceftriaxone and betadine and non healing ulcers.
I close my eyes for a second and look up at the ceiling. When I look down I find my hands stuck inside a patients abdominal cavity while the singe of flesh triggers my sensitive gag reflex. I am not in a super awesome mystery about an unsolved murder. The reality is that I am a surgical intern and I have to pretend like poop doesn’t smell every time my attending does an exploratory laparotomy (which is everyday). Also plot twist : that was poop on my hands not blood.

You know, my father is a surgeon, as are many relatives in the family. Surgeons pride on being surgeons. My father once said he doesn’t need my mother to sew on a button for him because he is a surgeon and he could (most possibly) do a much better job than she could. He always wanted for me to be a surgeon. My initiation ritual was to observe a radical nephrectomy at the young age of 13. It was spectacular in a way that it changed my life. I was never the same again.
What my first surgical experience did was, it taught me about vasovagal triggers. But the first five seconds before I fainted were definitely spectacular.

So I, being a bunch of vasovagal triggers to multiple things like the smell of a freshly excised segment of necrotic bowel, or a 10 blade, or any patient that lists main complaint as “pain abdomen” am forced to intern in general surgery. What’s worse is the surgical unit I am in-
1. Makes me dislike surgery even more.
2. Does not realise the difference between abdominal pain and constipation (inside joke.  Sorry if you don’t get it)
3. I would not trust one of them to even cut my toast in half.

How does one navigate this cat-piss ridden, foul-smelling, manic-depression inducing rotation without one turning into a foul smelling, cat piss soaked, manic depressive? They elect not to do surgery of course! But if you have impaired decision making ability, or are forced into a bonded contract of humiliation by multiple people with God-complexes, you can follow my guide to refusal of informed consent to the procedure (definitely an ex-lap).

1. Remember these words – Conservative management. They’re going to be your best friends. If at all someone mentions conservative management for treatment, jump on it and campaign for it. Because if that guy is posted for surgery, YOU will have to beg the anaesthesiologists to give him anaesthesia because there is no time for 700 chest X rays. YOU will have to face the attending if the case is postponed and he will scream at YOU because he thinks anaesthesiologists are incompetent even though you tell him you will never be an anaesthesiologist and agree to curse 10 generations in your family so nobody can dream of being an anaesthesiologist.

2. If you are a nervous fool like I am, don’t stand next to anything important or anyone important. If you do, you will be asked to do a million things like foley the guy or ‘reassure him’ while they’re DJ-ing his insides. Just be a fly on the wall. I once thought standing in the corner was a good idea so nobody would notice me. But as my terrible luck had it, I was asked to stand right next to the operating surgeon with the fumes of the cautery finding their way ONLY to my nostrils. I am perpetually put off by barbecues now thanks to that day. The other time I was standing behind everyone dry-heaving at the granulation tissue they casually minced, I was asked to adjust the lights so many times that I have permanent vertigo now.
I tried to run out of the OR but my semicircular canals failed me. I am trapped. Send help when you see me blink twice. If I blink once it means adjust the lights.

3. Chart everything. I mean everything. How much is the patient peeing, what’s his pain like, how many florals is he wearing for Spring-Summer ’18. Surgeons never care about charting but they love dissecting interns about not using a comma while writing an 8 part novel about the patient’s post-op condition.
I don’t even know half of the things they want me to chart. And they bark orders all the time, so I don’t understand what they’re trying to tell me either. This one time I saw the previous day’s rounds included “serous output” which was written horribly (because all surgeons use the pen like they’re welding a scalpel. The papers are filled with incision like pen marks). So OBVIOUSLY I thought serous output was actually ‘serious output’ and I spent half a day charting how the patient passes urine.
250 ml- serious
300 ml – happy
100 ml – crying about the indwelling foley’s.

4. Look around you. The surgical department is a treasure chest of knowledge and resources. All those blades strewn around? You could use them to chop someones appendix off. Or, you could use them to chop some beerakaya (bottle gourd?). Get creative! Your resident wants you to do the dressing while he gets to drink chai? Dress the patient up as an anaesthesiologist, complete with a constant ‘no’ for every question and the occasional ‘how much is his hemoglobin’. That will spook your resident into never making you do anything for him ever again.

5. Try not to answer anything on rounds. I don’t know about the other surgical units, but the one I’m in absolutely hates it when an intern answers a question. Almost as if the whole point of doing medicine is to never learn anything.
If you do have the answer to something weird, say “why is nystatin not a statin” then they will bring their claws out. Or 10 blades, same thing.
I once knew the answer to a question about gall bladders and my attending followed up with “what was the size of Emil Theodore Kocher’s gall bladder” just to mattress suture my lips shut.

6. What is a consult? A consult is an elaborate ritual in which surgeons find the smallest thing wrong with the patient like hemoglobin being 10.9 instead of 11 and try to shuttle them off to other departments because they’re so tired of doing wound dressings and meshing hernias.
Here are some reasons to turf patients to other innocent departments.
Does the patient have a headache? Page neuro stat. Every headache is a subarachnoid haemorrhage to them so they won’t ignore you. Easy peesy.
Turfing the patient to ortho is a tad difficult as they are also always looking for reasons to completely empty their wards so they can make castles out of POP. If you have any non-emergent, geriatric patients, ortho will be more than happy to replace all of their replaceable joints with their shiny, new toys.
One of my patients said he was so in love that he was “blinded” by it and I called ophthalmology in a heartbeat because love is blind, and this kind might just be curable.

7. Do you want to impress your surgical residents/attendings? Do you want to turn their constant frown into an occasional half-smile? Follow these simple steps!

~Mention on rounds that at least two patients’ BP is over 130. They will convulse at the thought of sending them over to internal med for hypertension and having two less dressings to do.
~Always have some betadine on you. Surgeons love betadine. They even drink betadine flavoured energy drinks to keep them awake between wound debridements. One surgeon I know even threw a betadine themed party for his kid.
~Spend some time on mastering the ‘snap’ every time you wear gloves. This will both intimidate and impress your residents. “She’s one of us” they will whisper to each other as their noses pick up the unbeatable smell of glove powder.
~All that work and no pee breaks giving you kidney stones? Refer yourself to urology first, that’s one less intern off the hands of gen surg. Then beg your urologist about letting you keep your kidney stones. He might think you’re weird, as most gen surg interns are, but will most likely comply.
Then proceed to use your kidney stone in a ring to propose to your future husband/wife/10 blade. If there’s a surgical resident around, he’d most definitely let out a half-smile at your dedication.

8. If you want to survive general surgery you need to put up with diarrhea every single day. You see all surgeons hate cafeteria food and they frown upon vegetables and essential nutrients, stuff like that. They love eating food that’s from questionable places with questionable looking meat. Somehow none of the surgical residents get diarrhea. Maybe because they tag team with the patient for metrogyl. They love metrogyl. It’s like they play the ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ game but with metrogyl. ‘Patient gets 500 ml, I get 500 ml’.

9. Casual misogyny is always welcome in gen surg. There are so many wonderful female surgeons, but male surgeons love to make the occasional sexist remark to compensate for their imperfect suture technique. Here are some phrases to get you started with your misogyny 101.
“Of course I won’t be a surgeon! I’m too delicate and weak. I’d rather do something tailored for my gender like family medicine or dermatology”
“Yes I absolutely agree that all female interns MUST wear sarees. We can even get navy blue saree scrubs and spend 7 hours pre-op perfecting the pleats”

10. Surgeons are very serious about contamination. My father even complains about an extra LED light contaminating the cricket field. So it is in your best interest to be proactive about not contaminating anything and everything in addition to the surgical field.
You can’t be friends with radiologists because according to surgeons, they will contaminate your young mind with fancy MRIs and CTs.
You can’t cry during surgery because the OR lights hitting your retinas are making your eyes bleed. Because that will contaminate the patient’s clean-contaminated wound.
You can’t even eat a salad for dinner because that’s too clean and you need to contaminate it.
You can never win.

Hope this unhelpful guide helps you on your gen surg rotation, and hope I take my own advice for the rest of my rotation because I advised myself a head CT and some bed rest. And a repeat hemoglobin (because of anaesthesia).

HOW TO SURVIVE INTERNSHIP 101

My mother waited eagerly for me to get home on the first day of my internship, after I successfully (but seriously idk how) passed my final exams. But I didn’t come home. She calls multiple times so I pull out my phone from the pockets on my scrubs mid NG tube insertion and try to answer the call. She hears multiple shrieks, some of them my own and she frantically asks if I’m okay. My voice breaks (because the network coverage at my hospital is shit) and I hang up. The patient vomits all over me.
I get home the next day, a complete zombie, depleted of all my ATP from every single source. Even from essential protein. I am a skeleton now.
My mother screams in terror and runs for her life.

That, is the story of how my first on call went. I was so exhausted that while doing CPR on a patient, my own heart betrayed me and went into asystole and my colleague had to CPR me. Kind of like a CPR-inception. Anyway, you know how I’ve been complaining about med school all these years? To give you a better understanding, if med school was a problem, it would be a first world problem like not getting an uber on time. Internship is like welding metal yourself and making your own car AND drilling the ground and extracting petrol for said car AND making it to hospital at 4.30 am when you are actually required to go at 9 am.

So obviously I gave myself 6 months to recover from the malnutrition and nightmares and the panic attacks before I could sort through all those memories and write a survival guide on how to survive internship. I think a better title would be ‘how not to die a violent and painful death during internship’ but we’ll keep this one because it’s more aesthetically pleasing.

1. As soon as you enter the wards, scope out the glucometer and the sphygmomanometer and protect them with your life because your dumb resident doesn’t understand that a patient who is alive and well and sitting upright while voluntarily ripping his IV line off for fun isn’t hypotensive, and the hypertension patient on anti-hypertensive medications isn’t hypertensive anymore. She will give you mindless orders like “check the BP of every person in the entire world”. And we have manual sphygmomanometers, the ones that you have to inflate BY HAND. Both my hands have contractures now.Also she wants you to check everyone’s random blood sugar because she is completely jealous they got to eat a proper meal last night and she only ate McDonald’s. Boohoo.

2. Whatever you do, don’t be over eager to do stuff in the first days of your internship. Because blood hungry residents are on the constant lookout for interns who can work overtime for/instead of them. I live in constant fear and clutch my phone while saying a prayer that it won’t ring. Because 10 years from now when I’m dropping my kids off at school, I’m scared my resident will call me and scream at me for not adjusting the drip rate on a patient’s IV from 10 drops to 12 drops.

3. Be mentally and physically prepared for rounds. I suggest lifting weights and becoming a world heavyweight lifting champion would help, because you have to carry all the case files of every patient admitted since 1947 while on rounds. Because you being the intern are obviously the mule to carry things for everyone else. And by being mentally prepared, I mean you should be able to shout out diagnoses for any patient/scenario that the attending asks for. For example:
Attending : Hyperglycaemia and fruity breath?
Me: DKA

Attending : Hemiplegia and deviation of mouth?
Me: Stroke

Attending : The sun is shining brightly today
Me : PUO

Attending : That wasn’t a question. Did you know the Aquaman movie is coming out soon?
Me : Aquaman? Must be Diabetes insipidus.

4. Call your local human rights advocate because when you ask your attending about your working hours he will smile and say “you only have to work 80 hours PER DAY. And I suggest self catheterisation so you don’t waste 5 minutes for pee breaks”. If you start crying or get apprehensive about this, your attending will tell you stories of how he had to walk 800 km to his hospital as an intern and how he performed 53 emergency appendectomies before morning rounds even though he was interning in dermatology at that point. He also claims he discovered the life cycle of the scabies mite in his lunch breaks when he was an intern.
Pro tip: Don’t ever shake your attending’s hand.

5. If you’re an intern working in orthopaedics my thoughts and prayers are with you because you will need new joints after your residents and attending wear them out making you run around for consults. I suggest laying down some ground rules like
But Dr. X! Having a pulse doesn’t mean the patient needs a cardio consult!
The guy with the fracture neck of femur has a headache because his wife keeps nagging him. I don’t think a neurosurgery call is necessary.
We don’t need an Internal Medicine consult because this patient is allergic to strawberries.
Do we really need a dermatology consult just because you can’t spell ‘Stevens-Johnson syndrome’?

6. Working in ob-gyn automatically qualifies you for a lifetime achievement award. You can’t even cry about how much work there is to do in one day as an ob-gyn intern because your sobs are drowned out by only 7000 ladies in active labour forming a weird scream-acapella group. But somehow your resident screams even louder asking you to deliver 10 babies in a row while she drinks her placenta flavoured coffee. Swimming underwater and against current is a good skill set to have because it is a little known fact, but the word ‘tsunami’ was actually coined for when an amniotic sac breaks and floods the whole country in neck deep fluid.

7. If you can’t remember what medications the patient is on, don’t waste time sifting through stacks of papers of case files. Because most residents seem to remember what drugs and doses their patients need, it’s easier to pester them instead.
This has the potential to backfire though, because once I told my resident that I’m stuck in traffic and the roads are congested and he asked me to “give 40mg lasix IV”.

8. You’re going to have to deal with all kinds of patients and their families, whose sole purpose of being in the hospital next to the patient is to ask you questions and make snide remarks until your shift is done. Then they will do it to the incoming intern all over again.
There are the kind of patients who think the most appropriate time for them to cough violently is when you lean in to auscultate.
Or the ones that pester you to send bloods for ALL the labs possible but you have to explain to them that they have pancreatitis and a full body scan or complete DNA sequencing is highly unnecessary.
There are also patients who have ripped out their intravenous catheter every single time and the only vein left to cath is probably the superior thyroid vein.

The survival list is exhaustive but I can only write so much as my PTSD is kicking in. So my dear fellow interns, don’t forget to play hide and seek with your residents at all times and most importantly, don’t forget to transfuse one unit of 5% dextrose to yourself. You’ll need it.

(IM)PRACTICAL EXAMS – A GUIDE ON HOW TO EMERGE UNSCATHED

Tick tock, my watch ticks furiously as I wait in line to be guillotined (metaphorically) at the hands of the executioner in sheep’s clothing- the examiner.
My classmate asks me what the accommodation pathway is, but his voice is drowned out by the rhythmic, nauseating ‘ping’ of the many machines attached to the patient two beds away and the quiet sobs of the guy who forgot to study CVS but unfortunately picked that case for the practical exam.
Sweat beads on my forehead and plops down to my already disgusting apron which I forgot to throw in the laundry. But luckily, the examiner can’t see that because the wards here are only partially lit by sunlight and two 17th century lightbulbs.
I curse my luck for it must’ve played a major role in my picking the hemiplegia case and I curse (albeit silently) at the residents who won’t tell me the level of the lesion because “the CT results aren’t back”.

SHIT.
He’s walking towards me. And he looks pissed. Like he ate bad biryani for lunch and on top of that he had to listen to students falter when asked where the pons was. (It is in the brain right? I’m positive) If I do survive this tsunami of questions, condescension and humiliation, I promise I will go to church every Sunday mom, I promise. I will even feed stray dogs, or volunteer at a soup kitchen or.. or.. donate my clothes instead of hoarding them. I promise! Dear God let me just live this one out. I can’t bear to study for another six months if I fail this. And..
//lights suddenly start blinking//
//ominous music plays//
//sound of glasses crashing//

There is rubble everywhere. Papers with meticulously written case histories including the ‘mmHg’ after blood pressure readings, rubber tubings with which everyone contemplated faking their own death, punctuated with sphygmomanometers and the occasional mangled stethoscope.
It is a horrible sight, a disaster like you’ve never seen. “Survivors are unlikely” says one passer-by to another who nods his head mournfully.
I fight against all odds (of the patient having aphasia and not just refusing to talk to me) and emerge out emotionally and physically drained but I made it. I MADE IT!

I am now the leader of all the survival guides, because even if you abandon me in a hospital full of hydroceles which WILL NOT show transillumination and patients with rheumatic heart disease who have physically willed themselves into not having ANY of the Jones’ criteria, I will diagnose them and present the case unlike Bear Grylls who will wither because he cannot tell the difference between alkaptonuria and coca cola. So it is only fitting that my final exam experience is shared with complete strangers on the internet along with survival tips because let’s face it, without me none of you would know that there are actual human beings out there who expect you to hold back tears as they scold you for not knowing the cellular mechanics of how aminophylline works. It’s true, I was there. (I cried)

So the most frequently asked question is, what is a good look for practical exams? Neutral makeup with nude lipstick or dewy with a nice shiny lip gloss?
The answer is – None of the above. Aim for cadaveric.
Try to look as deflated as possible, but alert, so they won’t catch you with your palms sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. There’s vomit on your sweater already- mom’s spaghetti. Actually it was idli. Same thing.

Coming to the actual exam format, first you must go to the ‘spotters’ section where you need to look at that guy sitting there and diagnose him on the spot without asking any questions. Why, you ask? It is a little known fact, but this was one of the torture techniques used in the Middle Ages to segregate the people based on their knowledge of “why do you think he has jaundice just because his sclera are yellow”. The ones that knew that bilirubin is an uninvited guest at the eye ‘Ball’ (get it? hahaha! If you’re reading this please be friends with me I have none) got to go to med school and the smart ones that didn’t know the answer went on to professions that did not make them acquire TB at any point in their long, happy, needle prick injury free life.

You must then walk quietly to the patient assigned to you where you need to take the case history, do a full general and local examination – that is if you can localise the system that’s affected. I chose solar system because if you think about it, if the solar system did not exist, I wouldn’t be here taking this case. But I decided against it because percussion of the moon was a bit time taking and a tad impossible. Although my best bet remains that the note is stony dull.
Unfortunately your diagnosis cannot be “patient is sick”, believe me, I tried. You need to say something fancy like ‘complete right sided hemiplegia with UMN type of facial paralysis’. But we both know that I wouldn’t know a UMN facial palsy if it hit me in the face *wink*

Your examiner will now walk over to your assigned bed and he will do it like he hates you and he hates his job (which is true). Recite all your findings to him and don’t forget to include that the patient is cooperative even though minutes ago he tried to stab you in the spleen with the biopsy needle. Now comes the fun part where you are asked to demonstrate reflexes. When you swing the knee hammer, the movement needs to be at the wrist, just like when you play badminton instead of studying the root value of the triceps jerk.
Don’t worry if you can’t elicit the biceps jerk. Try again, this time hit your thumb hard. The patient will flex his bicep in pity looking at you wince in pain.

You made it so far! We only have the toughest and the most avoidable part now. The part where you face off with the four horsemen of the apocalypse. A section each for drugs, instruments, x-rays and the part where we pretend like we’re on Dr. House.

Walk in to the first cabin, trembling as you do and take a seat in front of two people who would kill to be literally anywhere else right now. One guy has a huge tray full of vials of drugs, half of which you do not know and the other half is paracetamol. Surprisingly laughter isn’t on the tray. It must not be the best medicine as per general claims. I prayed for an easy drug like aspirin or penicillin. I would’ve been happy even with those cockamamie homeopathy sugar pills. They would’ve actually helped me with my hypoglycaemia. But alas. I was given aminophylline and I got an asthma attack. So my advice is, be prepared for the worst. If they ask you what propanolol is, say you have chest pain.

When it comes to instruments, try to hide a foleys in your pocket so when you are asked to pick an instrument you know to talk about, you can produce one with sleight of hand. But this never works because you are not Houdini, so you must face the dilemma of picking the lumbar puncture needle (and having to demonstrate the procedure of lumbar puncture on yourself because the examiner is never satisfied with any answer) or the other ones which are impossible to hold in the correct position because according to the textbook you are supposed to not hold the instrument at all but instead make it levitate mid air. You can never win.

Listen to me carefully. All x-rays in medicine are of pleural effusions and all x-rays in surgery are inevitably barium meals. So when handed an x-ray to read, confidently say it is pleural effusion. Unless it is not the chest and actually the skull, don’t say thalassemia because you see crew cut appearance. That is actually a picture of the examiner and he wants your opinion on his newest hairdo. Most x-rays used for exam purposes are super old anyway and they look like photographs from WW2 so nobody will be able to identify anything.

Next is my favourite part, the Dr House section. Here they just give you a card with a bunch of information and you need to connect it all and make a diagnosis.
For example : young female, anxious, palpitations, diarrhoea.
See this one is tricky because I know most of us would love to blurt out “THIS IS ME RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY” when faced with a case card like this, but you must think about more common conditions like hyperthyroidism.
After finishing every section, and surviving till the evening without a sip of water or a morsel of food, you can finally drive home and faint at the wheel. You might even crash into someone but hey, it was worth it since your demonstration of ankle clonus was A1.

In conclusion, I wish I could tell you that it was easy, that you will overcome, but it wasn’t and I have nightmares even today. Nevertheless I survived. I finished med school.
I hope I did because if I don’t pass in all the subjects I am quitting this to pursue a life in a monastery away from the mitral stenoses and the hydroceles that orbited me for the past month.

A FINAL YEAR MED STUDENT GUIDE TO PERFORMING A PHYSICAL EXAMINATION AND CASE TAKING

A good physical examination, as repeatedly told by my professors from the first ever clinical rotation I attended, is the biggest clue to diagnosing a patient. But when I got to the hospital after a close encounter with death at the entrance i.e., physically wringing out of the grip of a patient who wants to leave AMA , I was only shown a few clinical signs and watched as my professors sized up the patient and told me his diagnosis. So as a naive second year med student eager to absorb clinical knowledge like a sponge after being released from the clutches of cadavers, dissection hall and the biochemistry lab, I thought all I needed to know was how to read a CT/MRI/X-ray/ECG.

I wasn’t wrong, but I definitely wasn’t right. We were taught how to write case histories and recite them to our professors who paid irritating attention to details like negative history of every condition ever known to mankind and measuring the JVP which I’m sure is only a myth and no man has ever measured the JVP before, much like how no man has ever seen the loch ness monster or the bigfoot. The people who tell you they’ve measured the JVP, and worse told you about how clear the Kussmaul sign is in the patient in bed 3, are LIARS and conspiracy theorists.

So this, my fellow batchmates and underclassmen, is a guide on how to perform a good physical exam, and simultaneously impress your professor while also learning about the complete sham that is JVP examination (seriously, I stopped using a scale back when I was in 5th grade. What makes Hutchinson think I have TWO scales at my dispense and the time to cry my eyes out every time the JVP is normal/ definitely NOT raised/ invisible in every right heart failure patient)

시작합니다 – That’s Korean for let’s begin. Physical examination is hella confusing so what’s one more notch on the confusion scale amirite?

GENERAL DETAILS:
Ask the patient his
1. Name : don’t be a dick and call him ‘that mitral prolapse guy’ every time you need to address him.
2. Age : Definitely going to be lied to about this. Tell him you’re not here for a rishta and this is not a Swayamvar. You don’t care if he did his MS in the USA at only 23 years of age.
3. Address : So you can tell his mom when he sneaks out in the night.
You can then ask for additional details like – does he have a dog? What kind? What’s his name? Is he a good boy? Is he a very good boy? Who’s a very good doggie?
Sorry I get carried away but this is 100% the best way to impress your examiner from the very start. Show him pictures of cute dogs.

PRESENTING ILLNESS :
Start by asking him when he first started noticing the symptoms. He will definitely give you a ball park range, for example :
Me : So when did you first notice the cough?
Patient : When I was 3 years old.
Me : But.. you’re 37 years old now.
Patient : Baba Ramdev said I can cure this with deep breathing.
Me : …
Patient : *Starts deep breathing out of one nostril*

After writing everything in chronological order, and describing the fever in 782 different ways like low grade in the morning, high grade at 8.37 pm and now in a hectic picket fence pattern, move on to asking about negative history, which means asking questions to rule out other conditions. Ask about trauma, weight loss, blood in sputum, syncopal attacks etc. You can also ask who will kill Cersei Lannister in the next season and why you keep watching GoT when you have so much to study.

PAST ILLNESS : Same as above, but like in the past. Before that guy got that cough when he was 3 years old.

FAMILY HISTORY : Does the disease run in the family? Does the father also show extreme displeasure while being asked for medical history by undergrads? Why was the saasuma (mother in law) fuming at the bahu (daughter in law). Stay tuned to find out.

 

VITALS : Is the pulse even present? Okay good. The patient is alive. Makes it easier to diagnose this way. Did you count for a full minute or just for 15 seconds and multiplied it by 4? Is it pulsus paradoxus or pulsus bigeminus or pulsus tardus et parvus? You need a minute to read about those for the first time? Cool. You’ll need a crash course on Latin for that. Good luck.
The respiratory rate is always 17/min even though he is tachypneic, bradypneic or apneic.
Just like how the BP is always 120/80 mm Hg even in someone with severe hypotension. As long as you write mm Hg, you’re good.
Temperature – afebrile/febrile/ you’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no, you’re in and you’re out, you’re up and you’re down – as described by Dr. Katy Perry.

GENERAL EXAMINATION :
This is supposed to be a head-to-toe examination so you don’t miss anything in addition to the disease you’re trying really hard to diagnose without looking at the patient’s case file.
Did you check for PICKLE? I mean did you check if the patient is carrying any pickles on him? I’m starving and I could use some, thanks.
But don’t miss the clubbing on the chain smoker’s fingers. Don’t accept his invitation to go clubbing either. No thanks, second hand smoke.
Look at his gait. Is it wobbly/trendelenburg/ moon-walk? He might secretly be Michael Jackson. Oh wait..

INSPECTION : You’re supposed to look at the patient and ‘inspect’ him before touching. Does anyone do this anymore?
Imagine staring at him until you check off all the boxes under inspection.
Scars – check
Sinuses – check
Swellings – check
Engorged veins – check
Mild awkwardness progressing to extreme awkwardness – CHECK.

PALPATION : Did you touch the patient with your ice cold, nervous, quaking hands? Good job, you’re one of us now. This is your patients encounter with frost bite #1. Spend the next five minutes playing tag with the patient around the hospital because he doesn’t want to be touched by you ever again.
Did you feel for thrills/apex beat/tactile vocal fremitus? Feel for organomegaly – close to impossible, but your professor will always say “There’s massive splenomegaly! Look! Feel right here”, to which you will say “yes yes there is massive splenomegaly” while jabbing the poor patient with your cold hands and finding that there is actually NO splenomegaly. There might not be a spleen present too. This is all an act.
Run away whenever someone mentions Murphy’s sign.

PERCUSSION : Percussion is by far the hardest thing I have ever done and I have helped a woman give birth on the floor while she screamed and yelled at me. What is the note you hear when you percuss the lungs? Resonant/hyper- resonant/ dull/ stony dull/ emo/ very emo. Talk about how you heard a resonant note when you don’t even know what the ‘pleximeter’ is.
If everyone in your class cooperates, all of you could play a song out just with percussion.

 

AUSCULTATION:
Your patient’s encounter with frostbite #2 – the harsh, sub-zero temperature of your stethoscope diaphragm.
Did you listen for the first and second heart sounds? I have finished at least a million clinical rotations and I still say “lub-dub” out loud to differentiate the first heart sound from the second. The heart is weird man. It murmurs and stuff too. You have to then grade the murmur. Grade 1 – very faint to Grade 6 – very loud, very Arnab Goswami, very tantrum-throwing teenager-ish.
If you hear a gallop sound its best to bribe a resident with some food and actually confirm because everything sounds like a pathology to your underprepared, over enthusiastic ears.
To complicate things even further, there are some signs that combine the already complicated auscultation with other things – like the liver scratch test where the patient tells you his skin itches and you have to scratch him or he won’t let you examine, or the puddle’s sign which is impossible to perform and has joined the leagues of the JVP and the loch ness monster.

After finishing your case taking and examination, you must arrive at a diagnosis.
To summarise my case,
“37 y/o male patient who did his MS from the USA, a resident of Westeros, who sneaks out regularly in the night through the left window on the second floor, has a dog named snickers who is the cutest, won’t stop doing yoga (consult psychiatry), won’t tell me who will kill Cersei, never walks, only moonwalks (consult ortho), has invited me to go clubbing with him, has a grade 6 murmur yelling at me from across the room, most definitely a case needed to be taken up by Dr House”

*drops mic*

THE FAULT IN OUR SEMESTERS

I am in my final semester of med school. 5 months left. I can’t believe it. It feels just like yesterday I was a fresh faced 1st year, trying to memorise all the muscles of the flexor compartment of the forearm and trying to get through each day without dying from the sheer stress of studying anatomy. Now I’m in final year and
~I don’t even study 1/4th of how much I did back then
~I forgot what the flexors of the forearm are. One of them is flexor digitorum I guess?
~I should be knowing the flexors of the forearm though because I have my orthopaedics rotation now and it sucks.

I have 5 months left and I feel like I know nothing. I only know how to jump across spit puddles and used syringes expertly but that isn’t going to help me for my final exams. I feel like I need to go into a cycle of panicking and panic-studying but I still don’t feel as stressed as I was in first year. I mean who would be stressed? When you know that one of these days the ortho guys are going to drop one of those huge ass drills on your head and kill you, you’re not going to need to give finals. Right? Or maybe my professor would summon me from the afterlife to quiz me on CTEV. I need to be ouija immune. Are there antibodies for that?

 

So 5 months away from the biggest exams yet and I am still lazing around being complacent enough to take afternoon naps. Am I crazy? I might be. (note to self: read classification of antipsychotics)
First six months of rotations I didn’t do anything except sulk about waking up at 8 am and having to drive back home at a time comfortable for me and having no labs or classes back at college. I lead a tough life what can I say? Looking back at the last 6 months, I can only remember doing the following (apart from taking too many naps)

 

1. Gynaecology and obstetric rotations were a complete blur. I remember doing a 12 hour shift in the labour room and seeing a woman frantically pacing despite being told many times to lie down. She gave birth standing up and my resident had to catch the baby mid air in a sick, almost superman-ish swoop. It was amazing to watch, except I had to help the lady drenched in amniotic fluid and blood back up on the stretcher because I was supposed to remove her placenta. My shoes had placenta and amniotic fluid stuck everywhere. I incinerated them.

2. I went to medicine rotation everyday only to take hemiplegia case history everyday. One day our resident said he’d surprise us with a new case. Guess what it was? Quadriplegia.. WITH TB. Fml.

3. All Ortho surgeries make my head spin because its like carpentry but instead sawdust here is replaced by blood and bone bits? I was brushing my hair out after a knee replacement surgery one day (they made me scrub in just so I could take pictures for them) and I found enough bone bits in my hair to make a small voodoo doll out of them.

4. Even though I was the most enthusiastic about my general surgery rotation, I don’t remember what I did. I know I starved everyday because all the hydroceles and inguinal hernias and the oral cancers put me off any solid food. I think I also cried every time my professor asked me weird ass questions like “Why is the X-ray called the X-ray” or “ Why are you shaking so much examine the massive hydrocele case” and my favourite “Why do you think super specialists are better than general surgeons”
Excuse me while I deal with my PTSD in one dark corner of my room

5. My friend just reminded me I have a paediatrics exam in 10 days and all I know in paediatrics is that ‘growth’ and ‘development’ are two different things.
I mean they’re tiny humans, aren’t they supposed to be LESS complicated? ‘I must start freaking out at this stage because I haven’t even looked at the other chapters’- said she while breathing into a bag because of excessive CO2 washout during hyperventilation and hysteria.

6. I have noticed this more than I have noticed green sputum produced by TB patients, but it is so useless to wear make up on OR days?
I feel like the surgical mask manufacturers wanted to double them as makeup removers, because I try and do my makeup early in the morning so I don’t look anaemic and cadaveric when I go to hospital, but whats the point when post-surgery I take my mask off and with it comes my foundation, lipstick, and somehow even my mascara and that weird body glitter I was obsessed with when I was 12. So despite my herculean makeup efforts, I end up looking even more anaemic and cadaveric than usual because someone accidentally threw a used mop on me. I have blood on me but it wont help my anaemia. The irony.

7. I feel like you need to carry 2-3 pairs of shoes any time you go to a hospital attached to mine, more so if it is a ob/gyn hospital, because I feel like instead of land mines and booby traps we have placenta traps. Here instead of being blown to bits and dying in an explosion, you fall into a sea of placenta and clamped umbilical cords, which is 10 times worse.
Or the other danger is running into a pregnant woman who thinks theres something wrong with her (which is 98% of them). They will physically drain you of your energy and extinguish you of your glycogen stores even after you show them that all their tests AND the repeat ultrasound is normal. Carry some candy along with those extra pairs of shoes or you will go into a hypoglycaemic coma from answering all their questions.

8. Its been a year since my horrible experience with orthopaedics and I still hate orthopaedics? I know surgical subjects are supposed to be interesting but orthopaedics is so repetitive and lumberjack-esque. And I’m pretty sure the C-arm is giving me cancer.
And also it’s cute when orthopaedic surgeons are taking a class and they have to explain something medical, and they’re just like “uhhh yeah so fuck that, we need to insert an intramedullary nail and thats all you need to know”. It’s very comforting to know that someone else is just as bad in medicine as I am.

9. I have become an expert in coordinating the time of my hospital entry to the time they mop the floors because otherwise I have to make faces and skip around puddles and run away from stray cats which sounds relatively benign but is extremely hard when you have to do it in corridors with no lighting (both artificial and natural) and you’re wearing heels.
Tbh running in a hospital corridor while simultaneously dodging stray cats which want to give you cat scratch disease and not stepping on used gauze or syringes should be an Olympic sport. Like an obstacle course, but even harder and even more deadly because MRSA is not an easy hurdle to jump. (cue nervous sweating)

10. Instead of learning important things for exams, like obstructed labour and stuff like that, during my obs rotation, I learnt that I have to rap battle the nurses for oxytocin. I tell them I need oxytocin for a patient and they will spit verses back at me telling me they are running on a short supply. Well i guess we won’t deliver this baby today then?
Its safe to say I won’t be pursuing gynaecology or obstetrics in my residency.

Study up kids. Don’t be like me. Or do. You could be an olympian one day. If the olympic committee makes hazardous obstacle race an event. Thank me later losers.

FAQ : HOW IS FOURTH YEAR?

How is fourth year?

Can you perform surgeries now?

Why are you wearing block heels to hospital?

Why is your makeup so blended?

Where did you get time to buy that outfit?

Hello friends, remember me? The mopey third year? I am in final year now. Which means I am invincible and I have all the time in the world to watch Captain America : Civil War TWICE. That’s right, twice. Can any other med student perform this staggering feat? I don’t think so.

To answer all the questions above, yes I look amazing because I get enough sleep and I have all the time in the world because fourth year is like all hospital and no classes. I don’t have to shuttle back and forth from the hospital to classes in sweltering heat. I finally have a life!

But I know that even though I say I am free, I really am not. I’m supposed to be reading Bailey and Love/ Davidson but I guess I’ll stick to my method of panic-reading everything before my semester exams and crying about how little time I have. Up until now I’ve only had my medicine and general surgery rotation and even though I’ve hated them they were really comfortable and I got to go home early and sleep 🙂

I first had my surgery rotation which was a breeze (not). Instead of rollin’ into the surgical wards at 10.30 am like the other kids, I had to go at 9 am because my attending was a little cray cray and he got a kick out of seeing students being punctual. So my daily routine in the 6 weeks of general surgery was something like this,

Walk into da club (general surgery male pre-op ward) at 9 am and look at wound dressings being done.
Study about hernia/hydrocele
Present a case of hernia/hydrocele
Listen to general surgeons talk about how they’re better than super- specialists while they’re teaching a hernia/hydrocele class
Being the official discarder of used wound dressing materials. Mostly suture dressing after hernia/hydrocele surgery.

But I am a surgery fan so it was bearable for me. In medicine all we do is cry about getting TB because even the CVA guy has TB and I can’t escape it.

So here are some of the frequently asked I (or any other med student) face. I will answer them once and for all, so please don’t trouble us.

1. (Q) All my relatives : Can you treat me now? You’ve been studying for the past decade.
(A) No I can’t treat you. I can tell you the procedure of gram staining and I can give you a band aid. Do you want some aspirin?
Also that one cousin, you cannot have a prescription for medical marijuana sorry.

2. (Q) My boyfriend : Why are you always studying? Do you like have an exam or something?
(A) Do I have an exam or something? DO I HAVE AN EXAM OR SOMETHING? I only know that my paediatrics textbook is lying somewhere and they’ve finished teaching half of whatever it is they teach in paeds.
So no, I do not have an exam. I am just catatonic I will fail this year and forever be stuck in a loop of trying to look for my book and failing ❤

3. (Q) All my non-medical friends : Why are you throwing up?
(A) From the stress of a pancreatic pseudocyst rupturing and the weird green liquid spilling all over my brand new scrubs in the OR.

4. (Q) My mom : Why do you only eat foods with absolutely no nutritive value? You read about nutrition in community medicine right?
(A)Because I am training my body for surgery finals. Also, what even is nutrition 🙂 ?

5. (Q) Also my boyfriend : Why don’t you emote?
(A) I was forced to watch 15 episiotomies non stop pls don’t do this to me I can only take so much.

6. (Q) Everyone at the hospital : Why do you park like you’re a blind fruit bat?
(A) I never learnt how to park properly because I was learning the urea cycle.

7. (Q) Patient : Sister. Excuse me. Ma’am. Lady. Lady in the white coat. Nurse.. (basically everything except doctor) Why won’t you turn the fan on for me? While you’re at it, can I have the menu for dinner?
(A)This… this is not a hotel!

8. (Q) Professor : What did the author of this textbook say in the preface about his take on the meaning of the Hippocratic oath?
(A) *wiping tear from cheek* I can recite the steps of hernioplasty. Will that do?

9. (Q) My classmates : Why did you go on a holiday and then cry about not being able to study gynaecology?
(A) You fools I know what menstrual cycle means I think that’s enough to master gynaecology.

10. (Q) Underclassmen : How are you so calm when you have massive subjects this year to study?
(A) Water-proof mascara, concealer, caffeine, a lot of waking up at 4 am and panic-reading, and a boyfriend who thinks IV antibiotics are stage 4 antibiotics and who also offsets your psychosis.

THIRD WORLD MED STUDENT PROBLEMS PART-2

Picture this. It’s summer in the tropics, which means it’s pretty fucking hot, say 41 degrees C. You are forced to go to a hospital 4789236 kilometres away from home. You park your car in the crumbling semblance of a shed, bump your car around a few other frustrated drivers, trees bang in the middle of the road, and obvious manholes laced in between the intricate one-car lanes.

You are extremely tired and it’s only 9 am. Delightful. Then you have to do a 100m sprint from the parking to the hospital building and while doing so you have to dodge a few birds trying to take a shit on your white apron. You are basically an Usain Bolt who also does relay-runs. Why do you need to run you ask? The professor comes in at 11.45 am, but he will enquire when the students came in because he is trying his very best to invent new ways to torture us. Poor guy, A+ for trying.

Then you are barraged with questions, as soon as you can catch your breath. Mostly from residents because they are in a constant fight for power in the food chain. You try to answer whatever you can while also experiencing grade 4 dyspnoea. But tough luck, you trip on a bum tile and fall down in a tub of used gauze. Ha-ha. You laugh awkwardly. But inside you are dying.

Welcome to one day in my life.

In my previous post of third world med student problems, I made a lot of people laugh (sure, go ahead, laugh at my misery), but i spoke da real 100% truth. Though I might have left a few points behind, because you can’t really describe a third world hospital. It’s a museum, a zoo, a dustbin, a movie set and maybe sometimes, a hospital.

Third world hospitals are like a parallel universe. It’s like stepping into Narnia, only the white witch is Tuberculosis. In this strange world, we have endangered art work such as “Jai Telangana” splattered across walls, the ritualistic outdated surgeries using instruments John Hunter himself forged out of rusting metal. And how can I forget, the mesmerising sing-song voice of the nurses saying ‘pakkaku jaragandiiiiiii’ (translation : GTFO) . It’s all fun and games until your professor makes you examine a hydrocele case sans gloves. Why? Because it makes him inexplicably happy and don’t whine, it’s *practical knowledge*. It must be my damn birthday because the icing on the cake was that the hydrocele guy had TB too. Ha-ha-ha (crying slowly turning to tears) I want to switch places with the coma guy.

But I have left behind my snobbish ways of wanting cleanliness and wanting to NOT die from fright every time I trip on the ghoulish winding staircases with no lighting whatsoever. From my last post on third world hospitals, up until now, I have come to realise that,
a) I cannot change anything
b) All pigeons are going to want to poop on me
c) I need to get waterproof makeup because I cry a lot whenever I am confronted with a patient and his family who all have a coughing contest on me.
d) My professors expect me to love this hospital and worship the ground they walk on. Which I cannot because it is inevitably covered in dust/pus/blood/urine of animals or humans/all of the above

So while I cannot change the fact that I have probably stepped already on someones urine and/or blood, I can at least help you, if you ever have the misfortune of going to a hospital in India. You must first remember that bravery is key.
You cannot run like a pansy when you see poor med students being harassed and asked to feel for axillary lymph nodes in someone who has not showered in 10 days and is sweating like an Indian bride on the day of her arranged marriage .

You must instead give them moral support and stay with them till they regain consciousness. Okay here is your survival kit : Updated

1.How is your hospital back in the west with your beautiful shiny, expensive things and your spotless scrubs? All good? I thought so too.
While you lead a life of rampant luxury, we fight gladiator-style for the last pair of OT shoes . It’s cool 🙂
Also, must be nice to have a hospital stocked with ESSENTIAL things like hand sanitiser and soap and surgical masks.
You know the last time I walked into an OR and I forgot to bring my own surgical mask, I had to run around the entire hospital asking in each department if they could spare a mask for a poor child like me.
One nurse in the medicine department finally took pity on me seeing how I was close to tears.
I am free.
Master gave Dobby a sock.

2. Where do you go for your summer vacation? The theme park? Or probably the beach?
I go to the hospital.
When it is dangerously hot outside, it’s even hotter in the hospital. Because we have maybe about 10 ceiling fans and 2 out of them work on a good day.
So you are sweating half of your body weight and finally faint and fall into a puddle of your own sweat out of sheer dehydration. Only to be rudely woken up by the colossally inexperienced interns poking you with IVs, who can’t find a vein if it slapped them in the face.

3. There are a few words you need to know to get out of any situation in each department.
Surgery – ‘Pain and suffering’
For example,
Professor : What are the symptoms of acute appendicitis?
Me : Pain.. and suffering.
Professor : Ok. What are the symptoms of hernia?
Me : Pain. Maybe suffering too. Definitely pain though.
Professor : (Impressed) Good job. You can assist on the next surgery.
Me : OMG THANK YOU!! Which one?
Professor : Lateral anal sphincterotomy
*cue PAIN AND SUFFERING*
Likewise, the important word for internal medicine is ‘hypoxia’, or basically any word with a ‘hypo-’ prefix. It will give your attending little shivers of excitement.
For Ob-Gyn it is obviously ‘emergency C-section’, or if they’re feeling particularly risqué, ‘Bladder injuries’, ‘I-thought-the-ureter-was-the-fallopian-ha-ha’
For paediatrics you just wail along with the other children.

4. Why study about symptoms when you can demonstrate them on yourself?
Do you want to know what hypoxia is you silly child? Run from the OR to the blood bank because your attending surgeon wants to *make sure* you have enough blood, and then back to the OR from the blood bank because the blood bank lady won’t give one unit of blood to the patient. Try explaining to her that it’s redundant to call it a blood bank when they REFUSE to sanction blood to patients. She barks at you without ever breaking eye-contact.
What you feel right now is dyspnoea, hypoxia and pain and suffering.

What is the puddle’s sign? You don’t need a textbook for that! You’re already constantly in the knee-elbow position to prevent the blood-thirsty residents from seeing you sobbing because you got told off for showing slight displeasure at doing all those per-rectal examinations actually to be done by them.

5. When you see case files for the patient’s case history, don’t stroke out if you only see three words in the chief complaint, present and past history, combined.
Our precious residents and interns have other major things to do, like drink chai 792 times a day, always borrowing your stethoscope, and asking you to “man up” when you have an MI because you almost stepped on the maze made out of discarded needles.
So if you see something like “pain in chest”, assume immediately you will have to say drug names like ‘metoprolol’ without stammering even once, or you will be thrown to the wolves, i.e, casualty department.

 

YOU THINK YOU’RE COOLER THAN ME?

Everyone thinks they’re cool, right? People who work out are cool, people who act and sing in Broadway, people who spend 167357 hours a day studying because they are in medical school and don’t want to fail are cool. It’s true. We all think we are cool despite the monumental lack of coolness or any redeemable cool factor. You know who’s cool? I think Alexander Fleming was cool. He had the most unsanitary lab while he grew deadly bacteria on unsterilised plates and he didn’t give a fuck. What he did give all of us was the Christmas present that is Penicillin. Ugh I wish I was as cool as that guy.

So coming back to normal people, I feel like some communities feel like they’re cooler than the rest. Everyone will agree with me when I say this, but the art community think they’re the coolest. What you splish splash some paints around and suddenly you’re cool? Okay maybe they are, I’m just hating. Other communities include pilots, chefs, IT guys, heck even dentists are cool. Everyone except doctors. We are at the bottom of the cool chain, the plankton of the cool ocean party. So where am I in the cool ocean party? I am a tiny plankton that you can’t even see with your naked eye because I’m always indoors, studying for community medicine, nurturing a dangerous Vit D deficiency.

Because us plankton tend to feel bad a lot about sharks and dolphins having a great time, we need to justify it. And that’s where I, and my twisted sense of justification come to the rescue. If you’re a doctor, welcome to the plankton family. If you’re literally anyone else, whatevs, enjoy that mojito before you get cirrhosis.

All the ways doctors are cooler than anybody else. (An autobiography of a bored med student double thinking her career choice)

1. Everyone goes to parties, we go to HOSPITAL wohooooo!!
I’m not missing out on dancing with strangers, because I’m too busy dancing around patients who blame me for not getting better.
While you guys are socialising and drinking fancy cocktails, I am getting fecal samples and drinking yesterday’s chai. You know why? Because it was the only edible thing and I am malnourished.
Take that cool people. Hah

2. Don’t you hate it when you ask people what they do to pass time and they say something overly pretentious like “Oh I go parasailing whenever I can. It’s a stress buster.” or “I love cooking gourmet French food. It’s so relaxing.”
And you can’t tell them your pass time activities because they include going to the pathology lab and being forced to test someones evidently yellow urine for bile salts, BUT then again you are screamed at for using too much reagent and voila what do we have here? You have spilt urine on your self, again. At least it tested positive. You go, nerd.

You cannot tell them the above. So you just say “Ah nothing much I like chilling with my friends Robbins and Harrison” *wink*

3. All cool people have an interesting story to tell. Like that one time he went to Mexico by himself or last year when she got an aztec inspired tattoo.
I have an interesting story to tell too.
Long long ago a med student was trying to finish her ophthalmology rotation. Just when she did, she realised that her next rotation is orthopaedics, the land of unknown, because nobody really goes to that department. She was intrigued, and made the stupid decision of attending the rotation all alone. She walked past the hundreds of cabins of male doctors who were all surprisingly bald/balding. Her attending had less personality than the average flea. He hated everyone, he hated her, he barked orders and everyone shook in fear. She thought to herself “if I wanted Ursula to teach me, I’d have done marine biology” and slaved through the rest of ortho like a zombie while crying internally 24×7. The end.

4. Cool people follow the most recent trends. Crop tops, pencil skirts, whatever.
You know what we follow? The tailor who is supposed to alter my scrubs so I don’t drown in them.

5. Every time a cute bistro or a cafe opens anywhere in the city, cool people are the first to get there and give a snobby review about it.
Us? We don’t have that kind of time.
You know what med students do instead? They go to the coolest radiology labs with the newest MRI machine and the smug faces of radiologists taking perpetual naps and breaks.

While cool people will keep doing their thing, I will keep hating orthopaedics and pretending to have a social life.
*Phone rings*
“Hello?”
“Oh hey Robbins. I’ll see you in 5”
*wink*

INDIAN ROADS Ft. COWDUNG

I put my car into first gear and slowly climb on to the road, breathing in the air, feeling the pollution of Hyderabad give me cancer. “It’s going to be a great day!” I think to myself while subconsciously avoiding that idiot auto rickshaw guy trying to swerve into my lane. He jumps lanes three times. I’m forced to come to a screeching halt because his tiny brain couldn’t handle the amount of honking his traffic jam has caused. “I’m kinda late for hospital” I exhale, wishing he’d make up his mind on wether to go right or left or straight or into his grave. I am slightly pissed off at this point.

Then I go on my way, getting some serious seatbelt injuries because of all the potholes, endless speed bumps and sporadic heaps of mud on the road because in my city we like to mix things up. I see a guy talking on the phone, contemplating crossing the road bang in the middle of traffic. He finally decides to cross the road, leisurely, palm outward to signal ‘STOP’ to all the vehicles on the road. I have to stop because I took an oath to preserve this guys spleen when I started med school, not rupture it in an RTA. I am angry now because he delayed traffic for 5 minutes more.

So just when I am getting to the hospital, a bunch of cows appear out of no where and they decide “It’s a jolly good time to take a shit now, isn’t it Martha?” “Oh absolutely Jolene, I haven’t pooped on a busy road in a while”. Result : Huge steaming piles of cow dung in the middle of a one-car lane road. My freshly washed car is forced to track the cow dung all the way to the hospital. Wow, the cows in India are so rowdy you must be thinking. Yes, that’s right. Ever since our brilliant turkey brained government banned slaughter of cows, they’re everywhere. On our roads, in our gardens, always around hospitals, always planning to kill us in our sleep.

That is a summary of an average day in my life. And it’s one of the good ones because I haven’t mentioned bus drivers who want to death race you to the traffic signal, or the people on bikes who have tea-time conversations with other people on bikes, or even the metro construction which is forcing me to consider taking a beta-blocker for my tachycardia. You know whats bad for your heart? Not cholesterol. What’s bad for your heart is driving in a tiny lane, squished on the side by ‘metro rail construction’ and the cosmic petrol bill for driving that stretch in first gear because you have to start and stop so many times you are an anthropomorphic cogwheel rigidity.

But why am I so surprised about Indian traffic? I’ve lived here all my life. This is because I’ve only just started driving, and when I was learning how to drive, I learnt driving in keeping with traffic rules. What happens to those rules in real life, high rush, Koti street driving? Those rules are given as much importance as Jolene’s cow dung. Heck at least we avoid cow dung by driving around it, but everyone here mindlessly avoids traffic rules without even thinking they exist, because “Arey bhai jaane do na” (Let me go, brother) and “Kallu kanabadatleva” (Are you a blind fruit bat) are routine phrases which are thrown around like the dust which constantly threatens to give you silicosis if you attempt to even walk on the road.

Why are we trying to be so evolved with laying metro lines everywhere when we can’t even ask the auto guys to stop making us forcibly listen to Aashiqui 2 songs? It’s only taking up too much space on already atherosclerotic roads. If I were in charge, I’d first make autos obsolete. Can we talk about autos for a minute? These guys are so entitled, they think they can charge me whatever they want just for driving me around in a modified bike. (Which is a very ugly shade of yellow btw) What does the auto guy expect? That I’d sell my kidney, and maybe some bone marrow to pay for his sons college, the cost of which he’s projecting on my 5 km ride? No thanks Aashiqui 2. I am not the ‘sun ra hai na tu’ to your ‘ro raha hun mai’.

So I thought making a list of all the traffic annoyances I deal with everyday, would help me vent, partly because I have OCD and partly because if you’re ever in India, ‘Break the rules’ is more valid than a PET scan.

1. You, with the face. Yes I’m talking to you. Stop checking your makeup in the rear-view mirror at the X-roads. It’s already confusing as it is to navigate it with the green light pointing in all 4 directions. We don’t need a pimply teenager driving like a drunken giraffe just because she missed a spot.

2. Why don’t auto guys EVER follow the traffic rules? Even the nice ones don’t. Why should they be left to tailgate, lane-jump and fist-fight in the middle of rush hour traffic?
If the major chunk of vehicles on the roads doesn’t follow traffic rules, why have them at all? Why have other rules too, like you NEED to clip an aneurysm or you NEED to study Community Medicine to become an expert on diarrhoea?
Why go to med school at all? We can all just visit ‘Star Homeopathy Hospital’ and eat sugar pills and live happily, diabetically ever after.

3. Just another reason to let me eat my beef.

4. How is Honda manufacturing bikes that can hold a family? I tried counting the number of people sitting on a single bike. There was a father, a mother, two girls, one boy, all going to school. Their bags, lunch boxes, huge science projects, enough space for the dad to jock-scratch, enough elbow room for the mom to take tuitions on the bike, and enough things for me to count to feel dizzy.
Just when I thought I counted everything on the bike, a baby appears under the mound of humans, asphyxiated, and wanting to go to Niloufer because it’s the new hang-out spot for preemies.

5. I have mastered the epic stare down between me, a rule-following, lane-sticking, seatbelt-wearing responsible adult, and the guy with a bollywood sound track for a horn because I won’t let him turn to the extreme right from extreme left.
Me : *looks at him thinking ‘that’s right you tadpole you don’t get to cause a traffic jam’
Bollywood horn : *looks at me while honking ‘dhak dhak  karne laga’
Me : Are we having a stare contest? Because I am an undefeated champ.
Bollywood horn : Why won’t she let me break the rules dammit! *stares even more intently*
Me : Continues to go my way
Bollywood horn : Hurry up lady I have a liver and spleen to lacerate and a few bones to break

6. If you talk on the phone while you drive, I will personally light a candle tonight and pray that your phone freezes and the screen cracks and it gives you brain cancer.
Everyone talks on the phone while they drive, and here I am, scared to even make the green light with 10 seconds left on it.
What do they talk about so much on the phone anyway? About the record breaking amount of gutkha they spit on the road? Or the moronic debate about the merits of watching a half-arsed Telugu movie? No thanks. Hang up the phone Graham Bell.

7. People who recline their seats to 180 degrees and drive while practically lying down. How do you do it? How are you able to reach the pedals, the steering and the gear stick while simultaneously picking your nose and changing the radio station, how do you do it?
I clutch the first aid kit in hand for your safety every time I see you.
Do your legs even reach the pedals? Are you even driving? Am I hallucinating?

So if anyone of you want to start driving in India, I’d advice you get a prescription of antihypertensives, antipsychotics, anti anxiety drugs. Also, protect your bone marrow. Don’t let the auto guys give you aplastic anaemia.

ARE YOU ANNOYING ON FACEBOOK?

Social Media : Websites and applications that enable users to create and share content or to participate in social networking.

‘Social media’ was pretty much an alien word back when Facebook was still new, Orkut was still a thing, and Yahoo messenger was a major source of catfishing. People would throw the word around, to test it, see how the word feels. “Social media is the new way to stay in touch!” people would say, as if they’ve transitioned from the stone age to the computer savvy, know-it-all nowness.

I hesitated to jump on the social media wagon unlike all my friends who had a profile on every platform and none of them hesitated to talk to someone who voluntarily chose the name ‘hellraiser2000xxxx’. I joined Facebook in 2007. I was a new comer, so I kept to myself. I rarely posted anything and I didn’t know how to anyway because I was too busy judging everyone who posted comments on hellraiser2000xxxx’s picture of flames with smiley faces in them.

I was at an advantage of having a vantage point. I could judge everyone, but ‘hellraiser’ and ‘cute angel princess 004’ couldn’t judge me because I hardly ever am visible. I thought I could snoop in on other people’s lives, see what they’re doing, but I ABSOLUTELY HATED EVERYONE. Everyone was so insufferable and conceited, it made me hate the keyboard for having a caps lock key just so morons cOuLd TyPe LiKe ThIs.

Here’s a list of what I hate, absolutely detest and have raging fits about.

1. I’ve seen this girl posting the longest, most boring inspirational quotes for no reason whatsoever. Let’s call her Shailene.
Hey if you’re testing out some oscar accepting speeches, I’d like to block your ass before you start so I don’t poke my eyes out.
Shailene, shut the hell up. You’re a teenager. Teenagers do not achieve self actualisation overnight just because someone was mean to them. Sorry, but it is true. 
 Teenagers, please don’t say inspirational and deep things. Because Facebook is a permanent record of your awkward teenage years, and you tend to think of yourself as a less embarrassing teenager when you’re all grown up. Don’t let Facebook smack you with the complete opposite, that is the truth.

Also there’s the other kind, who think they’re Shakespeare’s illegitimate blood line nobody knows about, so they display their writing skills on Facebook. If any of your status updates sound like this, you know I’m talking about you, you psycho.

“Life is like a collection of small raindrops and those raindrops fall to the ground and they don’t dry up because we have ground water harvesting and all that mixes with my sewage and my sewage goes to Tank bund and I think from there it goes to some river and from there to the Indian ocean so the shit I took this morning is on it’s way to the blue ocean right now, why can’t you achieve your dreams? I say nothing is impossible. You can do it.”

I’m coming over to your house with some horse tranquillisers so we can quiet you down a little, Chomsky.

2. You know those people who just can’t accept failure or defeat? You know the ones I’m talking about. The guy who thought he’d get 99% in anatomy, or that one kid who thinks they’re going to ace finals but they don’t.

And when they don’t, they don’t accept it like a normal person. Normal people drink their sorrows away, or eat ice-cream to numb the 50% they got in anatomy. But this kid will post things like ;
“Marks are not a measure of someones knowledge”
“It’s fine to celebrate success but it’s more important to heed the lessons of failure.”
“Failure is the key to success. Each mistake teaches us something.”

Shut up you stuck up little shit. Everyone knows you’re stupid, even your parents, the only people in the world who are biologically programmed to love you, laugh at your statuses. The rest of us think you’re on LSD.

If you want to fight the system so much, and preach about how marks don’t matter, go live in a jungle. And when you get elephantiasis, don’t come running to the hospital because it’s important to heed the lessons of failure (of mosquito repellant)

3. Among your 1500 odd Facebook friends, you tend to have at least 20% of them who fall under the painfully obvious group. Most of their status updates look somewhat like this.
“Guys bird flu is going around. Avoid eating chicken.”
“Wow it’s raining!”
“I am completely full of shit.”
Okay maybe not the last one, but you get my point.

I don’t want to read the news when I log into my Facebook. If I wanted to know what’s happening around me so bad, I’d listen to Arnab Goswami yell and kick the tv screen instead.

Also everyone thinks you’re a complete idiot because you’re updating your status about it raining instead of eating salmonella with your pani puri like a normal person.

4. EVERYONE who post pictures of food and hashtag it as #foodporn. I just cannot deal with them. Why do you do that? Did your mom beat you as a child? Because I feel like over appreciation for a plate of food stems from an abusive childhood, when you weren’t fed enough, or you had to fight for food.

Food porn is the stupidest phrase ever and I don’t know how it caught on. Anyone with an IQ higher than the primordial ooze knows that food porn sounds disturbingly close to what Mr. Grey does.

And taking pictures of food and posting them on instagram or Facebook makes you seem like the hugest douchebag and among 1500 of your Facebook friends, maybe 5 people would actually care and take time out to see what you posted. So the rest of the 1495 of us hate you with a passion and we’d all like to see if you actually eat that lobster frittata with the same care you took in selecting your hashtags.

Personally I think anyone who hashtags #foodporn eats like an uncouth, archaic neanderthal who doesn’t sit at the table, but on top of it because there’s better lighting and I’d like to thing the foodporn hashtagger has no regard for cutlery. A butter knife is used to shank anyone who chooses the same filter as him for his picture, the napkin is used as a makeshift diaper because there’s no wifi in the bathroom, obviously.

His forks are used to pick the dirt under his nails because he has time for Instagram but not personal grooming and he uses his spoons the most. What else would he cook his cocaine in?

6. Everyone on social media thinks they’re a non-conformist. If you all are a bunch of non-conformists, you’re a stinking pile of delusional conformist bitches.
This category has strong political views/ uncommon views about pop culture/ current events/ Kim Kardashian. I have the most dangerously violent, bordering on criminal feelings about wannabe non-conformists. If I like pop music (just like a lot of people), it doesn’t mean I’m one with the crowd and you’re cool because that one time you were forced to listen to Nirvana on the radio. You’re uncool.

Most of these pricks sound like this on Facebook
“Everyone’s so concerned about the royal baby. What about the millions of starving children in Africa? #unfair #allbabiesareimportant”
You know whats important? Alzheimer’s. Because I hope you’re a special early onset case.
“Pop music is so last year. EDM is my jam.”
“I actually think Ben Affleck would make a good batman. Give him a chance guys.”

You know I come home after a hard day at hospital and class and I open my Facebook to see something interesting, but then I come across the EDM guy’s status and I have to take 3 Aspirin instead of one and now my blood won’t clot.
If I bleed out and die an untimely death, I will haunt the EDM guy forever.

7. There is an island just off the continent of Angryland and it is called Passive Aggresiva. Their government debated letting their citizens use Facebook, but agreed finally because it’s too much fun for everyone to watch them passive aggressively update everything with frustration.

If you’re unaware of these people, you can easily identify them with their status updates.
“While SOME people have been holidaying abroad, some of us have been useful to the society and actually bought some shitty beer at that shady hookah place to up their revenue.”
“I think being smart is important. Of course a lot of people wouldn’t agree with me. People whose names I won’t reveal. Haha”
Comments : Asshole #1 – Dude totally omg
Asshole #2 – I know who you’re talking about.

The only normal person on his profile – You guys are a bunch of gross assholes with no friends.

I might have missed a few while listing out the annoying people on Facebook. But I wanted to write about something non-medical this time to spin all my hate about all the people I hate on my Facebook (which is 98% of them) into one huge glistening blogpost web of hatred.
If you’re one of the annoying people mentioned above, thank you for entertaining me when my tv won’t work.
Except you Shailene. Fuck you and your inspirational statuses.