Thursday, August 25, 2005


Some newspapers are more generous than others.

I was on call for the past 24 hrs. (Like it’s a new thing..pfft) . Theatre Sister Hillary let out some shocking facts leaving me still shocked-ish, hovering still over the facts, while digesting it slowly. It made me wonder what else could be going on around me that I am yet to discover.

At 10 pm the surgeon booked a 4 year old for appendisectomy. A 4 year old anaesthesia is out of my depth anaesthesia. I wouldn’t want to be pissing in my pants at midnight if anything happens, so I rang the consultant on call.

He was out of breath at the other end and I felt sorry for making him run to the phone. To my dismay, he’s not available for the next hour. Which is strange because, if you’re on call, you should be available for the juniors should they need help. Ideally.

It had to be an hour then, I said without thinking beyond, over, above or under unlike Hillary. So we did the gynae case in the meantime. In theatre, I updated Sister Hillary.

An hour? She looked like she knew it all too well.

You know Naj, he is actually doing a rompy pompy because John heard that he's meeting this woman at seven.

Nooo. Can’t be, he’s on call Hill, and his wife is in Egypt, I said.

Naj there’s a lot you don’t know yet and a wife in Egypt does not stop any man doing a rompy pompy. She nodded wisely giving me a wise woman glance.

Rompy pompy? Shocked beyond comprehension.

1. He’s panting when he answered the phone and it was a mobile number.
2. He lives 2 minutes away, why does he need an hour?

Rompetty pompetty ..rompy pompy.


In the coffee room John and Stewart (ODAs) were on about Liverpool football team, and I got hold of The Sun ignoring them two, at least they’re off my back for a while.

Apart from the girl, something on health caught my attention. What being a doctor and all.

iPoditis ( Musicalis thunderosus)- deafness caused by pumping up the volume on your musical gizmo.

Laptop flop (Testicularis Volcanis)-Infertility caused by laptop computers overheating the testicles, damaging sperm. Men naturally sit with their legs apart to keep the testicles cool, but men with lap tops keep their legs together increasing body heat around genitals.

Text thumb (Vodafonicus tenderitis)- Painful swollen thumbs caused by excessive texting.

Remote obesity (Couchicus Slouchicus)- Weight problems linked to hours in front of the TV with only the remote control for exercise. Made worse by tendency to snack on junk.

Xbox back (Joysticus twingeicus)- Lower backpain triggered by slouching over an xbox or Playstation game.

You have been warned. Take care of yourself and your gadgets.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Happy BloggerBorn Day!

A year ago today, I started railroading a tunnel through some intimidating internet technology, weaving jumble of words in attempt to etch the apparent, the hidden, the obvious, the metaphors, the euphemisms and sometimes just plain words onto a canvas which I later auspiciously called BluEScrubs.

I wanted somewhere to be like a play ground, somewhere I could huff and puff without making a complete currypuff/karipaps out of it. And it has been just that.

Sometimes I do get currypuffs from certain people, or certain someone. But I am me, I don’t know how to be anybody else. If someone says be like this and that, then only I will treat you right, I will love you with all my heart, then honey, you’re probably just messing around. You don’t even know if you love me.

What I’d do then is eat the currypuffs, swallow it, and keep my fingers crossed that the next time they won’t be so dry so painful. No woman likes it like that.

Happy BloggerBorn Day BlueEScrubs.

p/s: Now if you'd excuse me, some people need to get hammered to sleep.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Who Drives What

Somebody tailgated me on the way to work. Stupid git. I mean it’s a bloody double lane and all he had to do was pissed me off with cocky chicanery trying to kiss my Megane ass in his red Mini Cooper- with white chevron on the front somemore. Damn you! I like the car and the driver was almost Crespo (Chelsea) cross Damien Bodie like.Damn!

On the radio, Hirsty daily dose was all about this theory on what kind of people drive which cars. According to DJ Hirsty, in his randomised chaotic theory, fit birds drive Renault Clio and minging birds tend to drive cars like Mini Cooper. Number of times he was disappointed to see a lovely Mini Cooper whizzed past with an ugly looking bag behind the wheel was phenomenal.

And I agree with Hirsty!

On the other hand, with Renault Clio, the proportion of fit women driving the not so posh car is higher than the not so fit ones. So he’s doing a survey by making people ringing into the studio, and the whole thing was just hilarious. I just wonder though, is it the Renault generally that attracts fit birds or the Clio? Heheheheh.

One way of explaining it is that minging fat birds need a better looking car so it’ll take pressure off them when heads turn their way. It’s a clever compensation mechanism or survival of the fittest, call it whatever you want. The fit ones though are happy with just a reliable car like Renault Clio or Megane *cough* for that matter, as they have nobody to make any statement to or anything to justify.

Blokes, in my limited observation; the fit ones tend to drive an Audi. Just look at an Audi A3 and you’ll see 9 out of 10, the driver will be fit, sporting shades looking, extra chill, even if it’s not so sunny. For example that plastic surgeon SHO, that anaesthetic SHO, that ICU registrar, my friend’s husband, ok better stop there.

Beware of Beemers! They are married!!!!

Yes, yes, tua tua also kena marah.

The Same Stubby Man

Before they gone bonkers.

The other day Dr.Vagina and Dr.Bowel both senior house officers in their own world, dragged me out for mid week chill out session. I have been working flat out both weekends and have been slacking with keeping in touch with the ‘real world’.

Buzz off to them meant ‘Come drag Naj out of her sweatpants and PowerPuff baby tee covered hot chocolate stains and see if she has enough energy to Belly Bananza’. The magic word was Thai food, so they won.

Over Thai green curry Dr.Vagina’s Sony Ericsson kept beeping an incoming message which sounded very much like mine. So apart from getting disappointed every time it beeped, I was also annoyed with that cheesy grin he kept doing. Dr. Bowel and I busy bodied trying to dig out who sent what to him. We didn’t think he was that popular you see.

He showed us in the end. Let’s put it this way, he'd be silly to think he'll win against a woman who is a zorro with needles of all shapes and sizes and another who slashes guts for a living.

It reads:
‘Of course, me against the wall and you take me from behind. Hurry please’ –A

Dr. Bowel’s jaw dropped to the table. Who who who???

Just one of the nurses on B6 he said as a matter of factly while rising eyebrows of do-you-want-the –rest-of –that-rice towards me.

Dr.Bowel grunted about the unfair world at work. The male doctors get all the fun loving attention and us female ones get all the mardiness from the hormone drenched menopausing ones. Which is true but probably more so on the wards.

Negating the statement, I was compelled to tell them about what happened to me the day before my birthday this year which really made me think twice before smiling to any male NHS staff. Everybody is after one thing.

That day in the operating room 3, I was finishing off an orthopaedic case. As usual the radiographer, approached me for my signature for the x-ray form as I was the only doctor in the room not scrubbed up. I signed, dated it, and fill in the bit that says bleep number.

That’s a nice number he said. Yes it is I said not thinking much about it. You know, he said, I have seen you around a lot. Half surprised and half flattered, I replied Oh yes, I don’t think I have seen much of you, which was rude I thought but true. I barely notice people when they are in scrubs and not one of these two people. My ODA and my Consultant.

Can I bleep you sometime? He blurted out. I was perplexed as my loser radar started beeping feintly but I was being professional and said yes of course, if you have to.

Mistake no.1.
I swear he was smiling from ear to ear.

So I got home, was about to jump into the bath when the bleep went. It was Chris asking for the pin code for the on call room. Tried again to get into the bath, a beeping again. Did say to Chris that bleep again if the number doesn’t work because I hardly used the on call room and my memory is not what I would rely on half of the time. Thought it was him again you see.

It was the radiographer. Now clearly it was just a social call. I was well annoyed and surprisingly it didn’t get to him.

The silence didn’t make him uncomfortable at all and he asked what I was doing later. I said ASDA to get some things as some people from work were coming to my apartment the next day. I’ll come with you he said because that’s what exactly he was going to do. Oh yeslah? What a coincident!

Giving him the benefit of the doubt I said he can come with me in my car thinking that that’s what he’s after. Free ride, I have no problem as long it’s not out of the way. Mistake no.2.

So fast forward to the yogurt isle, I was bending over to pick up a Muller light when suddenly felt cold hands touching my waist.

1.cold hands
2. my waist

You see cold hands means he lifted up my top and slipped his hands and where? My waist!!!!!

I was startled and nearly whacked him with the 2 pint milk in my other hand.
He apologized and flustered trying to explain.

“You see Naj, I have never seen somebody as beautiful as you and you’re the nicest person I have ever met. I love you the first time I set eyes on you 4 months ago.”

At that point Dr. Bowel barfed out a loud shriek. He said that Naj???

He’s short? Black guy? Has goatie? Bald?

Yes yes yes yes I said completely excited. You know him?

He said that to me as well laaaaaaaa!!! What????
Dr. Vagina of course was rolling on the floor, literally.

I was completely lost and speechless.

Told them I left him in ASDA and hopefully he found his way home.
Naj you can be such a blonde sometimes, Dr Bowel comforted me in her own kind words and Dr. Vagina recovered from his laughing at Naj session.

Dr.Vagina soon realized the Carling wasn’t enough to take the amount of man bashing and grief we gave him whole night until we got to Silk, then Fiddler and ended up in Winter Garden when he was completely pissed and then only we thought it’s enough.

p/s: we didn't expect to see so many ugly looking men wearing so little clothes with thongs sticking out so much hair, but hey the women loved it.

Winter Garden, they have now gone bonkers.

Vagina Bowels and Gas

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Lesson Learnt

Just to iron any confusion, laryngeal spasm can happen to anyone, small, huge, adults, children. Prepare, prepare, prepare.

Never give children any option, they don’t know what’s best for them.

Never let paediatric nurses make the decision for the children. That one should have gotten the slap across the face, come to think of it.

Be prepared, draw up the suxomethonium EVERYTIME, ALL THE TIME.

Always have the endotracheal tube ready even if you don’t plan to tube.

Every anaesthetist will get shit like this, you just have to be in many many shits to know how to deal with different sort of shits. It’s in the job description.

It’s weird, but I still want to do this job.

You Don't Really Have A Choice

I was on call both Thursday and Saturday. So that makes it 2 in a row. Crazy.

On the way to the car lugging my work bag on the left, and my on call duffel on the right, I was beyond exhausted. Slightly delirious, I walked down ‘The Pit’ – car park area, only to find my car was missing and to stand there about 2 minutes to remember that I parked just by the entrance- not in ‘The Pit’. Crazy.

You should have just rented an apartment in Scunnie instead of commuting back and forth. I heard my smug gremlin mocking grudgingly. That’s the thing, we don’t always know what’s best for us.

On that note, one of the cases I had to do was a 12 year old for manipulation of his broken radius, also with undiagnosed needle phobia. Being told that if he doesn’t want the needle, he can have the gas option by the nurses on the ward, he was adamant to not have the needle which at all times would be the safer option and in his best interest. I thought I made it clear to him and mum. When he got into my anaesthetic room, I wanted to murder the paediatric nurse.

‘I don’t want any needles’ he psychotically broadcasted it to us. He even folded his arms and hid them in the armpits. Wouldn’t even listen to my reasons why he needed the cannula. Didn’t even trust me anymore. His trust has turned to the paediatric nurses who knew absolutely everything about what these smartasses need for anaesthetics. Pfft!

12 is a difficult age. They are too big to be pinned down yet too immature to accept any logical reasoning. 2 year olds are trouble, 12 year olds are huge smartasses. You just don’t know what’s best for you my boy.

I got the cannula in by means I wouldn’t want to elaborate in here as it was not the subject matter. White stuff was injected in and I began to bag and mask him. No problems, all hunky dory. I shoved in the laryngeal mask. Once I was told that the opening to the laryngeal mask resembles closely to the lips that of vaginas. To some extent I have to appreciate the careful observation. It was a man who said that.

The seal was not perfect and I asked Lee my ODA to inject more air in. Still some leak and oxygen Sats was 95%. It was not right. I took it out remembering well the ‘in doubt, take it out’ rules we all abide by religiously. The minute it was out the boy made a cooing sounds, which rolled into a high pitch seagull sounds and the next sound was quiet, only strained Darth Vader forced expiratory sound barely heard, coupled with his back arching and lips turning blue. He went into laryngeal spasm, which by definition really meant - shit.

I could tell my face was draining fast and so was Lee’s. The paediatric nurse said
‘That doesn’t look right’ and Lee said ‘Shut up’, while helping me retrieved the tube. I threw the laryngeal mask on the floor and fixed the face mask on and started bagging, my worst nightmare materialised, I couldn’t ventilate, the cords had gone into a full spasm. I COULD NOT VENTILATE!!! Almighty, almighty, help me was all I could chant, quietly.

Lee stood still, his eyes darted back to the bag. We’re both desperate for the bag to move, for some oxygen to go through, just some please, not much. And it was tight, I couldn’t even shift a ml.

I was desperate. I yelled for somebody in the theatre to get my Consultant in.

I said to Lee, plan B, inject the sux, which was lying on the side of the work surface. How much he said. Half, fifty, 1 ml I said which all meant the same. In seconds, I saw the cords relaxing before my eyes, my left hand shaking, the laryngeal blade wobbled in my tight grip, my back breaking into cold sweat, Lee was sweating. I shoved down the endotracheal tube.

Bagged and bagged and bagged, could feel a field of silent prayers rising like a tide from all directions hitting my tympanic membrane which was really noisy for such a quiet room. From Lee, the paediatric nurse and the staff nurse. Come on!!!!

All eyes were on the 80% mark which slowly went up to 95 and then very soon 100%. Come on!!! Tears welling and a sense of huge relief overcame me, Lee let out a sigh. I didn’t cry.

I felt a beam of megawatt bright light flooding every corner of the room while a minute ago the feeling was very much total darkness with just a tiny candle flickering in the unforgiving wind. My whole body loosing all turgor to keep up against gravity. My legs weakened. Such the withdrawal from adrenaline.

Tying the tube in place, I was thinking what if I did not persist with the cannula and instead, did the gas induction as the boy wished for. How would I have given the suxomethonium to put the tube in which ultimately saved his life had we didn’t persist with the cannula?

You read the critical incidents like this described in the books, hoping everyday that none of them will ever happen to you. Like a smoker puffing away oblivious to the sticker ‘Smoking Kills’. But when it does happen it happens so quickly, it either makes or breaks a person.

In theatre, the surgeon asked, ‘what took you so long’, and Lee looked at me possibly giving a ‘shall-I-punch-him-for-you’ look. I said, ‘A bit of airway problem, sorry it took a while’. Oh he said. And everything carried on as normal.

Oh Almighty, I have faith in you and thank you for reminding me to have faith in myself. And thank you for Lee.

Friday, August 19, 2005

My near death experience- Mr. Spider

I’ve done all my best and I think there’s no way out now. I don’t feel that life is worth living unless I come clean. I just want to confess to her, and meet her face to face.

I’ll just sit in this little room and wait for her to come in. I’ve watched her many times. I think she knows that I have been watching, because she’s a smart girl and I think she likes it too.

When she comes in as usual she’ll close the door and take her pants down and wriggle her peachiness out. When she sits down, her eyelevel will descend to where I‘d be, waiting, ready as ever to confront her for the first time. This is a big moment for me and for her. I’m ready to reveal myself. Oh my heart felt like it’s going to break free from my chest.

Here she comes. Yes take those pants down, yes, and those knickers, yes. Oh oh it’s pink today. Nice. Lovely.

And look here look here hellooooooo!

Loud shriek.

No No baby it’s me, shit! Run run run , Stop screaming bitch. Stop it! I don;t know which way to go. Arghhhhh Arghhhhhh

Oh my God I am slipping I am losing grip, stop screaming!!!!!!!!!!!


I’m drowning I’m drowning blub..blub…blub…gluk gluk gluk

Stupid spider. *Klick*

Little does she know that the voyeuristic spider was madly in love with her and has learnt and timed the exact movement every time she goes for a crap or a piss.

Little people know that the reverse could have been the actual sequence of events. She could have walked in the toilet and found the spider seemingly dead floating motionless in the toilet bowl.

She picked up the toilet brush without thinking and in no second flipped the spider up and off the seemingly clean toilet water. Spider laid there motionless and the girl assessed the airway, and the breathing or lack of it. Gave mouth to mouth and started cardiac massage, compressing the spider’s chest frantically. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. Phuuuuh…phuuuuuhhh. And again.

The spider suddenly came back to life and ungratefully scuttled off and up the wall. Oii where’s my thank you kiss!!!

Stupid spider. *Klick*

My point is, it's amazing how you could write and tell tales about anything, without any consideration to the facts. With a bit of fabrication, a little lace of fibs, and lots of exaggeration, you could manipulate what people perceive of a certain event. It’s not that difficult to do. Scary.

I am not a writer so observations like this is like a discovery of a new alkane with low pungency and low gas :blood coefficient. Ok that analogy didn't go down well, try again, it's like discovering that you could actually make girl do anything so long you know what to say when and in what tone. Hmmm.

Either way the spiders I think is the most photographed arthropod. Despite being leggy and hairy and looking pretty and dead in the most obscure places.

Monday, August 15, 2005

A spot I call my own

I believed everything you told me.

I trusted you no matter what. I gave all the benefit of the doubt in the world. Enough to render emotional poverty, enough to burst the usual bubbles I surround myself with, enough to extricate the deepest precious gem I wouldn’t even give up even held at a knife point, enough..enough.

I don’t believe you could do such thing.

At this moment, I can’t trust myself capable of functioning within the parameter of the acceptable requirement by the society. I fear for my own sanity.

You broke my heart. Bad. Don’t ask me if I could trust you again, because you will only disappoint yourself.

I am divorcing myself from the blog world for a while.

Take care of yourself, and each other.

Sunday, August 14, 2005


Venue: Seminar room
Choones in me head: Give Me the Night -Xavier

I don’t think people want to know this, but I just have to say that I am on call and I am sat on me ass. Today. Now. Sunday. Weekend. Yes. Me work. You no work.

Those doctors who think that us anaesthetists sit on our pretty asses all day and get paid more (if you do an objective calculation of the hours actually worked), you have to take into account the fact that we are still stuck with 24 hour on call while everybody else is swimming free in the blissful sea of shift work.

Mind you, this shift work is driving me insane. Just the other day, Friday to be precise when I did my first ever on call in this GF place, (GF- godforsaken because it simply can’t just be this place on it’s own, like when you say this handsome man, you don’t just say this man) I was rudely called to put a cannula. This is the needle condomed with a plastic sheath so only the plastic bit would stay in the vein when the needle is taken out.

Now, ideally we shouldn’t be a mobile cannulation service and some anaesthetists would point blank refuse to run around the hospital sticking needles in any arm, most often than not already pin cushioned by various other doctors. But you know, me being free twiddling my thumbs at that particular time, couldn’t use the oh I have somebody dying in my arms right now excuse. Which was a total shame.

Plus when they rang me the third time (less rudely), the poor ‘worm’ (read: pre-registration house officer or F1 they now call it ) said something like, we wouldn’t be calling the expert if we haven’t tried many many times and upset the patient to the point of calling me an evil witch of Sunderland. Which I thought was funny and she sure did know how to suck up well.

Between saying ok I’ll come and sort out the deluded patient and actually going down there to sort out the deluded patient, I was called to the pre-assessment clinic. The clinic is like an MOT check only this was not for cars, it’s a clinic to make sure we don’t kill people the minute we put them to sleep. So you get to call fat people fat. Tell them off for being fat and to slap the wrists of those who are still smoking.

‘Now Mr. Fat, you are still fat, can you be less fat the next time I see you so we can take your fat gallbladder out as soon as possible? Mind you these gallstones you’ve got, would probably shrink as well if you eat less fat’

‘Yes doctor, I am fat and I will not be fat the next time you see me’. And this is the 3rd time him coming to this clinic.

‘Now again Mr.Fat, you still smoke 40. I believe that you have tried but, not good enough. How about giving me all your benefit money and I will give just enough back for your salads and bus money. This is to make sure you don’t add the chance of dying on the table to more than 5% when you do get your aneurysm done?’

‘Yes doctor, I quit now and here, take all my money.’

You wish.

By the time I got to sorting out the deluded patient on ward 25, the funny PRHO girl was already off shift which was a shame, and there was this bushy male one with chest hairs coming out of his sleeves.

I found out that the same patient was going to have a bigger line in his neck. Central line we call it. No real indication as to why he had to have one. Nobody told me anything. The theatre sister was breathing down my neck because they all want to get it over and done with and sit watch Big bloody Brother. (What a naff show. Don’t people feel their heads getting lighter after watching a bunch of idiots sat around either doing nothing or getting horny?)

I asked the bushy PRHO, do you know this patient?


Do you know about this central line?


Do you know who booked him for the central line?


Do you know who I should speak to about this central line?


Could see him imminently going to wet his pants on the next question I was going to ask him which was going to be ‘Do you work here doctor?’ while giving him a dirty look. I spared him of course.

I left in a huff after sticking the biggest cannula I could in the patient’s arm while continuously reassuring the elderly gentleman the size of a Michelin man, that I was a nun from Norfolk and not an evil witch from Sunderland, on my charity tour with the Pope.

I concluded, apart from Dr.No doesn’t know much, which was not entirely his fault, this shift system is just camp. Nobody knows anything.

P/s: The jerebu is that bad huh. Get well soon KL. I hate you but I miss you.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Cheesed and Pissed

This time of year, everybody wants to share the food, the sun, the cheese, the wine. A lot of people leave, a lot of people move. Empty spaces filled in, rooms made for fresh faces.

Friends separated, you make new ones but you can never forget old ones. Especially the ones you can sit down till dawn, talking about anything and everything.

There’s another little party and I wasn’t really up for. But since she’s leaving for Trinidad for good, I guess I had to drag my sorry sore bum there nevertheless. Probably it would have been different had the day not been so stinkingly draggy and annoyingly full of people making such a big fuss out of everything and anything at the godforsaken hospital earlier in the day.

In the changing room, the girl wagged her finger at me for putting my bag in an empty locker. Stuff you, those lockers are for everybody. If it’s empty, what’s wrong with using them? Nobody bloody pay for any of them anyway, it’s for everybody.

She had that possessed-by-schizophrenic-gorrila look that if I slap her with a trout there and then she might shut up instantly, and with her mouth open, I can proceed to shoving the trout into her sorry mouth. Those sorry faces in theatre, they’re just from another sorry planet.

This new hospital is beginning to make me ruminate my plans to blow up the place in a non terrorist way of course. What is it with this place that people are just so mentally challenged and socially recluse with very low ability to actually believe that there are other people living outside the Republic of Scunnie and that these 'outsiders' can have better skin than pasty, pale, veiny, blotchy, freckled, and sickeningly mortuary- like.

The only good thing for me is probably the getting on well so far with the ODAs. These guys only need to know that they can trust you, to order them around. It’s a strange concept but it’s as simple as that.

Note to self:

Leo – tall one with fat gold chain with queen mother face embossed on the pendant. Usually does orthopaedic. Calls me Ahmad, but hey, always wanted to be a boy anyway.

Jan- Smiles always, talks to you like you are on her side. ‘It’s us against these weird people babe’. She’s funny like that, most times looks like she has something in her mouth. Probably her wisdom teeth are cramping the rest of her pearly whites.

Mark- thin one with glasses, efficient but bit too quiet like a church mouse. Day 1 working with him, already offered to borrow me Ward’s equipment book. Sweet.

Worst crime to commit in the second week of work is to mess up your ODA's name.

By the time I got home, really thinking of just turning in early when phone went off.

Naj!!!!!!!Where are you, it’s 5 to seven!!!!

Blimming eck. Do you have to be punctual to a party??


Tuesday, August 09, 2005

One For The Road

I don’t know why, I couldn’t begin to comprehend. I asked why far too many times, that is the times when I was hit by the waft of near erupting curiosity, too soaked my brain with soup of question marks.

Somewhere out there in the constellation, your birth was banal, I didn’t even pay much attention, but slowly it took up space, expanded and bloomed and blossomed. Once in a while sucking in and involuting, I noticed that too, as if you were too shy to come out of the cocoon.

Too protective of yourself, don’t want to get hurt maybe. I wouldn’t know for I could never ask, how could I, you don’t even notice me. Of course you wouldn’t. Oh stop. Really you wouldn’t have. Nah, I tell you, not. Of course you don’t.

Why would you. Who am I? Just another something in the background, wallpaper vertically, lumpy patches of dilapidated grass horizontally, lampposts once in a while, white noise most the time. I serve no purpose to you.

From my world, I see you as a social butterfly, you flap, you bat and secretions drench the air. Humid with saturations from many forbidden valleys, it diffuses to my crib, and I was swallowed by disgust. Somehow, disgusted it maybe, I still trust you.

Solely because, those words you string, they echoed mine. I don't own them, nobody does, but why those words, why in those manner, why all at the same time? It's like you've materialised from just clouds and cumulus of supernova. It's like you've caught a glimpse of my humble being and mirrored me, in your most cryptic way. Insanely flattering.

I still trust you, that, the cunnilingerous words are meant for me. This air that I breath, we will share, this hollowness you will fill, pouring and douching till you ache, till you sweat, till you surrender, till it’s pure, white like a secluded beach no one has ever been to. Breathing every inch of each other’s skin, rubbing sands on navels, soft and hard and watching them all come alive.

I am by nature far from being a cynosure, you are though, and it makes me crave for you. We’ll be cyclotrons for we are the opposite. You will see.

Not having you is like eating a burger without cheese, strawberries without cream. I tremble at the glance of a little something you left for me, every time we part. Come here let me run my hands through your hair. Eyes closed, your hair, can it be the morning breeze to greet me?

Are we cymbals? Are we going to make sounds? Will it be loud? Will it be many, again and again? As many minims, as that of semiquavers, without a coda? Will it be gentle will it be hard? Will it make music? Will you come back for me?

p/s: urghh I am home already? Demm.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Fish and Chips.

In the dining room at Friday lunch time, I was fighting the baked potato with cottage cheese which was surprisingly fit for consumption. The salad looked a bit dire but then it would be, what with all the travelling and the jet lag they have to go through. Assuming those tomatoes are from south of France because that’s where I’d like them to be from.

Ravi my second commander was haggling the price of the fish and chips. He was trying to get the staff price you see when he looked very much like a visitor, without the bluescrubs and the nametag.

I found an empty table and sat myself down. From afar, could see Ravi’s hands all over the air like a furious Italian Chef.

‘Are you alone?’ the voice said, the chair was already pulled out.

I looked up and his face shuffled a set of cards in my mind, met him before.

the swanky Motorola phone
Lacoste scent
Pink tie
Rimless glasses

and I just blurted ‘Sure’.

‘Sure’? What does that mean? He didn’t even ask if he can join you. I mean did he ask if he can join you? ‘Sure’ is NOT an answer to ‘Are you alone’. Whatssematter with you? Sure means I want him to join me, even before he asked if he can join. What if he just wanted to steal the chair instead of joining me, so why did you say ‘Sure’? You want him to join you?

He sat down knowing it will take a while for my flustering to abate, smiling like a goat.

I then said something I thought was cool enough but slightly strained like I’ve swallowed a 50p coin.

No, not alone I mean , but , Yes, do please join by all means, Ravi‘s over there fishing, so it’ll take a while. And he's already sat down when I stopped to breath and swallow.

Felt the cottage cheese clogging my postnasal space and felt going to snort and sneeze both at the same time, but couldn’t figure out which one to do first. He laughed and I felt insanely better. He had a purple tie today against neat crisp lilac shirt.

Teeth, good, jawline, good, that obtuse nape of the neck, smooth, nice and neat, shoulders, nice, forearms- electric.

Awkward awkward and he kept looking at my mouth. I so wished those rockets didn’t wedge itself in between my incisors and hence attracting attention to themselves unnecessarily.

So the usual how’s your day then the usual Scunnie’s a dump, yes yes we both agreed, then the usual which medical school you went to.

Southampton said me, Sheffield said he. Oh so far said he, oh same like most people said me. Where were you before asked he, Grimsby said me. Oh you must know her, then said he excitedly. Of course said me, we always hang out together said me. Then layers upon layers peeled off, we’ve concluded a list of people mutually known to us both, and then it didn’t feel so strange anymore.

When I excused myself to hunt my next patient, and get back to the operating theatre, felt my cheeks burning. Whatsthematter with you. *Slap*

Sunday, August 07, 2005


Much food was consumed.
Drinks were drunk.
Music was endless.
Gossips were saucy.
Teasing was aplenty
Weather was crap.
3 seconds of sun, cheer cheer cheer,
Butt freezing the next, scampered inside,

Home by dusk, the bridge was crossed.
Toll was still £2.50, the toll guy had nice forearm
Car stereo playing ‘Candy shop’ 50 cents
He grinned eyebrows arched funny, botox gone wrong?
Home happy.


The month of August always makes me feel like a peasant. Something tells me I was silly to not choose the month carefully when dumping this particular xboyfriend and his credit card. Honey, I hate it when you whine each time you have to fill in the permission chit for boys night out. You know I do that for your own good.

Stuff I have to pay almost every August:

General Medical Council (GMC)- £290
Medical Defence Union (MDU) - £44
MOT - £35
VOSA- £148
DVLA- £ 110
BJA- £77
AAGBI- £ some money, 55 maybe
BMJ- £some money
FRCA- £515

I don’t feel like buying anymore alphabets. No vowels, no consonants. At night alphabets knocked on my door chanting aye bee see dee ee eff geee haych aii jay kay elemen ooo peee. Seeing that I was fast asleep, they, all clad in ninja suits, surreptitiously logged into my pc and checked my Barclays account. They fused into one another into some stupid words which you will choke trying to pronounce, then they hacked the system to suck money out through the USB ports.

I watched them from outside, stifling my breaths, embracing the shakes without making too much noise, watching them suck my money out, pound after pound pence after pence raucously, gluttonously. (it’s not gluttonly, good stuff this spell checker).

I suffered in silence. Monstrosity I couldn’t bear watching, I surrendered to my better judgement.

halothane 0.75, isoflurane 1.15, sevoflurane 2.0, desflurane 6, nitrous 105. leave me alone, leave me alone!!!

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Of Deserving Or Not Deserving to Be Loved.


There was a barbeque in Sheffield that I was supposed to go to, but circumstances dictate that I don’t go. So I didn’t. In the end, what I was staying home for, didn’t even prove to be worth of a single huff. When somebody says to you that you don’t deserve to be loved, would you believe that the same person who said that, actually loves you? Pfft. Exactly.

Circumstances at the minute are best represented as an epitome of what you'd call selfish, ungrateful, manipulative, talk with the backside, and think with kepala lutut, simpleton airhead.

One thing you must never do is to make a girl doubt what you feel for her because the seeds of insecurity grow very fast, this is when you’ve just made your own life difficult. Dig your own grave, shoot your won foot, eat your own excreta or Gucci shoes whichever taste better.

If none of those make sense, the following may just. In my inbox, found an e-mail which recalibrated my thermostat back to normal. From Mr.Blunt.

Mr. Blunt that I know loves to write and can be quite good at it. I say that very vaguely because the way that our paths crossed was such that I didn’t get the chance to get to know him well enough, what with the sanctioned time that we had before he went away, some time ago. Still, I know him enough to know that he’d say things bluntly, mean it and have this face capable of withstanding repercussion of his ‘laser’ type remarks.

Also, I know him well enough to understand how he loves keeping some events refreshable, freezing some beautiful things in the moments when their beauty, artificially or naturally accentuated. Capture them still, embellished pictures, letters, cards. He loves things to be in order, and loves to do right whenever he can.

Once in a while, an e-mail will pop, with flavour that is quintessentially Mr. Blunt. Quelled is the emotion, it is what I feel whenever I hear that song Ada Apa Dengan Cinta, and similarly when I read this:

There is a Chinese saying which carries the meaning that "A speech will either prosper or ruin a nation."

Many relationships break off because ofwrong speech. When a couple is too close with each other, we always forget mutual respect and courtesy. We may say anything without considering if itwould hurt the other party.A friend and her millionaire husband visited their construction site. Aworker who wore a helmet saw her and shouted,"Hi, Emily! Remember me? We used to date in the secondary school." On the way home, her millionairehusband teased her, "Luckily you married me. Otherwise you will be the wifeof a construction worker."

She answered,"You should appreciate that you married me. Otherwise, he will be the millionaire and not you."Frequently exchanging these remarks plants the seed for a badrelationship. It's like a broken egg - cannot be reversed.


Mr.Blunt being all bluntly blunt that he is, may have never fetched forks and knives at Nandos, refill my softdrink, let alone cut my steak into pieces, but he never said I don’t deserve to be loved.

Roc Ya Body Mic Check 1,2

Killer dress *check*

Lippy and dosh *check*

Heel killer *check*

Pick me up at 8, don't be late. *wink*

Just Wink.

Why would I recommend winking? Because us doctors and nurses when we go out, we want to have fun while still do care for the civilians and of course to do not harm to anybody. Promote love and harmony wherever we are. Dedicated we are to our work.

When a guy at one eyeballing doesn’t appear to have much to offer but is trying his best to chat you up, excuse yourself and wink. He’ll get hurt but the thump is cushioned with that wink you give just before you walk off to find your school of fish friends who’ve abandoned you to the Belly Bananza.

When he asks you what you do for a living if he ever gets that far, don’t say I am a doctor. Say you’re a gas woman with a wink. Because you don’t want him to get intimidated and the gas woman with a wink will make him thinks it’s one of those jobs like tea lady or hair lady. You don’t want to scratch anybody’s ego. You don’t want to do that to the poor thing. Plumber, builder, bank cashier, they all have sensitive little hearts. In this place you will soon learn to lower your expectation to not let these losers ruin your night.

At the bar, instead of saying can I have (insert beverage of your choice) and a please, order, wink and smile, he will rush to please, you'll be amazed.

At the dance floor if a guy approaches and you don’t like to be seen in the minimum allowed radius, do a moonwalk, wink and disappear, he will think it’s cool.

When you go out with 2 medically qualified bodyguards, when leaning over to speak to one, wink at another so the other one doesn’t feel completely left out. After all they both rely on your attention to appear cool to non-doctor chicks they might be interested in.

However if you found yourself gaining few stalkers, proceed further winking only with caution.

Footnote: A weekend off after a 3 weeks monkeyed in any hospital to do on calls is like finally allowed to dunk oreos into a hot mug of full fat milk (for PG12 version) or a genuine orgasm after a hard work at it, whichever way it is acquired (for adult version) so I was told, what with being a virgin and all .Oh Oh oh oh.

I'm*running into the wilderness naked with gleeful skips and cackles which will irritate even the buffalo's fleas*

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Possible One of Many to Come

The minging little black box.

It was nearly quarter to 6 and I must have walked about a mile from the Renault service centre. Faithfully left my Megane there for servicing. After a whole day at work, this is quite a dear way of spending what remained of a day’s energy quota.

When I got to the bus station, I realized I was outnumbered by a group of odd looking people.

That Mongoloid looking boy scrutinized me with his gawky microscope, up and down. He stopped and stared at my midriff. I realized I still had my bleep around my waist. I put that away to avoid possibility of being suspected as a suicide bomber. Maybe less likely with one black box round my waist but still.

The woman with a blonde rinse and brown roots showing had her hair so tight in a bun, her eyes looked like they were going to be expulsed out like a button birthing through a button-hole. Her tattoo just around the deltoid bore the names Jimmy and Oliver around a neat scarlet heart. She chewed the gum with her mouth open and glanced at me before looking away into the distance.

The woman with dirty green coloured pleated skirt and burgundy cardigan with some thread riding and curling out of place, looked at me surreptitiously, possibly contemplating a smile but shied away when I looked back.

The skinny man with gross kyphosis wearing his trousers above his disproportionately protruded belly causing the hem to hang round his calves sidled along the railing. The rest just gave me a look like I have landed from another planet with 2 heads and one eye at the back of my head.

Tet..tet..tet..tet..tet..I come in peace….I go home now, I go home. Stop flipping staring at me you makhluk makhluk ganjil yang pucat!.

Odd they may seem, there is a place they were all hoping to get to, called HOME. Just like me.


The whole day was just odd. I was looking at the map of the hospital looking for cardiac care unit when I nearly thwacked somebody off the lunch she was balancing in her hands. Didn’t see, didn’t realize she was rushing past me. I just muttered sorry as I steadied myself. She must have had more momentum than me.

Ehhhhhh!!!!!! She put out her cluttered hands to aid me balanced.

Ehhhhh stranger! I remember saying back while struggling to match name to face.

What are you doing here woman??? She shrieked.

I remember repeating her question to her and at that point her name lit up and I can see the word ‘SUBJECT MATCH DATABASE NAMING SYSTEM’ popping and flickering in fluorescent green like that on the box when the patient enters the anaesthetic room and the box went ‘ROOM IN USE’. But that is usually red, but you know what I mean.

We hugged and pecked cheeks. She scribbled her name and bleep number on my palm and disappeared.

‘Bleep me when you are free’ she said sweetly, before grinding those pelvis down those pins, swaying her strides, exaggerating her gait with her head up high, knowing well I would watch her walk away, yet again.

It must have been what, 5 years?

One very very odd day.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

A Change of Air

Bribed with See Through LCD Clock by Simvastatin - like it works there and then; the drug.

Slicing with precision through the mucilaginous fog, draping down into the barely visible horizon of M180, my Megane hummed, Mario begging me to let him love me, and it slowly sank onto me, that I am no longer working in the same hospital.

I was driving fast approaching this new place, which according to my builder friend Jason, doesn’t deserve the S in it. SCUNTHORPE. I thought that was a bit unfair until I approached a vast field on the right of M180, stretching as far as my weary eyes could take me. Festooned with rustic colour metal shells geometrically assembled, so giant, with smoke coming out from all robust cylinders nailing the ‘mothership’ securely to the terra firma. It looked like a giant beetle smoking a fat jointl only puffing out through all orifices including the anus.

The surrounding looking disjointed, ghastly and the trees in the distance didn’t really frame the factory for a picturesque balance, more like a feral secret production line of illegal penile prosthesis.

I made it such there was no barrier between me and the ‘mothership’, so the mirror eased down. A whiff of arid pungent smell initially limboed and snaked, then without warning, jarred in so strong, I fought a fitting cough. So stale the smell I wonder if I had gasped a lung full of a nerve gas as well. My eyes bleary my head pounding.

It didn’t stain yellow the air around me, but the dome looked, like I said, rustic and tarnished. Whatever it is, it oxidises metal well. I felt dizzy.

An SMS :

Naj r u not coming for induction? Where r u?
It's Deepa.

I glanced at my dear Longines and it’s 20 past 9. The induction for new doctors was ahem, starting at 9, and I was at the entrance, the car park was choc-a-block.

I couldn’t blame myself more but I couldn’t help myself better. Been hopscotching to work for a year and very much used to that and suddenly bang! Kepoww! Today I had to drive to work.

There’s a huge inert lardy energy resisting the act of sitting on my ass and doing stick exercise to overcome, huge concoction of poisonous tardy thoughts to trick, and above all, I had to actually dress up to work.

Can’t just slip into a bluescrubs supporting unruly hair only fit to be shoved and tucked into the breatheable funny hat. Can’t just wear any old clothes, it’s my first day at a new place meeting new people. Can’t just go with bare face, what if the surgical boys this time around are not like any surgical boys? What if the plastic clone boys have perfectly formed phalanges, smooth knuckles, showing nicely separated fronds of the forearm, ripples of those flexor digitorum superficialis (do exaggerate the pout as you say this and only partially part lips to the last ssssss while lowering smoky gaze ) and…. broad nail girth? I appreciate the dexterity of the upper limb extremities very much to the point elaborating the anatomy has become second nature. I do apologize.

(cross reference from the book How To Make Anyone Fall in Love With You. Part 1.6, page 28, Make a dynamite impression, be ready, always)

No chance there then, managed to slip into a pair of well loved corduroy and paired up with a pin stripe tailored no- need- ironing- shirt with gentle frills at the front, not over powering, so I liked that very much. There is this thing about power dressing without over powering the people you want to empower, which doesn’t sound right but you know the agenda.

So after subjecting myself to an endless torture about handwashing, MRSA, and which forms to fill for which bottles, duressed into watching men in uniform saving a hospital on fire on tape, reduced to tears watching the tape on how not to fill in death certificates and cremation forms, was only pleased to entertain finger food at the back of the induction lecture hall later. Joined Deepa who was ecstatic I did turn up.

I met:

1) 2 girls in tudungs I quickly warmed up to. ‘Eh, laaaaaa you boleh cakap melayu ke. Kita dok tengok dari tadi, tak berani tegur, err Sheffield jugak ke tak pernah nampak pun?’ the one with glasses said assuming I am a PRHO as well. PRHO, the lowest of the food chain. Eaten by birds, the SHOs. These two are like cute little worms you only touch gently without squeeezing their bowel content. Painfully shy, extremely coo-y and giggly, hopelessly clueless but damn determined. I have a lot of respect for them, straight from Malaysia to do house jobs here. I felt like a boy when they eagerly asked for my number.

2) A tall dark *cough*looking dish I mean doctor on the latest Motorola mobile phone walked past and stopped next to me and the girls, armed with our mobile phones. ‘Malaysians ya?’ in his best English accent. ‘me too’ he said. Both girls grinned. Before we knew it we all had each other’s number, only I had to get them to write it on a piece of paper because Sony Ericsson’s battery did a Bolognese. And I think I mysteriously acquired 2 holes at the back of my head when he stared intensely because I somehow forgot my number for the first 2 minutes.

3) Nimi- my favourite registrar from Hull. She’s the only Indian registrar I know who is still single. But she takes no crap from anybody. She's a reason this place is less dismal.

4) A Nigerian black and white clone PRHO who kept asking Deepa personal questions like ‘So why are you hard to impress?’, to which Deepa thought, telling him I AM MARRIED will be quite drastic but not really off topic because somebody clearly has done just that.

Not that anybody should know but skived the rest of the afternoon. Resuscitation, ABC hard can that be.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Such A Day Off Is

I bought the books simply because, they were 3 for 2,

because there is something about bending those sharp crisp spines of the paperbacks which makes you want to stretch your own and flop into a foetal position silently pacifying the layers of papers,

and because those anaesthetic books are just too brain poaching that sometimes it infuriates me with pressure cooker steam type exasperation just knowing, more and more the much that I don’t know. So I give up and read about how Bruno would cook those orgasmic food infused with love for Laura instead. I shouldn’t have finished it all at once on Monday but I sadly did.

My soon would be registrar friend reminded that I have to quiz her on SpR interview questions and I barely said uhuh and hung up. Told her, her train was too noisy, so she felt guilty and hung up.

My friend in Manchester rang to debate about Jesus and Mohammed and I simply said HE’S RIGHT which made him thought I have lost my marbles or somebody had spiked my tap water supply. He gave up debating with the wall and I slumped back into my sofa with the book. I asked him if he goes to the church and he said no. So that made him guilty and he hung up. He said get well soon just before, but I am sure he didn’t mean my cough.

On both occasions I felt very much guilty, adequately atoned for being selfish but oh so sorry sorry for Bandetta for being such a sex goddess and a wonderful chef and a considerate lover to Bruno only to have Bruno taken away by his old flame the American blonde with freckles on her shoulder. Such life is.

Love being off on Monday, all the time in the world for me, all the naughty little thoughts of those people working in little cubes straddling files and portfolios and meetings after meetings, slaying deadlines after deadlines. Such rat race is.

Love it when I venture out to town, having the shops all to myself, and not having to queue for some stupid cellotape which I don’t think is the right spelling anyway. Everything that was on sale proudly only carrying the tag size 12 and above. I didn’t even realize when they started the whole summer sale- price slash, all must go, clearance, and all other synonyms to spend more money here and here and here, which also equally means even though you don’t need them but because they are cheap-er than before the sale you just have to have them! Such marketing is.

I must say I suck at wearing heels. Don’t have a reason to own more than a pair. For a torture on a Friday/Saturday night maybe and that’s about it. I found a cunning way of gaining that extra 3 inches mind you. WEDGES. Do you do wedges girlfriend? I do now. I think I might have just overdone it slightly by buying 3 pairs. It’s the season must have they say and most importantly, why not. Such being a girl is.

And I bought the red one because?...

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