The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

People forget that it's not all just drinking and clubbing when you're a student. As well as prioritising your work, you also have to feed, clothe and organise yourself - the shopping, the washing, the work... As an old hand at this, I do not find it as difficult as some of my housemates; I usually have enough food in the house to make myself a suitable meal, enough money to buy what I need, and enough time to see the important people in my life. However, I seem to have inordinate difficulties in putting myself to bed at a sensible hour. Although I realise its importance in my life in keeping me healthy and happy, sleep seems to be such a waste of time. Although I enjoy it immensely, when bedtime draws near, I become acutely aware of all the more constructive things I could be doing: working, writing this blog, watching Scrubs (am on series 5 now - hurrah!). Come the morning, I invariably regret my folly, and wish I had gone to bed at half past ten... But I never learn. Come the next night, I do it all again. Last night was no different, and this morning I was reluctant to get out of bed. It was also my anatomy class, which I hate. I decided, unusually for me, to skip it, which turned out to be a most fortuitous decision: at 1030, I was awakened from my warm and cosy slumber by the shrill peal of my doorbell. Being our anniversary, Himself had sent me flowers and champagne. Once again I am reminded of how lovely he is - and how good it is to pull a sickie, once in a while!

I read a brilliantly inspirational book today, 'The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,' about a man who suffers 'Locked-In' syndrome after suffering a massive stroke. Paralysed apart from one eyelid, Bauby narrates his memoirs to his speech therapist, by a communication system that involves blinking. Poignant and compelling, Bauby's memoirs remind us of how fortunate we are in our everyday lives, and the indomitable nature of the human sprit. I think it is a good lesson for the treatment of patients who have problems communicating; although it can be frustrating and difficult, we must never forget that they are people inside, with needs and dreams. In the midst of a busy day on the wards, where one is constantly in demand and undersupported, it's amazing how easy it can be to forget that. When I got offered this place, I promised myself that I would always give 100%, and strive to be the best doctor I could be. Only two terms in and, while I do work hard, I often procrastinate, and skip the odd lecture here and there. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly reminds me of why I began this course in the first place, and inspires me to redouble my efforts.

Equilibrium

As a medic, our curriculum is divided into several components, teaching a broad range of medical topics. This term, I am taking: Histology, Anatomy, Pathology, Cancer Biology,Medical Ethics, Whole Person Care, Genetic Technology, Pharmacology, Epidemiology, and also undertaking my GP placement. Although reading so many subjects sounds a daunting prospect, I enjoy the variety they provide. However, this does make the workload feel somewhat intense; my current workload for the next week or so is:

• Epidemiology coursework - appx 6 hours
• Pathology notes - appx 4 hours
• Genetic Technology notes - appx 2 hours
• Pharmacology notes - appx 2 hours
• Ethics notes and further reading -appx 3 hours
• GP placement reading and case notes - appx 1.5 hours.
• Anatomy notes -appx 4 hours

This list will, of course, be added to every time I have a lecture, when I will have to add those notes to the list. The current workload will take approximately take around 23 hours, in addition to my attendance at lectures. Although we medics try to enjoy ourselves, the course is no picnic, even in the first year. While I will endeavour to get most of the work done over the coming weekend, I know that the backlog will only increase during the term.

A workload of this magnitude cannot help but affect my relationships with others around me: I see far less of my friends than I would like, but it is a sacrifice that has to be made. Similarly, it also affects the relationships I have with the people I care for most, namely my with my family and Himself. Surprisingly, the day-to-day relationship I have with my mother has actually improved; presumably because I am not 'constantly underfoot,' as she would put it, and messing up the house. However, I know she worries far more because she sees less of me. I don't get to see Himself anywhere near as much as I would like; I wanted to see him this coming weekend, but my workload prevents it. Thankfully he's an understandng guy, but I won't pretend that it isn't difficult on both of us sometimes. The course will, hopefully, teach me to strike the optimum balance between my personal and professional life, enabling me to perform the the best of my abilities while appreciating the times I am not working; however, this ideal equilibrium often remains elusive.

I assume that it is because I am a medic that causes people to believe I can fix all problems. Certainly we are supposed to demonstrate a level head during a crisis, but my flatmates persist in beliving that my function is to solve their difficulties. However, while I find it time-consuming and frustrating to have to run around after people who really should know better, I also know that I would be saddened, and perhaps even hurt if they felt they could not ask for my assistance, and am scintilated by my involvement in their lives. It would be fair to say that I, and perhaps others in this profession, are driven by a 'Messiah Complex;' a deep need to 'save' people. While I believe that to some extent that this is a healthy thing (indeed - I do not even wish to contemplate the possiblilty of doctors who do not wish to save their patients), I am concerned that this desire, this need, if you will, is inextricably linked to my self-esteem. What will happen to me what I encounter a patient who cannot be saved?

Work Hard, Play Harder

It is commonly said that med students work hard and play harder. From my own observations, I would have to say that this is true, although I suspect that it is usually because we are procrastinating, and those moments spent in diversions from the books are the sweetest of all. This weekend has entailed a lot of procrastination, although this early into the term I do not feel totally wracked with guilt over it. I spent yesterday morning taking my flatmate, Julia, to a local clinic, which meant a depressingly early start for the weekend. I spent a large proportion of the day reading an online novel, until about six, when we went out to eat. I know, I know - eating out two nights consecutively smacks of the most lavish decadence on my student budget.

After dinner, I went to visit an old friend whom I had not seen in a year or so, and we wound up talking long into the early hours. There are a few people one meets in life that you can be completely honest with, and he is one of them. When I finally left his house at three to walk home, it had finally stopped raining, and the wind had died down, and I would have enjoyed a quiet walk home, were it not for the fact that the clubs were closing for the night, and my reverie was interruped by the cries for a taxi by drunken men.

Today I do actually have plans to do work, and have a date this afternoon to go over some coursework and some lecture notes. However, I look forward to a happy distraction this evening, as I am meeting another friend for coffee, as she is in town unexpectedly. Tomorrow, though, I will pay for my inattention to my studies, as I must spend my afternoon making up my anatomy notes from this week - my least favourite subject.

The faculty has made it clear that they expect us to spent 40 hours a week working, minimum. Only 20 of these are actually spent in lectures and tutorials, and if you are bright and very lucky, this is all you will need to do. For the rest of us mere mortals, who do not absorb the contents of a textbook simply by sleeping on it, this really is only the tip of the iceberg, and many more hours of private study in the evenings at at weekends. This is the reason that most medical students do not have a job in their spare time; or, indeed, any spare time to speak of.

For this reason, many medical and vetinary students tend towards poverty, and for many of us (myself included) our student loan of a £3000 per year is all most of us have. Because medicine is such a long course, and because most people cannot afford to study it without support from their families, I think it is a course which can discriminate against poorer people. On the other hand, I am learning many valuable lessons about budgeting, and the true worth of money. And why paying £3 to wash and dry one load of washing is absolutely criminal.

A Beginning Of Sorts

Writing to an audience is inherently more difficult than simply writing a journal for oneself, and it is easy to become plagued with doubts; is my narrative style too self conscious? Too stylised and contrived? Too simplistic? It is almost impossible to predict how a reader will react to a writing style, as so much of the inflection of speech is lost when pinned to a page. So I have decided to write this blog as though it were only for my own eyes, in the hope that my candour will be best able to express my thoughts and experiences.

I am now in my second term at a medical school in the south of England. I am a little older than many of my fellow students, having studied for a degree previously in a different field. I am by no means alone, though, as many of my contemporaries also have degrees, in such subjects as neurology, or biochemistry. I can only wish that my own was so useful. At first I thought it would be difficult, being older than the majority of my peers, but to my surprise, most medical students seem to be more mature than other students of the same age, and do not treat the 'mature medics,' as we are know, as social pariahs.

Because I am slightly older than most 'Freshers,' I decided not to live in halls, but in a student house with ten other residents; they are a diverse group, none of whom are other medics. While I regret this lack of a study partner in my housemates, I am glad that I shall have a chance to branch out, and make other kinds of friends. This is largely because medical students can be quite elitist, becoming close only to other medics. While it has been a few years since I used a communal kitchen, as a 'grown up,' I had come to the conclusion that I could not be fazed. However, I was wrong, and I am somewhat ashamed to say that the state of the amenities here regularly causes me to fear contracting botulism, or salmonella poisoning. Thankfully, few boys use the bathroom on my floor, although I can only assume that they are responsible for the continued non-existence of the loo roll. I am not sure what they do with it, although I am beginning to wonder if they consume it when they have no pot-noodles or take-away curry. But for all that they are often somewhat untidy, I generally get on very well with my housemates, and even hope to live with some of them next academic year.

I've actually just returned for a meal out to celebrate another medic's birthday; around twenty people were there, and, although we should have relished the opportunity to forget about university and discuss other things, the conversation invariably became 'shop talk.' 'How were today's lectures?' 'How did you do in your exams?' Although we tend largely to befriend other medics, ultimately we cannot forget that they are also our competitors; our place in the year group directly affects our chances of getting the training job we want.

At a wedding I attended recently (two doctors were getting married, so about 80% of the guests were also doctors), a urology registrar told me that "medical students are a constant dichotomy of pride and insecurity," and it is true. I am so proud of getting as far as I have done, and yet, I am regularly terrified at the thought that they may discover that I am not worthy of my place, that I am not as good as all the other students. This is partly because my degree is in an arts subject, and hard science has never come easily at the best of times (let alone after six years of neglect), but largely it is something we all feel, because medicine is all something we want to be involved in very deeply. I suppose that is why I have decided to keep a blog: I have just found out that I have passed my first set of exams, so I feel much less of a fraud, and that I may just manage to hold on to this place; so I should treasure the memory of it while it is mine to keep.

Tomorrow I have an unpleasant, yet necessary task to complete, and unfortunately it is not my homework. Although there is that, too. There is always homework.