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.

Wanted: companion for cardboard box

Bugger.

Just as I thought things were getting a little teeny weeny bit sorted. My new job is going great, I have an out-patients appointment soon to finally figure out the breathing issues, I actually have money in the bank, all persons in the flat are communicating with one another, uni is reasonable, potential flatmate for next year was almost confirmed... Yeh, scrap that last one. Potential flatmate, or Ry, as we'll call him, has just blogged about his future housing options when his current lease expires. Turns out I am not his only option, and that I am being juggled while he contemplates which of his options is safer.

It's "probably a good idea, has a fair chance of working" vs "probably not a good idea, could go very well or very badly". Given my run of luck (and some other factors), I'd lay good money that I'm option 2.

I'm flummoxed as to who No1 is. All I have to go on is that it's "another medical student". Textathon is currently ensuing to come up with anyone on our course who has no fixed living arrangement and is (in)sane enough to consider living with Ry.

New Year Resolution? Stay in 09. In bed.

Supposedly, snow permitting, I will be trudging back to University on Monday. I say this with immense joy in my bouyant heart.

Not.

You see, holidays were pretty average. Not dire, not exciting, just average. Until I received a lovely email (via Facebook - classy) informing me that I am to move out before third year starts. There's been somewhat of a personality clash this year between myself and one of my two flatmates. Had we been living in a normal flat, we'd have just grinned and beared it. However. The flat we reside in is owned by the flatmate. Therefore, in the case of us being unable to live with each other, the short straw is mine. Always mine.

So, because we "haven't really got on as well this year as we did last year", I'm being kicked out. Typically, I'm told this just after the deadline for commercial halls closes. The only rooms left are £115 a week. Which I most definitely cannot afford.

I really did not think I would be perusing the letting agent's websites again after only such a short period of time. What makes it suck worse? That my current rent is the outer limit of what I can afford, and was subsidised by the fact that the flat is 'friend'-owned. Next year is gonna involve a lot more cash, more loans, more overdrafts, and more debt. Thanks, richkid.