A little brother's gems of computer knowledge, as told to an idiot (uh, that'd be moi, then).

Explaining the link between RAM and processor speed:
Imagine, if you will, an IHOP you run. You have three counters (3GB RAM), but a single staff member (1.2GHz). See the problem? You could be using all three if it was REALLY fast, or if you had a dual core, but you don't. You have one middle aged women who rather likes reading Heat on her extended breaks.

Explaining DDR:
So you're at a club and you see DDR in the corner. You and a few friends wander over to play, and you start practically reforming the country on the dancefloor, as this is DDR3, with the updated graphics and latest music, but there's only room for one person to play. This is DDR 1GB.
In another club, there's DDR2 2GB. It's the previous release, and most of the music is from 2000, but there's room for two people to compete, so it's a lot more fun.

SolidState:
Enter Ricky: "Hey, I know you like your files, but it always takes a long time to find them, right? Why not get Solid State? It's a lot faster, and I bet you've heard geeks talking about it, so it must be good, right?"
Fuck Ricky and his ridiculous argument. You do not want solid state drives. They are faster but they're only good for around 100, 000 saves. Sounds a lot, but only adds up to 2 years use. Back up more, sista.

And then he recommended a netbook with a mouse nub. Ahem, xkcd.com/243

Surreal ++++

I thought I was tough. I thought I could hack anything medicine could throw at me. I thought ITU would be fun. Thats 3/3 wrong.

Surreal was translating clinic letters from a language I don't speak to get a PMH on a guy who's about to go for his third orthopaedic procedure in a week. Every limb you can break was broken when his vehicle hit another. His wife is in the hospital too, with C-spine fractures. Watching two teenage girls see their dad for the first time and not crying is the hardest thing I've done this week, including exams.

Surreal is watching a man, handcuffed to a policewoman, cry over his unconscious alcoholic mother.

Meningitis in lectures is fine. Meningitis in a lad my age, on every organ support machine possible, is not.

I've learnt that there's a special type of COPD you can get from smoking heroin. That a litre of vodka a day will make you fall out of your wheelchair and give you a massive subdural haematoma, and surgery to fix that involves more scalp staples than I ever thought possible. That whilst ITU is not the worst place to die, it is the worst place to be a conscious patient. That no one leaves ITU without after effects - dead, disabled, or PTSD & hallucinations. That the healthiest looking patient on the unit is the one with terminal cancer, conscious and talking, with less than days to live. And the logistics of taking an intubated patient home to die are nigh on impossible.

Yesterday I held the hands of someone who was getting his central line changed, whilst heavily sedated. I had to prise his fingers off mine at the end. Today he is dead.

It is a vegetable patch. Row upon row of slanted mounds of patient. I have heard medicine reduced to such a molecular level over the past two days, it was hard to relate it to the slab of flesh in front of me. Patients talked of in terms of biochemical figures. Of vessels of infection.

A consultant admitted that most of what they do would be considered torture in any other context. Yet the nurses reassure relatives with the "No pain" line. I stuck six cannulas into two patients. Both squirmed and withdrew, despite being "comatose". Four failed cannulae, just from me. I saw 3 attempts at an NG tube, which ended when they suctioned 200ml of blood out of his throat. Blood that wasnt there when they started. Hands bandaged like mittens to prevent tubes and lines being yanked out. Consent and Gillick competency don't exist.

I can't write any more. I could, but I think 6hrs sleep over 2 days is adversely affecting me. I DONT CRY. Except after ITU.

****

I am actually crying. It's a long time since I properly cried. I couldn't cry when I got the residue of chilli peppers on my contact lenses, and needed to irrigate it. I couldn't cry when I hated my flatmate to the point of wishing her dead (I don't, and I realise in hindsight it was an aspect of my mental illness rearing its head, but thoughts are thoughts). Yet I just got my exam results and my eyes are like fountains.

Not because I failed.

Not because I passed.

But because I got the best exam results I have EVER recieved, including full marks on our 30 credit (normal modules are only 20) module exam.

I've been home nearly half an hour. Known for more than thirty minutes that I passed, that I far exceeded by own expectations, even my own hopes.

Yet my eyes will not stop gushing. I cannot stop (quietly) bawling to myself. It is part relief. Tonight was the Medical Ball, and all night people from my year have been stopping by at our table to chat, and the main topic is "Are you celebrating?". Our results weren't supposed to be out til Tuesday, due to yet another clerical administration error, yet when I left theatres at 5pm(a very long story) I had a text screaming that results were up online.

I couldn't bear to check. To know again that I'd passed, but not by the margin I wished for. Not by the margins I needed to pull my (absymal) average up to something worthy of my efforts. So I went to the ball with no results. Told enquirers I figured I passed (so far, anecdotally only two people have failed, out of nearly two hundred) but wasn't gonna waste my night by being disappointed by the scores.

Got in past 1am. Drunk, tired, sore. Thought checking while drunk would be easier to bear than sober.

I didn't even want to check then. Wanted to put a hoodie over my pj's and curl up in bed. Check later. Maybe never. If an email arrives asking for a meeting, I failed. If not, pass. Despite my laptop sensing this, and three times ignoring the uni website link, or closing the tab, somehow the results page ended up open.

With a 17 and a 20. Out of 20.


Turns out that celebrating alone in the darkness of our sleepy flat (1 asleep, potentially newly engaged, 1 whoring herself out on the town) is lonely. But ok. The boyfriend has been texted. The new flatmate has been texted. I want so badly to call my parents but I think a 2am phonecall is usually badly recieved...

Every online msn buddy (ok, so the only online msn buddy) is being bombarded instead.

Bang goes my interesting tale of the registrar stabbing the consultant with a k-wire....

Twas the Night before Principles of Diseases...

Exam is in less 10 hours now.

I've done about 90 minutes studying all day.

But I did go for a lovely walk in the sunshine. Took some photo's of the park. Bought more unnecessary chocolate (Most of which is now gone, including a whole box of Cadbury's fingers. Yes. Obese. I know.)

Spent far too long stalking people on Facebook. Tweeting about irrevent crap. Trawling blogs.

Did I mention eating every sugary snack in the house?

Did laundry.

I said that I ate everything, right?

MIDNIGHT.

0031: Ohmigosh I have never heard of half these pharmacology terms!!!! And there are only 4 fingers left!

0042: Does anywhere sell wine at this time of night? Reachable on semi-drunk foot...

0112: WTF is polarity??? I just think polar bears!

0136: Msn chat with Faye about waffles. Not ADR's. A = augmented. B = bizarre. C =chronic. D = delayed. E = end of treatment. F = failure of treatment.

0138: Wish flatmate wouldnt shower at this time of night.

0158: Cold. Want to go to bed, but still tons to do. And there are no pillowcases on the bed.

0211: *Yawn* Finished Pharm. Now, bugsybusgsybugsy's...

0215: Using 4 year old lecture notes. Should have just attended the damn lecture. OH, was in hospital...

0229: Turns out, no, I hadn't finished Pharm. Can now cure most OD's/poisonings. I wish.

0237: MLIA break.

0245: Bugger. Not done cancer yet. Can I go to sleep now?

0246: Compromise with self. Will glance through notes now, and in morning. Will then ssleeep.

0255: Found MCQ's in back of Learning Guide.

0312: 84% on MCQ's. Pharm good, Cancer bad. SLEEP

Friday night rambles.

Everything hurts. The broken wrist (more painful than last years, therefore more broken). The heavily bruised shoulder (can't push doors open with broken wrist, other hand is mostly occupied with folders, mobile, handbag...). The revision (or lack-thereof) induced headache. Kneeeees!!! There are very few bony parts of my anatomy that are not aching in some way today.

Pity party over. Today was the last day of class before January exams (strangely, held in February), so The Fear was starting to hit people - when I left at 6pm, 4 hours after our class ended, there were 5 medics in the computer room, 12 on one floor of the library, and goodness knows how many on the other floor, or the other library. Revision pizza party has been scheduled for Tuesday night (to coincide with Domino's 555 deal! Eeee!), so some semblance of study should probably take place prior... Heh, it's Friday night and the blogs are calling.

I keep reading Mothers in Medicine and I have to admit it terrifies me! I cannot wait to have lil kiddies of my own (kids clothes are so cute! Much better than dressing up the cat), but OMG. I am terrified that my (non-medical) boyfriend will not cope well with a) not being the breadwinner, b) being left at home with the kids, c) me studying in the time that isn't spent working, d) me getting all excited over Charnley hips and the relative benefits of cemented over non-cemented NOF fixations.... I love him to bits and I can't wait to start our proper life together, both in the same place (same country would be a nice start!), with a lil flat of our own, and kidlets on the way... *daydreams*. I always thought if I was a doctor, my husband would be a doctor, you know? Not a supermarket manager/PhD student/primary school teacher/psychologist [delete as applicable when Boy finally picks a career]. That's not to say I belittle what Boy does, I just want him to be in a job he's happy with, one he gets excited about doing for the rest of his working life! Like I am with Ortho, ha. I think, no, I know he'll be awesome whatever he does - he's smart and caring, and he just gets people. I don't know how, I seriously wish I did! It was recently anonymously commented that I'm not a people person. I'm not a people person, right on. I am a patient person. My clerking today had such a crazy lifestory, I wish it were within the limits of patient confidentiality to say, but needless to say, it was full of hardship and overcoming adversity and sheer gutsiness and an immense drive to do life. I adore our wards, as I keep saying, but certain patients make you come out grinning, and today, he did.

Certain consultants also make you come out grinning, when they catch you on your own and tell you you're "a good one". EEEEEEE -SUPER-HAPPY-JOYFUL-JELLY! Out of our group of 8, there's an academic range. The 12's, who work hard but don't quite get the big concepts or the sheer volume, but are happy regardless. The 15's, who work a bit, play a bit - the popular kids. The 19's, the super-academics; the one's who, faced with a real patient, get a bit tongue tied, and mumble, and display that their only knowledge of performing an exam is from MacLeods. I am the quandary. My average is a solid 16, a 15 on weighted average. Yet on wards, I am the 20. I am the one who presents, I am the walking BNF, I am the one who answers.
Wards are my reason to feel good about this course, my motivation to keep going. Of course, time in Theatre is what makes me leap out of bed in the darkest morn before the dawn, and stay til the last patient is into Recovery, still hoping for more, but theatre days are few and far between. Wards are my weekly saving grace.

I have cupcakes and I'm not afraid to use them.

Procrastination central. It's here. I just made cupcakes (minus frosting - does that make them muffins? Or just naked?). And did all my ironing. And the washing up. Twice. And I spent the afternoon at my job, pretending that summarising medical records counts as revision, as opposed to the truth - I do know the baby vacc schedule inside out, but I learnt more about psychosexual dysfunction this afternoon than pharmacology. I think we all know which one is on the exam.

The stress is here. I just screamed at the landlady/flatmate for standing outside banging/shouting/whistling for half an hour (she's lost her keys - don't get me started on the fact that this means our flat is left unlocked if she leaves last). The stress is also in part due to a minor altercation with the boy. His housemates are moving out to buy a house together, so he's having house issues. Why does that sound familiar, huh? Oh, and I tripped over thin air/my own big feet and broke my scaphoid. Why does that sound familiar? Oh, maybe because I did that last-year-just-before-big-exams. *Grumble*. One day, one fine day, I will get through an exam season without a medical drama.

Tomorrow's lecture is cancelled, so more chances to sleep in/revise Tumour Pathology over breakfast.

13 days...

Knife, back, meet.

I still like Haem-Onc. Hehe. Guilty. Though I think it's more that I love clinical teaching, and I adore our consultants. And they have a fondness for grilling us on drugs, so yay! :D

Exams are a little too close. Eesh. And minor backstabby bitchiness is occuring. There are only a few past papers available, and these have been sourced from people in higher years. And certain lovely people have made tables of all the diseases we have to know, and the aetiology, pathogenesis, prognosis, epidemiology, treatment... There are also quiz sheets, fact cards, lists of common bacteria and antibiotics... The list goes on. Either way, as far as I can see the stuff is going in circles. I keep getting emails going "hey, didn't know if you had this, enjoy!". Strangely, when I mention x past paper to someone, they say "What x paper?" Even within our friendship group (strained, stretched, and amorphic), people are being skipped and deliberately left out of the loop.

I can say honestly that I've sent on everything I've been asked for to everyone who asked for it. I cannot say I've forwarded everything I have to everyone I know. I'm a bitch, I admit it.