Study effects

I have a problem. I'm addicted to fresh cilantro. So much so, that I've begun garnishing everything I eat, short of my oatmeal....to the point where I've started eating eggs for breakfast instead of oatmeal so I can have cilantro. And ohmigod I think I need to keep earplugs in until I write my exams because seriously, if I turn my head the wrong way some small miniscule detail that could be vital to answering a question just might fall out. And did you know that cilantro goes with everything?

This is the kind of spaced out crackhead thinking that results from barely leaving a 6x6 cell for the last 4 days straight. I wonder what I'll sound like in 4 more days.....

A night on the town

Finally, some photos of last night's party before we went out (it was the evening portion of Sandblast - the biggest party of the semester).


oops I guess some of us forgot to put our guns up....
Charlie's Angels/crazy med students?

Path tourette's

Part of our pathology course involves a lab 3 days a week, in which we present slides of different diseased states of organs and tissues. With every slide, there are specific details to look for, clinical signs and symptoms that a patient is likely to present with, and the mechanism by which this disease develops. I’ve noticed throughout medical school, that whenever we’re given slides/pictures to recognize, if they can be deduced to resembling some sort of food, it’s supposed to help us remember. But, it has also bred a med school syndrome cleverly coined by a fellow group member as “path tourette’s”. Now, when we see certain slides or read key points that may refer to a visual of the disease, instead of properly identifying the problem or organism causing the disease, some of us begin to inappropriately blurt out the food item instead. So yesterday's microbiology lab went a little like this:
Key words from clinical description: HIV patient, bibasilar crackles, with diffuse interstitial infiltrate.
My answer: Cotton candy! Cotton candy!
Appropriate answer: Pneumocystis jirovecki

That’s what I meant to say, but it was the path tourette’s that made me blurt out the first response (the interstitial infliltrate in the lung resulting from infection with this fungus apparently looks like pink cotton candy).

Just as only a mother can comprehend what her 2 year old child is saying, we all understand each other when one of us gets a tic every now and then.

1 more reason to train

This past semester a friend of mine has been teaching me a few skills on the punching bag - mostly just proper techniques for different punches and kicks, but I've also learned a few self defense moves. I’ve really enjoyed it for more than just the sheer pleasure I get out of contact sport. It has also improved my balance, flexibility and anaerobic endurance. I can definitely say that once I’m back in Canada/US I would be interested in taking some martial arts classes. The reason why I’m writing about this, is because I never want to have to depend on a man to protect me from physical danger, and that in the event that something were to happen, I want to feel confident that I could defend myself. Any male that can’t control his physical aggression in conveying negative emotions to a female, needs the shit kicked out him until his guts herniate out of his rectum (all the better if its by the female he bullied in the first place).

Death of the toaster oven.

It occurred to me that you were all well overdue for a serving of CHEESE. Click here if you missed the first side of cheese before reading onward.

It happened just the other day,
your red light would not go on.
And no matter how well I took care of you,
I never thought that you’d be gone.

I remember all the times we had,
the chicken, the veggies, the roasts.
And to think that you were ruined for me,
with synthetic food and toast.

Oh the agony I’ll feel once more,
to return to the plain black pan.
My zest for creation was lost with you,
my palate will again be bland.

I know you left before your time,
with so much more to bake.
Although I’ll have to admit,
You never could cook steak.

I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.
All the inspiration you brought.
I wish I was there for your untimely demise,
‘till the death I would’ve fought.

La(m)b

One of the classes we have this semester is advanced clinical skills, in which we are beginning to learn all of the different standard physical examinations. We’re divided into groups of 7 people, and we crowd into a tiny cubicle which has an ‘examining table’. And so twice a week we have lab sessions in which we poke and prod each other, trying to train our crude senses. As the labs have progressed, we’ve targeted people for their ‘special-ness’ to practice the clinical exams we’ve learned. We’ve been lucky to have a person with an regularly irregular pulse rhythm, as well as some interesting heart sounds (bradycardia with skipped beats). Apparently my pupils are large which has allowed my untrained group members to actually follow vessels around in my eyes (I’ve only been blinded a few times), and the older guy in our group is always eager to whip off his shirt whenever required. The other component is properly reporting our findings….this was the best one I’ve heard so far:
“There is evidence of nasal hair providing patient protection”…..lol, even the tutor laughed.

Tonight I got to visit the University Club, which is exclusively reserved for faculty and staff of SGU (it helps to know the right people). The restaurant was beautiful, and the food was phenomenal. The chef is actually the husband of our microbiology professor (so you know that the proper precautions are taken in food preparation). Of course after last week's dinner, I couldn’t help but indulge in perfectly seared lamb.

Now this is decadance

My green-eyed monster

Living with females is not always easy (not for the obvious reasons). This semester I live with two pint-sized Asians, who both probably have an easier time clothes shopping in children’s stores. So every now and then I am compelled to curse my ancestral nomad genetics (my legs could walk thousands of miles with what they store), and my Serbian fighting-nation genes (I can build muscle faster than some guys I know).
Consciously it doesn’t bother me, as most of the time I feel content with my shape. My fitness goals have evolved from just numbers and percentages, to overall feelings and challenges to improve strength, flexibility, and endurance. I have also become increasingly aware (anal) of what I put into my body to attain the healthiest version of myself. Generally I love fresh, healthy food and finding new ways to combine them together.

So it’s frustrating for me to watch these two tiny girls eat these deliciously addictive foods such as cookies, chocolate, candy, chips, white rice, noodles, anything fried, etc on a daily basis because:
a) I know from experience that as soon as I begin to eat the refined carbs and processed foods my metabolism goes into turtle speed, my sugar tolerance goes way up, and chemically I am imbalanced which affects my energy levels and outward perceptions (Gollum thoughts as I like to call them).
b) Omigod, do you know some of the havoc this stuff wreaks on your organs and tissues? Ack! Doesn’t anyone think about their arteries, bone density, pancreas, or liver???
c) I really have to bust my ass in the gym (99% of the time I absolutely love), but on the days I have to kick my own butt out the door I wish I could temporarily de-couple my electron transport chain (sorry that was a nerdy biochem comment on my part).

So when I start behaving as many females do (comparing themselves to everything else!) I remind myself that my body is strong and healthy, I feel happy, and I’ve got some good things to look forward to – who else can brag their mommy has a 6-pack?

My hero

The dorms that we live in are 100% concrete. What this means is that every time someone in the next room, or directly above lazily drags out their chair, or walks around in say – heels, 99% of the time, you can hear it….and it’s annoying. So yesterday, while studying, there was a knock on the door. The voice was that of a nice young gentleman, kindly requesting the girl who wears heels all the time to please wear flip-flops in the dorm, as he and his roommates are having a hard time concentrating from all the noise. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! Thank you to the guy who lives below us, you are my hero.

***if you are wondering why I didn’t make a similar request I do not have the time nor understanding to explain the complicated sensitivity of how some females perceive things from other females, and the possible ramifications that could have resulted.

Untitled

Every now and then, a week will go by, and I have no stories or observations – basically nothing interesting to write about. Classes are going well, but exhaustingly busy. I love what we’re learning, even though some of it is painful to sit through. So when I get a bit of writer’s block, or do not have a fluffy reflection I start to write in stupid. I have quite a collection of just odd musings that could be referred to as the “uncut, uncensored, and fundamentally strange to read about”. The following post is one of those moments.

How to make Mondays more enjoyable.

The beginning of the week. The dread of all the work that lies in front of you. It’s not so much the work I dread, it’s the prospect of having to sit in class and lab for hours on end. So how do you make my Mondays more enjoyable? You pick a day later on in the week and put the most unenjoyable thing you can think of on that day. Eventually, if you psych yourself out enough for the dreaded day you can start experiencing psychosomatic tendendies – ie stomach cramps (I haven’t psyched myself out that much about it – but its possible). So every Thursday I dread getting up, putting on my running shoes and going outside under the hot beating sun. Thursday are sprinting days – not jogging, or running, but flat out timed sprints. Although the self inflicted pain usually only takes 20 min. to complete, it is often followed by profuse sweating, extreme shortness of breath (the one with exaggerated sounds), and sometimes nausea, dizziness, and cramping (depending on how hot it is). Anyways, mid-semester the Thursday dread starts to wear off as the sprinting becomes more routine, so to keep the positive outlook for Mondays, I change to hill sprints, which have always carried me through till the end of the semester.Unfotunately since this post, I had to switch sprinting to Tuesdays….so Mondays suck even more now.

If you think that post was bad, you’re lucky I didn’t put the one up describing the grossness of the casein protein I was taking last semester.

Anyways, last night a group of us were treated to the ‘popular vegetarian restaurant’ which was very nice and flavourful. But, as a passionate carnivore (although I haven't had red meat since I've been down here) I thought it was way overhyped – somehow a dish of curried chickpeas just doesn’t have the same effect as a perfectly seared rack of lamb.

And yes, the amount of studying we do makes us only a little crazy.

My first blood

On Friday night I was asked to help out with health fair training. I instructed people at the glucose testing station, but there were stations on how to take blood pressure, do breast exams, eye and ear tests, and phlebotomy (and no, it has nothing to do with a lobotomy). So, after the people began to pan out, I decided to go take a crash course in drawing blood. I first practiced on a dummy arm which seemed easy enough (they even had fake blood that would fill the tube if you did it correctly). Then two of my pathology group members generously offered their veins to me (I made a mental note to bake them something). The first thought that came to mind was how I wished I could somehow practice on myself instead of having to hurt someone else. But then I remembered how I cannot stand seeing my own blood (I figured this out after accidentally dropping a knife onto my foot, and saw my blood pooling on the floor). So…..I tied the tourniquet onto my first volunteer, and crudely palpated for her veins…..they felt a lot deeper than my veins…..oh well, I guess the needle will have to go a little deeper. I drew a pen line over where I thought it was…..swabbed the area…..then proceeded to insert the needle. Apparently I didn’t go deep enough. Nothing - I didn’t even get her to bleed from the needle pick (damn – I was hoping to be a ‘one stick wonder’). I didn’t have it in my heart to stab her again (she’s such a happy person). The next set of veins offered to me were definitely more attractive….I could work with these. The first time (yes I’m afraid to say I had to stick her twice), I uncapped the 21-gauge needle and slowly stuck it into her arm (you’re not supposed to be slow about it because it will hurt more). Again, I was unsuccessful – at least she bled a little from where I had put the needle in. Then, they brought me over a butterfly needle – which is apparently smaller, easier to learn on, and hurts less (geez people, why do we have to make things painfully difficult!). Finally, on my third try I almost got everything right. I successfully penetrated the vein and drew my first blood. Unfortunately, I got so excited about finally getting some, I prematurely withdrew the needle before I undid the tourniquet. Oops.