There is a full moon out tonight, and on my way to my car after work, I paused to take a look at this silver orb suspending against the clouded cobalt blue sky, and wondered, "What do I want to let go off?"
Guess who got to bring her laptop to work today and get the chance to blog (with coffee in hand!) in the pantry? That's right. This fortuitious Boxing Day, we get to experience the luxury of the ethereal "work life balance" everyone keeps banging on about.
MIA is a commonly used term among house officers to call out those rascals who go 'missing in action' in the middle of a busy workday. It's often derogatory, but this time, it felt necessary for me. But why?
It feels like just yesterday that I was a clueless, clumsy, and chaotic first poster in surgery. Now, I'm in my third posting, and fresh medical graduates are addressing me as "senior". So, what's life like navigating the new posting?
In the month that has passed since I asked a rather heavy question, and went on to explain the events that brought me there, I have finally come to an acceptable answer as to why people choose to end their lives. From where cometh this epiphany?
What was meant to be the best, most accomplished day of the department turned into an absolute disaster, and I found myself feeling jealous of the house officer from Penang General Hospital that committed suicide last month. What on Earth went wrong?
After emerging from yet another prolonged pause, what do I finally resurface to talk about? The very surface through which the world sees me: my skin.
I've been in my second department of housemanship (internal medicine) for a week now, and I am frequently asked this question by my colleagues and friends is: Do you miss surgery? Well, I do.
Yes, again I struggle to find the words, but I try anyway to convey two important messages: I finished surgery, and thank you supporters!
A tragic and triumphant tale about a first poster in surgery who tagged for 53 days during housemanship. How, and why did this happen?