Why medicine is ruining my life:

I’ve noticed that things that should disturb me, don’t anymore. Watching a particularly gory episode of Game of Thrones or Dexter with my friends would have them cringing, but I can happily finish my meal whilst someone is being sliced open.

My skin, once as soft and smooth as a baby’s buttock, is now pock marked and riddled with spots – the aftermath of stress and midnight chocolate cravings.

My hair, once as bright and shiny as Britney Spears’ career in 1998, has become as drab, dull and dead as her career in 2007.

What’s wrong with me?

What’s wrong, is that I chose to study medicine. I know that I chose to do this profession because I wanted to make a difference. For the short time that I am on this planet, I wanted to change someone’s life for the better.

But on the journey to where I wanna be, I swear I’m going to be declared mentally unstable. I knew it was going to be stressful and hard but NOTHING in life can prepare you for this degree.

Take your forearm for example. The area from your wrist to your elbow. How much can there be to learn, right? Obviously you need to know about the bones, the muscles, the nervous supply and the arterial/venous supply. But what else? The cartilages, the physiology behind the muscles and blood supply, what happens to your arm when you injure your shoulder nerve? What happens when the pressure in your wrist builds up? Why does that happen? You’ve probably stopped reading by now and I don’t blame you.

I know it’s all gonna pay off some day, but I just hope I haven’t already been driven to the brink of insanity by then. But I’m sure if Britney can survive 2007 (never forget), then I can survive through another three years before I can finally start saving lives and making a difference.


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