It stands for British Summer Time, but I can tell you that first impressions about the pronounciation of the abbreviation as "BLSHT" are spot on. No disrespect to the Irish equivalent, IST, but "ILSHT" just doesn't have the same punch to it.
I just lost an hour of my life. Its 3.25 now and there is no way in hell I intended to stay up this late. Come to think of it, I don't know why I'm still up.. I guess I'm just pissed off. Well, whatever the reason is I might as well be productive and post something up for you good folk out there to read when bored.
Yesterday was my last day of school as a medical student. It was pretty low key, we all got together for drinks and only realized it midway through the night. Not much of a celebration, everyone had work to do the next morning so the get-together was a sober affair. It was nice though, we actually started busting out funny stories from random moments over the last six years and it kind of dawned on us that we were reaching an end point to this particular stage in our lives. Daunting? You bet. Exciting? Fo' sho'!
Plans, plans and bigger plans. Plans to move here, plans to work there, plans to do this and that. Plans to get together in Vegas. Plans to rip shit apart at least once a year. Have a reunion in ten years. Make money to buy more expensive videogame consoles and games.. larger tv screens, faster computers, flashier cars. Make it big. Be happy with being comfortable. Hit the jackpot and retire at the age of 45. Work like a dog until you're 65. Own a yacht someday and sail around the world. Go back home at some point. Help out, give back to the community. Be greedy, sit on a pile of money. Invest. Blow a fortune. Start a business and quit medicine. Love your field of work and do it until you're forced to retire. Teach when you're done. Teach while you're still working. Give it all up and teach. Save a life. Save a few lives. Let grieving relatives know that you've done all you can. Give up your life to become a brain surgeon. Work as a GP in a small town with a nine to five. Get into research. Become an international playboy. Settle down and start a family. Sing when you're winning. Sing when you're losing. Look back on it all and know that you've enjoyed every minute of it. No regrets.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Tick Tock, Clarice..
The countdown is well and truly on. Finals are approaching fast and we're all scrambling to get our shit together. Some of us have to scramble harder than most, but that's just the price you pay for achieving a semblance of (im)balance to your life during med school. You take a few years easy and the next thing you know you're wishing you had paid just a little bit more attention in that biochemistry class four years ago. And I so would've too had I not slept in that morning. Hmph.
Weather's been all grey and nasty for the last couple of days. I was walking home from the library yesterday and it started to piss.. just a fine drizzle that's actually more annoying than proper, big raindrops. As I walked down in front of the impressive main entrance to Trinity College just at the top of Dame Street, I started noticing a highly synchronized motion being carried out by all the Irish girls on the street. Each and every one seemed to be wearing a hooded jacket and underneath it a sweater with a hood. As the first signs of drizzle appeared, every lady on the street reached backwards to tuck her hair into the first hood and pull it over, followed by a second motion of pulling the second hood over the first one. Simultaneously. I was pretty damn impressed, I must say.. and not only by the atomic clock-like precision of the action, but by the inherent preparedness they all had for an eventuality such as rain occuring. Ahh, the beauty of human behavioural conditioning.
I've been mulling over my future as of late.. it seems that time is running out on my existence as a student, and I find myself wondering how much I'll really miss all of this. Sure, you want to graduate and start making some of your own money sooner or later, but something tells me that this kind of carefree life that I lead right now is probably my sole remaining link with childhood. In 3 months that link is going to be completely severed. The inner child will have finally given up the fight.. he will have dissolved and gotten promptly excreted in my faeces.
Well damnit, I won't stand for it. That kid has been bouncing around in there for more than two decades now and he'll get the send off that he rightly deserves. In true Hunter S. Thompson style I will actually fire my inner child from a cannon on top of a 153m tall tower to the tune of "Mr. Tambourine Man". Its going to be a great spectacle, and everyone's invited.
The Sopranos are back! Just watched the first episode of the new season and It made me realize how much I've missed that show. Racketeering.. now THERE'S a great career path!
And finally, in the words of an infamous doctor, "I do wish we could chat longer, but I'm having an old friend for dinner. Bye."
Weather's been all grey and nasty for the last couple of days. I was walking home from the library yesterday and it started to piss.. just a fine drizzle that's actually more annoying than proper, big raindrops. As I walked down in front of the impressive main entrance to Trinity College just at the top of Dame Street, I started noticing a highly synchronized motion being carried out by all the Irish girls on the street. Each and every one seemed to be wearing a hooded jacket and underneath it a sweater with a hood. As the first signs of drizzle appeared, every lady on the street reached backwards to tuck her hair into the first hood and pull it over, followed by a second motion of pulling the second hood over the first one. Simultaneously. I was pretty damn impressed, I must say.. and not only by the atomic clock-like precision of the action, but by the inherent preparedness they all had for an eventuality such as rain occuring. Ahh, the beauty of human behavioural conditioning.
I've been mulling over my future as of late.. it seems that time is running out on my existence as a student, and I find myself wondering how much I'll really miss all of this. Sure, you want to graduate and start making some of your own money sooner or later, but something tells me that this kind of carefree life that I lead right now is probably my sole remaining link with childhood. In 3 months that link is going to be completely severed. The inner child will have finally given up the fight.. he will have dissolved and gotten promptly excreted in my faeces.
Well damnit, I won't stand for it. That kid has been bouncing around in there for more than two decades now and he'll get the send off that he rightly deserves. In true Hunter S. Thompson style I will actually fire my inner child from a cannon on top of a 153m tall tower to the tune of "Mr. Tambourine Man". Its going to be a great spectacle, and everyone's invited.
The Sopranos are back! Just watched the first episode of the new season and It made me realize how much I've missed that show. Racketeering.. now THERE'S a great career path!
And finally, in the words of an infamous doctor, "I do wish we could chat longer, but I'm having an old friend for dinner. Bye."
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Asia, burdel del mundo
Éste es el título del libro escrito por Zigor Aldama, periodista, al cual conocí por casualidad en una furgoneta que iba disparada por carreteras mal asfaltadas en Tailandia, dirección a un pueblo de cuyo nombre no puedo (no, no es que no quiera) acordarme.
Íbamos a ver el mercado flotante.
Sorprende conocer a alguien como Zigor, el cual con tan solo 25 años había hecho tantas cosas: viajar por Asia durante 6 años, vivir en China, ser corresponsal de algunos de los periódicos más importantes del país, escribir un libro, presentar programas en TV y radio y tener tiempo para ser buena gente...
Recuerdo haber hablado de la prostitución en Asia con él en un restaurante japonés en Bangkok, del que recuerdo el "flan" salado que me pusieron, puagggg...
Me habló de su libro y decidí comprármelo y opinar por mi mismo. Así hice, me lo enviaron a casa de mis padres en Madrid sin nigún gasto de envío y cuando llegué de visitilla me lo devoré en un día. No suelo ventilarme libros en un solo día a no ser que me tengan muuuy enganchados. Supongo que con eso lo digo todo. Ami mami también le gustó, aunque soltó algún comentario del tipo: "Ése pobre chico, en los lugares que se mete... ¡Que miedo!"
No quiero contar más del libro, aquí dejo un link a la editorial a la que lo podéis pedir:
Editorial Elea, son 16 euros que me parecieron muy bien invertidos.
Por cierto, Zigor, he visto que pone 26 años en tu página, felicidades.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Juro que no he dejado esto...
Lo que pasa es que sigo vagabundeando sin un hogar definitivo, con lo cual, sin Internet.
Hemos encontrado una maravillosa casa en el centro y bastante barata para los precios de aquí, pero en la agencia nos han dicho que esperemos un mes hasta que la arreglen.
Les hemos tenido que dar 270 pounds como pago por los servicios prestados y para que comprueben las referencias y tal. Ha pasado un mes en el que hemos tenido que buscarnos la vida, mis compis y yo, hasta que nos dieran la casa, y ahora nos dicen que el Garantor (avalista) que les dimos no vale. Con lo cual nos dejan sin casa, sin 270 pounds, con un mes desperdiciado sin buscar nada y con un odio visceral hacia todo tipo de agencias ya sean de trabajo temporal o inmobiliaria.
Todo esto por no decirnos al principio: “No os queremos dar la casa, sucios extranjeros”. Con lo cual nos habrían ahorrado el mes de espera y los honorarios por no hacer nada, el odio seguiría, pero ya se nos habría pasado…
Sin hablar de las situaciones “como el pez que se muerde la cola”, eso lo noté cuando vine aquí por primera vez: si no tienes casa con contrato, no te hacen una cuenta de banco, si no tienes una cuenta de banco no te alquilan una casa, si no tienes experiencia no trabajas, si nadie te contrata, ¿cómo pollas vas a coger experiencia? Grrrrrrrrr…
No se la de situaciones de “pez que se muerde la cola” me he encontrado, pero me vienen unas cuantas a la cabeza.
Así que todo esto más alguna cosilla más han logrado que tenga las partes bajas mas bien irritadas. He decidido aguantar unos meses más hasta que mi cuenta de banco pese un poquito y poderdecidir mi próximo movimiento. Mi intención es esperar si mi compañía va a abrir en Japón pronto y si me van a enviar allí igual que cuando me enviaron a Canadá. La diferencia es que en Japón pediría quedarme más tiempo. Haciendo castin…, estoo…entrevistas a lindas japonesitas ;P
Si no tiene pinta de que la oficina en Japón salga adelante en poco tiempo, lo dejo, me voy a España un par de meses a hacerme el hígado paté a base de manjares made in mi madre, y levanto el vuelo pasado este tiempo hacia el sol naciente.
Bueno, la verdad es que ahora mismo hay algo más que me puede retener por estos lares, pero, como decía el cronista de Conan: “…esa es otra historia”
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Mama Said Knock You Out!
I'm doing anaesthesia at the moment. I had my biases and preconceptions before the week started but I've got to say that the experience has changed my views on the subspeciality. To us, the medical students, the anaesthetist is the guy sitting on a stool in the operating theater doing a crossword puzzle and occasionally writing down a few things. The surgeon would ask for more sedation, an infusion bag would need to be changed, an antibiotic would need to be pumped into a vein or necessary measures would be needed to control an escalating heart rate or a decrease in blood pressure.. and then its right back to 5 DOWN: "a river in egypt - 4 letters".
To the student, the surgeon is "the man/woman" (gotta be PC these days).. the anaesthetist is simply backup staff, much like the scrub nurses. Now I don't mean that to be derogatory in any way, because without the backup staff the surgeon would just be an idiot standing around in an empty theater holding a scalpel over an awake patient who's screaming and bleeding to death. Unfortunately, power and authority are seductive.. and since the surgeon practically runs the OR, us little ones (within the heirarchy) can't help but compare everyone else in that room to "THE MAN". And so the anaesthetist is just that quite chap in the corner whom we don't really think we can learn much from.
Big mistake. You'd be surprised by the amount of knowledge those doctors have. They drill you on your physiology and pharmacology, your drug interactions and side effects.. things that you thought no one could possible recall off-hand and at such a fast pace. Drug measurements and efficacys, the ability to tailor the choice of drug for each highly individual situation.. they really need to know everything about everything because what they do involves.. EVERYTHING. Not just one part of the body, but every single tissue, every single cell and every single chemical within those cells.
What I found truly intriguing was the prep room, a little room attached to the operating theater where the anaesthetist reigns supreme. They wheel the patient in as a fully conscious human being, chatting away.. either allaying their fears of the impending surgery or in good spirits with a positive outlook on the outcome of the next few hours. Next thing you know, little old lady O'Brien is counting backwards from 10 and she stops at around 7.. and then she's dead. Well, sort of. She has a machine breathing for her, you can cut her open and she wouldn't feel a thing. She gets picked up and placed onto the operating table, people are prodding and poking at her and she just becomes..... work. That's what really struck me the most, how the anaesthetists can be talking away to the patient, and then the next thing you know that person is pretty much gone for a few hours. I just found it all a bit disconcerting at first.
Anyway, still doesn't change my opinion about ruling out anaesthesia as a future career path, but it sure does change the level of respect which I have for the job. Still though, if I were in that field of medicine then I just would NOT be able to restrain myself from having that LL Cool J song blaring in the background before every patient is sedated. Bad practice? Maybe.
Don't call it a comeback, I been here for years.. I'm gonna knock you out!
To the student, the surgeon is "the man/woman" (gotta be PC these days).. the anaesthetist is simply backup staff, much like the scrub nurses. Now I don't mean that to be derogatory in any way, because without the backup staff the surgeon would just be an idiot standing around in an empty theater holding a scalpel over an awake patient who's screaming and bleeding to death. Unfortunately, power and authority are seductive.. and since the surgeon practically runs the OR, us little ones (within the heirarchy) can't help but compare everyone else in that room to "THE MAN". And so the anaesthetist is just that quite chap in the corner whom we don't really think we can learn much from.
Big mistake. You'd be surprised by the amount of knowledge those doctors have. They drill you on your physiology and pharmacology, your drug interactions and side effects.. things that you thought no one could possible recall off-hand and at such a fast pace. Drug measurements and efficacys, the ability to tailor the choice of drug for each highly individual situation.. they really need to know everything about everything because what they do involves.. EVERYTHING. Not just one part of the body, but every single tissue, every single cell and every single chemical within those cells.
What I found truly intriguing was the prep room, a little room attached to the operating theater where the anaesthetist reigns supreme. They wheel the patient in as a fully conscious human being, chatting away.. either allaying their fears of the impending surgery or in good spirits with a positive outlook on the outcome of the next few hours. Next thing you know, little old lady O'Brien is counting backwards from 10 and she stops at around 7.. and then she's dead. Well, sort of. She has a machine breathing for her, you can cut her open and she wouldn't feel a thing. She gets picked up and placed onto the operating table, people are prodding and poking at her and she just becomes..... work. That's what really struck me the most, how the anaesthetists can be talking away to the patient, and then the next thing you know that person is pretty much gone for a few hours. I just found it all a bit disconcerting at first.
Anyway, still doesn't change my opinion about ruling out anaesthesia as a future career path, but it sure does change the level of respect which I have for the job. Still though, if I were in that field of medicine then I just would NOT be able to restrain myself from having that LL Cool J song blaring in the background before every patient is sedated. Bad practice? Maybe.
Don't call it a comeback, I been here for years.. I'm gonna knock you out!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
29 años y sigo vivo...
Por fin tengo 29.
Ayer fue mi cumpleaños, cumplí 29 añitos muy bien conservados.
Y os preguntaréis, ¿por qué el imbécil éste se alegra? Pues porque desde hace muchos años tengo la estúpida obsesión de pensar que me iba a morir a los 28…Muy poca gente sabe de esta obsesión mía, pero para los y las que lo sepan: ¡Sigo vivo!
Hice una fiestecita en casa, que no es mi casa sino la de unos amigos, y se convirtió en un fiestón con gente por todos lados a los que no conocía y con montones de amigos y amigas de mi vida en UK.
Llegó un momento en el que andar por la casa resultaba imposible. Es cuando decidimos mover a toda la gente a la calle e intentar buscar una discoteca que nos admitiera a todos y todas un miércoles a la 1 ó las 2 de la noche. Ni que decir tiene que para que todo el mundo se movilizara hicieron falta como 40 minutos.
Fue una noche muuuy divertida y pasaron cosas bastante curiosas. He de decir que, pese a algunos momentitos de estrés, mi noche tuvo de todo un poco.
Había gente de bastantes nacionalidades, las que recuerdo son: española (cómo no), italiana, francesa, nueva celandesa, portuguesa, brasileña, croata, inglesa, irlandesa, china, húngara y alguna que me dejo en la memoria…
He llegado a casa a horas innobles y me he tenido que poner a hacer la maleta porque hoy vuelo a España y encima he venido al curro a echar unas horillas. Por supuesto he llegado tarde, pero he llegado, a la oficina. No como un compi que vino a la fiesta y al que no logro ver por aquí por más que le busco ;P
Dentro de unas horitas me voy al aeropuerto con destino a Madrid, yupiii.
Monday, February 13, 2006
A Medical Discovery
This post here is dedicated to my better half.. thanks for the assistance with the research, sweetness.
I was thinking of actually publishing this in a medical journal, but I thought I'd run it by you guys first.
I believe that females have an undiscovered anatomical diversion. Yes, that's right. Undiscovered. What they swallow is not immediately destined to head into the stomach, instead there is an alternative route downwards.
You see, depending on the type of food ingested, tiny little female follicles in a woman's gullet automatically divert the food either towards the stomach (for sustenance), or towards the uterus (for comfort). Let me explain with an example:
Specimen A: a salad (i'm assuming that's what chicks eat)
Specimen B: chocolate
Now, specimen A gets ingested and the esophagus takes it directly down into the stomach where it is digested and then sent to the small bowel, where all those good nutrients are absorbed. It then moves to the large bowel and is eventually excreted a day or two down the line.
Specimen B, on the other hand, is swallowed but is then pushed into a special passage (which I've decided to call the mosophagus, just to make things easier) and makes its way down and into the uterus. From there it coats the inside lining of the uterus, resulting in the release of feel-good hormones that generate an overall feeling of pleasure, relief and contentedness.
I can see you squirming in your chairs, wondering how I made such an amazing discovery. Well, you see, it all came about the other day when we went to this place to have some hot chocolate. Apparently they served it in the form of melted chocolate in a mug.. like someone had taken a chocolate bar and liquified it. I found this all pretty interesting (in a very uninterested, "heh" sort of way) while she was just absolutely in love with it. Had a few spoonfuls and it tasted alright I guess, so that's when I started thinking about it.
You see, being that I've got a Y chromosome, I never developed a mosophagus (and subsequently, a uterus) therefore there's only one place that chocolate could go.. into my stomach. In there its all acid, waiting for a burger or meat of some sort.. and instead I deliver some melted chocolate. You can imagine how unimpressed my stomach is.
Her uterus, however, is actually physically HUGGED by the chocolate coming through the mosophagus, and the resultant hormone release delivers feelings of happiness that are much appreciated by her brain.
By the time you've finished reading this I will have finalized my flight and hotel bookings to Stockholm. Time to get working on that acceptance speech!
I was thinking of actually publishing this in a medical journal, but I thought I'd run it by you guys first.
I believe that females have an undiscovered anatomical diversion. Yes, that's right. Undiscovered. What they swallow is not immediately destined to head into the stomach, instead there is an alternative route downwards.
You see, depending on the type of food ingested, tiny little female follicles in a woman's gullet automatically divert the food either towards the stomach (for sustenance), or towards the uterus (for comfort). Let me explain with an example:
Specimen A: a salad (i'm assuming that's what chicks eat)
Specimen B: chocolate
Now, specimen A gets ingested and the esophagus takes it directly down into the stomach where it is digested and then sent to the small bowel, where all those good nutrients are absorbed. It then moves to the large bowel and is eventually excreted a day or two down the line.
Specimen B, on the other hand, is swallowed but is then pushed into a special passage (which I've decided to call the mosophagus, just to make things easier) and makes its way down and into the uterus. From there it coats the inside lining of the uterus, resulting in the release of feel-good hormones that generate an overall feeling of pleasure, relief and contentedness.
I can see you squirming in your chairs, wondering how I made such an amazing discovery. Well, you see, it all came about the other day when we went to this place to have some hot chocolate. Apparently they served it in the form of melted chocolate in a mug.. like someone had taken a chocolate bar and liquified it. I found this all pretty interesting (in a very uninterested, "heh" sort of way) while she was just absolutely in love with it. Had a few spoonfuls and it tasted alright I guess, so that's when I started thinking about it.
You see, being that I've got a Y chromosome, I never developed a mosophagus (and subsequently, a uterus) therefore there's only one place that chocolate could go.. into my stomach. In there its all acid, waiting for a burger or meat of some sort.. and instead I deliver some melted chocolate. You can imagine how unimpressed my stomach is.
Her uterus, however, is actually physically HUGGED by the chocolate coming through the mosophagus, and the resultant hormone release delivers feelings of happiness that are much appreciated by her brain.
By the time you've finished reading this I will have finalized my flight and hotel bookings to Stockholm. Time to get working on that acceptance speech!
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