Waking up at 7.30am just so that I can have breakfast before heading over to uni, half groggy, at 8.30am to avoid the line of people queueing up to prick two fake, over-pricked, plastic arm covered with a layer of skin-coloured latex. Asking questions that no medical practitioner bothers to ask, before pumping the sphygnomanometre. Creating cases and medical histories that even I myself is unsure of the diagnosis just so that I can be bombarded by questions (following solid sequences) by my friends, and me asking them about a non-existent chest pain that radiates to their arm and jaw. Touching my friends' chests, percussing on their clavicles till they turn red, listening to their heartbeat (not as romantic as you expect it to be) and caressing their hands once in a while, or maybe look into their ears, telling them that they need to clean them.
Camping in Chatime after lunch, trying to drill 3 major systems into my brain, learning how to differentiate all four leukemias through PBS's, although nobody does this anymore. I can now tell you, in details, the ways you can die via faults in your heart, vessels, lungs and blood, but I have no idea how to help you if you choke on a peanut.
What break?
Though it's not all bad. I don't think I've learnt as much as I did these few weeks throughout the entire year. Knowing that I'm so close to completing my first year, out of five and a half, one step closer to wherever I will end up. It's quite satisfying, now that I can at least understand half (plus-minus) of the things my parents are talking about over dinner, and actually ask constructive questions, throwing in a medical term or two.
One more week to (the start of) the final straw for year-one.
I can't wait for 2/5.5.
cotton candy floating in the sky
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