A box of sweets

Ee needs to present the case of the lady with colloid goitre in the ward to one of the consultant surgeons tomorrow morning. A case which I had presented during a bedside teaching session yesterday.

According to her, she didn't have the opportunity to clerk the patient due to time constraints. What a lame excuse, I thought. Hence, I had to lend her my clerking sheet.

After coming back from watching Tron : Legacy, I had to trudge reluctantly to the cafeteria a few blocks away to pass my clerking sheet to her. And she caught me by surprise by giving me a box of sweets as a repayment.

Yes, I was astonished. It's so sweet of her. Really.

Ee and I aren't really close. In class, she's kinda obscure. I'm not trying to sound egoistic and complacent here. But, there are always people in your class whom you know won't pose any threat to you academically or in any way. And I guess she's one of them. 

Well, the point I'd like to highlight here is, when you lend someone (whoever the person may be) a helping hand, without any expectation of being repaid, you never know what's in store for you.

I was actually kinda touched. As if I was embraced by a blanket of warmth and infused with a lingering sensation of sweetness. Something I hadn't experienced in a while.

Thanks, Ee.

Life's impermanence

When I first met her, her entire right breast appeared grotesque with an ulcer with blood-stained serous discharge, peau d'orange sign and satellite nodules. The prognosis was really bad, with the presence of ipsilateral axillary and supraclavicular lymphadenopathy, lymphoedema, malignant pleural effusion and liver secondaries. 

It's painful to see her wither away with such an advanced breast cancer. Really. As I listened sympathetically to her history, I was also angry at her ignorance of her painless right breast lump which had been there for 4 years. I was incensed by the gross stupidity of the traditional medicine practitioner who gave her the misleading advice that it wasn't malignant. Shouldn't these people know that a painless breast lump in a middle-aged woman is cancerous until proven otherwise?

Sometimes, I close my eyes, and ask myself, "What if she's my mom?"

Immediately, I can envision my entire world crumbling down on me. I can imagine myself consumed with anger, cursing destiny for its paradoxes and injustices. I can visualize myself sitting forlornly at a corner, ensnared in self-pity and a devastation unfathomable by others. I can picture myself swimming aimlessly across the ocean of depression with the heartbreaking awareness of mankind's mortality.

Mom called a few times to ask if I'd be going back to hometown after my exam, an idea which I'm ambivalent about. The only thing holding me back is the astronomical price of the return air ticket.

On one hand, I was thinking that I could use the money saved to buy myself a new suit so that I could look stunningly gorgeous presentable during my brother's wedding next February. On the other hand, I really do miss Mom. The approaching exam and my innumerable trivial personal problems, coupled with my impending obesity, are giving me a considerable amount of stress.

Life is impermanent. Certain things ought to be cherished before they vanish forever. I wanna spend as much time as I can with Mom when I still can, even though, inevitably, this means having to come up with a plausible explanation of why I'm still single.

You might want to diagnose me with dependent personality disorder. But, I guess I just miss my mom. And I'm getting very agitated now because, most probably, I'm not going back during my break after the exam.

AirAsia, please have mercy!

The guy at the pool

You emerged in front of me out of nowhere.

I must have been stunned for what felt like an eternity. Strangely, I could feel some sort of serenity within me. The deafening whistling of the lifeguard, the sloshing of the water and the boisterous chatter of the kids were suddenly diminished to an unintelligible distant whisper.

There you were, standing in front of me, drying your body in a sexually provocative manner with a piece of towel. My heart melted like the butter under the afternoon sun. You're smoldering hot. The water trickling down your hair and chest rendered you even more startlingly handsome. 

I was totally captivated by your charm and your manliness. As we made our way to the changing room, I stole numerous covert glances at you, especially your dimples of Venus. My friends were talking to me. But, I was merely mechanically responding to them. You'd stolen my soul the moment I saw you.

When I was about to leave, I noticed you're still in the changing room, half-naked. Hence, I chose to sit on the bench in the room with the ostensible purpose of waiting for my friends who're still having their shower. However, my real goal was to allow myself to admire your beauty for a few more minutes, after which we'd part with each other and probably never meet again.

Suddenly, I could feel my heart cease to beat. Literally.

That was when you turned to a corner and removed the towel around your waist without a tinge of disinhibition, generously revealing your gluteal region. To be honest, I totally didn't see this coming. 

You're completely nude. I wondered if you really had to do this to torture me just to drive home the point that you're hot. I could feel lust incinerating me from the inside. Without any hesitation, I stood up and waltzed nonchalantly to a strategic spot where I could satisfy the relentless urge to obtain a full-frontal view of you while thousands of dirty thoughts germinated in my hopelessly corrupted mind.

I thought the number of examinations of the male genitalia I'd performed would have numbed me to lewd sights such as that of your succulent ass. Obviously, I was wrong. I guess this is somewhat analogous to my persistent craving for porn despite the fact that the climax and the ending are invariably the same.

Disappointingly, I didn't succeed. You'd already put your pants on before I could achieve my goal. And my friends were already beckoning to me, signalling that it's time to leave.

I looked at you for one last time, and left. At that particular moment, I wondered if you'd noticed me. I wondered if we'd ever meet again. I wondered if I'd ever recall the trepidation and palpitation I experienced. I wondered if I would, many years from now, still remember you - the tall, lanky guy at the pool who reminded me that it's okay to be superficial once in a while.

Homophobia

Most of the time, I'm able to maintain a facade of of optimism despite being surrounded by friends who're incorrigibly homophobic.

Unfortunately, it seems I ain't that good in covering up my sexuality. Maybe, I was careless. Maybe, I thought that with the staggering number of gays in our population, people would no longer see homosexuality as an abomination and subconsciously, I began to express myself more boldly. Apparently, I was wrong.

'Macho' isn't a word I'd use to describe myself. Yet, I'm pretty confident that I don't have those mannerisms gay enough to arouse others' suspicion. Perhaps, I did a mistake by publicly airing my liking for Glee and reading 'Eat, Pray, Love' in class. Perhaps, I shouldn't have worn that yellow Paul Frank shirt the other day.

As a consequence, some of my colleagues now seem convinced that I swing the other way. Although I haven't really been ostracized or sneered at, I feel extremely disturbed by the their malicious display of homophobic remarks which has successfully enfeebled the tough front I've always put on.

I remember when I was younger, I liked to make up fairy tales and indulge in an imaginary wonderland in which I was a little prince in disguise, mistakenly thrust into this cruel world to endure the torments by the homophobes. And one day, my knight in shining armor would come to my rescue and ride me back to the castle where we'd be happily married ever after.

However, every now and then, I find myself inundated with pessimistic thoughts and a crushing desolation no one can possibly understand. I feel extremely exasperated when people make idiotic comments about homosexuality, even though they might not be referring to me. I'm full of vengeance and brood. But, I'm unable to retaliate. Sometimes, I just wish I could walk away from all these nonsense.

As for Mom, I've developed my own ingenious ways of pleasing her, which include a 1500 ringgit handbag purchased using my personal savings, with the hope that the pestering would become less. But, frankly, I don't know when it'd be tacitly understood for her that I'm never going to have a girlfriend.

I hope that very soon, the universe will shift and destiny's molecules will be precisely organized for my path to criss-cross that of my knight in real life.

I need a lot of hugs. :(

Housemen

Today, I accidentally dropped a few coins while paying for my breakfast. Just as I wanted to pick them up, Dr. A already had.

Dr. A is one of the few housemen I've Googled about. We met a few postings ago. And I can't really remember his name now. I have this habit of Googling about housemen or even consultants I find attractive, which you can definitely equate with stalking, but of a rather benign and harmless variety.

I've never really seen Dr. A smile. He's not one of those easily approachable housemen who'd take the first move to chat a med student up. 

Hence, I was pretty surprised by his kind gesture. I stood at the counter, momentarily stunned and swooning over him because of his chivalry. Chivalry? What an inappropriate word for me, as I guy, to use. Could this be an ambiguous hint of my previously undiagnosed bo**om-ness?

I wanted shoot him the most resplendent smile I was capable of to express my gratitude. Yet, I just couldn't bring my facial muscles to form a grin.

The other day, I was eating a muffin - one of my stress remedies - when my heartbeats suddenly became chaotic on seeing Dr. Cute saunter into the cafeteria. We sort of had an eye contact for less than 2 seconds in the ward earlier. I was alone. However, I'd purposely chosen a table enough for more than 2 persons, the reason of which needs no further explanation here, I suppose.

I tried to eat as slowly as I could and was beseechingly waiting for him to sit with me.

I began to panic when I saw him inch towards me. 

Nevertheless, it didn't take very long for a spasm of pain and disappointment to develop in me as he walked past me to join his colleagues.

I don't know how some guys are able to lure their victims into their shower stalls in the gym with just a blink. They make it sound as though it's a child's play. But for me, it never seems to work. Is this associated with Feng Shui? By any chance?

I'm only human

I'm sure all of us have heard stories of how people exploit their clients or customers for mercenary purposes. Lawyers. Pharmacists. Promoters. Businessmen. Insurance agents. And even hawkers. They have a variety of unscrupulous ways to manipulate their clients for their personal gains, legally, of course.

Nonetheless, if a doctor is involved in the aforementioned misconduct, he is deemed unethical and despicable. You're not even supposed to order uncessary investigations, say, for instance, obtaining the coagulation profile of a lady with fibroadenoma as a pre-operative assessment if you haven't found anything significant in her history that would suggest the presence of a bleeding tendency.

I've attended numerous lectures on ethics, so much so that, even speaking impolitely to a patient when I'm PMS-ing feels like a total breach of ethics.

Most patients are very understanding and kind. They have faith in my clinical acumen despite the fact that I'm just an obscure medical student. They contribute a lot to my learning experience and have deeply touched my heart in many ways. I wonder if I'll ever have the honour to repay their generosity.

Understanding human behaviour is prerequisite to developing a good rapport with a patient. The rule of thumb is to be polite, and smile genuinely. And never judge a patient. Whether he's an affluent businessman or a peasant with a minuscule monthly salary of RM 300, he can always tell if you're judging him. He can sense it in your nonverbal actions and will clamp up, hampering you from attaining a detailed history and diagnosis. And if this happens during your exam, you're as good as dead.

Unfortunately, there's a minority of patients who really really drive me crazy. It'll take forever to elaborate on how they irritate me. You can always sense it when they really want you to fuck off. After all, they're not the only ones with the ability to interpret nonverbal messages. By right, I'm not supposed to feel the least annoyed. Because medicine is a noble profession. Because, ethically and morally speaking, it's wrong. Because it makes me seem unfit for the profession.

But then, I'm only human.

All I can do is put on a bogus smile and hope my resentment goes unnoticed.

It's that gentleman with a bleeding peptic ulcer complicated with severe anemia and his wife that made me write this. I felt really upset and angry. They were really mean. I remember walking away without even saying thank you. There's only so much you could expect from a barely educated patient, I silently scoffed.

I feel apologetic and conscience-stricken now. But, I'm only human. I will learn to handle such a situation more professionally in time to come.

I went to the pool that afternoon. Swam 40 laps. Shopped to my heart's content in the evening and ended buying clothes even though my wardrobe is already overflowing with them.

This is probably unrelated. But, yes, I'm a rather messy person. I simply don't have the patience to fold my clothes. A major turn off I guess. Yet, it's not like I'm going to meet my potential boyfriend on blogosphere. :)