It’s Wednesday! Camp is getting interesting, the kids are getting a lot more open it seems and two of mine who were originally the troublemakers are now turning to be true delights I their own ways, they moan a lot and LOVE football but inside they’re good kids. Another one of them has a mind that runs at a thousand miles a minute, constantly asking questions about pretty much everything. He comes from a Christian background and often has all the answers, but I hope that this week God turns head knowledge into heart knowledge for the both of us. Another of my tent began his first nefyn romance, I totally did not see that coming, which just makes me feel so old and out of the loop. It also made me happy to see the quiet one engaging more in games and stuff, I love it when everyone gets stuck in!
Today’s post is quite medical in nature. I was walking with H, the marathon brain, and talking to him about medical school, lo, the obvious question: “what sort of doctor are you going to be?” And I replied, truthfully, I have no idea! So he asked, “do you want to become a surgeon?” And I again replied, truthfully, “no, it’s waaay too much pressure, I can do it on cadavers but that’s because we don’t have to put them back together in the same extent as they don’t have to eat and breathe at the end of it”
“Is it because you’re afraid you’ll get it wrong? Because if you mess up, you’ll kill someone and you’ll feel really bad and go home and sit on your sofa and huff”
I couldn’t put it better myself.
Obs and gynae
Rheumatology (the list goes on…)
The next little medical bit of today came in the form of a mysterious wrist. My friend Rachel hurt it whilst we played a horrendously unsafe curry feet challenge devised by members of the activities team. On the last days of term, we had a workshop on CPR and BLS. The reason being, according to our lecturers, the instant you tell someone you’re a medical student, there’s always this expectation
for you to, essentially, already be a doctor. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just a part of being a medical student. But it didn’t really hit until today when I was called upon to take a look at it, probably more as a joke but I sense there was some earnestness in te plea. It was a limb though and I’ve only done the thorax; why always limbs?! But this drove me to at least skim read my holiday copy of D&P vol. 1 (terrible sets of books, but the writer is our examiner…) and at least attempt to reassure her that it wasn’t broken. I felt a little odd in the sense that I find this really interesting, especially when you’re properly seeing the symptoms on a friend and are in a position to reach a diagnosis; times like these make me think I’ll enjoy being a doctor you know? I’ll let you know how accurate my first year + a few minutes of midnight skim reading diagnosis fared against that of our great NHS.
There was also a really cool sun set.
Word of the day: plethora