Teetering on the verge

So I am not really sure how my endeavour with heels began, but I admit that I have gotten exponentially worse over the past few years. 

When I first started, I only dappled in the pool of short chunky heels and slight wedges, occasionally higher heels for parties, and for a moment when I started clinical school, I abandoned the whole thought of heels completely because of 1) The embarrassing moment of click-clicking down the hallway and everyone turning to look at you and 2) The inability to even limp home after a day of running around the hospital in heels. 

Then I discovered something called vanity. 

And when I started working full time as a doctor, I discovered that the only salvation I found from my daily routine of being told off left, right and corner and the stress of juggling 30 odd patient lives on your own in a day was making myself feel good by dressing up as best as I could. Call me crazy, but the only human contact I had who could appreciate my sense of style was largely in the hospital. 

Then my self conscience started growing with the number of comments about my dressing and it reached a stage where it was embarrassing not to keep up my 'standard' of fashion because this was expected of me without question. That was when I discovered that when you were only 5'4", the only way to look good in outfits was when they were worn with heels. 

So I started progressing back from flats to short wedges to shorter heels, to medium-height wedges. And with that it seemed, so did my pain threshold for running around the hospital while learning how to balance gracefully at this height.  

But today when I decided to embrace the whole holiday year-end festive season and dress my lace pencil skirt and peplum top with 4 inch high colour-blocked wedges for a haphazard Gastro ward round traipsing around the hospital, I decided that I might have crossed the line. 

I managed to limp, yes limp....home at 7 pm that day after having done a ward round of 16 new patients around entirely different ends of the hospital, inserted an ascitic drain, run back and forth to Radiology and whacked a grey cannula into an actively bleeding patient. 

I might have pushed my luck too far this time. 

About time for this fashionista to admit defeat before I find myself paying the Orthopod a visit in the very near future. 

My Chambray Craze

I might be a little slow catching on this craze but the new love of the season is definitely down & dirty to DENIM for sure. 

Or rather, the twist on this not-so-dirty and down-to-earth denim is chambray. 

I was rather skeptical initially when I tried on one of them at Gap. Surely, surely I recall having a similar form of this garment when I was 12 or 13 years old. I was positive that if I dug out my old wardrobe I would have a couple of denim shirts or skirts hanging around. 

But no, no, I told myself....this season it is all about chambray. A lighter material form of and more stylish twist on denim. 

So I finally decided to go for it and go Chambray, thanks to some reassurance from Phua and her 20% discounted Gap voucher. 

Perfect for a casual Sunday girly lunch. In this combination, I wore my Chambray shirt with some polka dotted retro jeans, completed with flats and minimal accessories for a laid-back look. 

But now that I told myself I would buy just one chambray shirt for the heck of going with the flow, I know I am lying to myself. 

I love how all these looks can be so versatile and provide a more casual twist on my usual structured style at the same time. 

If only it were summer again, these shorts would be to die for! If only my job condoned me wearing city shorts to work, I would totally jump at the chance. If only!!! 

This would be more realistic an option for my current job scope. Already mentally completing the look with my newly-acquired brogues. And hey, what says sophisticated more than GREY chambray???

I love this polka-dotted chambray shirt. I never thought it was possible to look cool with a collar buttoned all the way to the top, but this look and the first picture clearly proves me wrong! 

So clearly this is already a fast-winning favourite of mine at the moment. I doubt it will still overshadow peplum at any point, but I am loving it already. 

And this is coming from me, the girl who does not own a windbreaker, a pair of walking boots or a backpack because she thinks they are 'not very stylish'. 

Well guess what folks, I'm determined to insert a more casual twist into my wardrobe for the sake of versatility. 

And of course, it's because chambray is definitely the new black. 

One step at a time

A great deal has happened in the past week. 

From the top:

1) Met up with my favourite Kch girlies - one whom I had not seen for 5 years and the other whom I had not seen for 3. And yet our sporadic amounts of keeping in touch via text managed to make it seem as though nothing much had changed since our last encounter. 

2) Took a gamble at my ALS course on Thursday and Friday - note: read like three pages of the manual, winged my way through the MCQ in 20 minutes because I wanted to go out shopping in London and managed to make it through the real deal. 

3) Managed to not screw up my ALS practical session too badly after finding out that my MRCP Part 1 results had been released right before going in and that my friend had passed. 

4) PASSED MY MRCP PART 1!!!!! OMG it was unbelievable. I had to check three times and then almost deafened my mum on the phone. 

Bumped right into my Cardio Reg on the ward after screaming over the phone at my mum and after declaring to him that I had actually passed, he gave me a look and said "See, so all that drama and stress after the paper was for nothing!" 

To which I excitedly declared that now I want to be a Cardiologist again. 

My momentary act of drama after the exam was justified entirely, for the record. I had not been able to answer 60% of the Cardiology questions in the paper, and after bumping into my Cardio Reg on call, I had sworn off Cardio, telling him that I wanted to be a Dermatologist....oh wait, I would need MRCP for that too....no, I wanted to be an Orthopod now. Or maybe a chronic SHO. 

I was ecstatic for 12 whole hours and for a moment it seemed like maybe my Cardiology dream was attainable again. 

HELL YES. I will make it happen. Little by litle. One step at a time. 

For the time being, it is time to lose the MRCP pot belly and fat. And the breakouts. And cheer up because this could be the one good thing that is happening in my life for the moment. 

And start being serious about Part 2. 

The Dream

People who have known me my whole life will know that I tend to sound like a broken record when I tell the tale of how I have always known that I wanted to be a doctor. Or the story of how at 13 years old, I wrote an essay about how I wanted to be a neurosurgeon. 

The point is that I wanted so much to become a doctor my whole life that I was so sure that the moment I became one, my life would be complete and that the world will be whole again. 

The day I was MBBS-ed, it felt totally anti-climatic, at the most. 

The day I started my job as wide-eyed Cardiology House Officer, nothing dramatic happened either. 

In fact, it seems that the more I ponder on how much I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger, no matter what it took, I sometimes wonder how I could have known so well back then. How was it that things were so much less complicated when you were young? Whoever said that growing up and facing the real world and achieving your lifelong ambition would mean that you would finally be happy? 

These days, I don't doubt my choice in life. I could not imagine myself being anything but a doctor. 

But I do sometimes doubt my burning desire to be a Cardio God. And when I hear myself proclaiming out loud that I do not like ANYTHING - not surgery, not orthopaedics, not paediatrics, not anaesthetics, not elderly care, not even general medicine - just cardiology, each time I feel that the second voice of doubt echoing at the back of my head becomes louder and louder. 

Was I really so sure that I wanted to face a life of fierce competition and endless difficult exams and never-ending stress just to end up in a department of guys with egos the size of elephants? 

Last week, after my string of surgical nights, I could feel myself evolving from night to night. Thankfully, I did not make any decisions that killed anyone overnight, nor over the week. However, I did feel myself clenching my jaw harder from night to night. The climax was probably the third night when I had 20 admissions in one night and clerked 14 on my own. It became a bit of a joke when at 5 am I was still clerking people who had been referred to me before midnight, and I almost laughed aloud when at 645 am, the A&E SHO rang me with a "Sorry Alyssa, I have another one for you." 

At that point, I discovered a new me. I discovered that in surgery, I could see someone in 10 minutes when all investigations had already been done. Which was what I did at 645 am with bowel obstruction guy. 

I discovered that no matter how pressured a situation I was put in, I was not the kind of person to give up in exasperation or resort to tears. In fact, with my growing list of referrals on top of those I had not yet even seen, I was more determined than ever to push through the 12 hours, not sitting down for one minute and not stopping to even drink water. It was miracle that I did not faint at 8 am at trauma meeting and managed to present the cases I saw without fumbling. 

The horrified faces of the registrars and the others when they heard that I had seen 14 people in one night was apparent. And more than ever, they were wondering how I had not burst into tears at any point. That was when I realised I had become someone who was so adamant and so stubborn that I would refuse to cry even in the most dire of situations. I refused to let my weak side take over. And at the end of my set of nights, I wondered if I had turned into a fighter or just a robot who was so bitter at life that I refused to let myself stop and feel. 

And then there is this dream of being a Cardio God so badly that at this very moment, everything seems like a mere pipe dream. Heck, I can't even handle studying for the MRCP at this point and here I am fantasising about Cardiology. 

Someone once said that the best way to make a dream come true was to wake up. 

I need to wake up. 

Be it making sure I try hard as hell to pass these damn exams or to be realistic and make myself realise that Cardiology isn't all that. That perhaps it is more important that I remember to have a life as well. 

Vamos Shing! 

Sssshhh.....

I would begin with "Let me tell you a secret..."

But it is probably too late for that. 

Cat's outta the bag. 

This bag...

I'm in love. 

Spied with my little eye, amidst much procrastinating, this bag on Instagram and instantly fell head over heels. 

Until Phua promptly proceeded informed me that the Celine Trapeze was, in fact, very heavy. 

Trust Celine's No.1 biggest fan to already have set her hands on the bag and tried it out ahead of me. Lol. 

Helps that the bag is also all of 3000 USD. I won't even check how much it is in GBP. 

Well, at the moment since my days comprise of flinging my Longchamp tote on the dirty orthopaedic office floor which has not been cleaned for ten thousand years, I suppose a girl can dream on. 

And I need to stop procrastinating. 

To print or not to print

So before the appearance of Kate Middleton in that fateful blue wrap dress donning the huge sapphire ring on her engagement day, the name Issa was not one that was groundbreaking as such, at least in my humble non-fashionista, layman books anyway. 

And then she appeared in this classic, Issa blue wrap dress and suddenly the whole world loved her sense of style. With my very own mother being first in row. 

And as much as I tried not to conform, I fell victim to being a sucker for her clothes as well. Kate's style is very much something that I aim to emulate, and very similar to mine, bar the fact that I lack a royal title and endless cash. 

So when Banana Republic came up with their own 'Issa' line, I was curious. 

A quick flick online and this was the first thing that caught my eye. 

A very refreshing twist on the Leopard print, I must say. 

Call me prejudiced but I have never been a fan of Leopard prints, especially after my dapple with the Singaporean Youtube series watching Barbarella gush about 'leopard pringz'. 

But this version is structured, subtle and yet keeps it from being too boring with the prints rather than being a solid colour or my usual favourite, colour blocks. In the past year or so, I have come to own some items with animal prints myself and I have come to appreciate that the leopard print does not have to be tacky as such. Paired with a pair of nude pumps as in the picture or my personal favourite, wedges, and perhaps even a neutral-coloured belt at the waist, I would definitely wear this piece, if only the price tag was less dear or if I had more in my bank account. Or perhaps if my job didn't constantly involve running around the hospital. 

And wahey, do we see a Kate Middleton on her engagement day here or not? This piece is classic and although you would probably require a 23-inch waist like Kate's to look as good as her in this, this is something I could see myself keeping in my wardrobe for a long time coming. I might not have a Prince William next to me to complement this, but I am sure I can jazz it up in many other ways without the need of a male escort as an accessory. 

Am liking this line already. Well done, Issa. Will saunter down to London after September to take a look at these. 

For the moment, the daunting life of being shot at Trauma Meetings in Ortho and running around the wards continues, on top of trying very very hard to keep my head amidst the studying. 

ARGH. 

From Surgical F1 to Orthopaedic SHO

Hi, I am your Orthopaedic SHO. 

Firstly, I know nothing. Secondly, the only thing I like about Ortho is looking at ECGs. 

Wow, that's helpful isn't it? 

I finished my last day of FY1 12 hours later than everyone else by covering my fellow F1's night because he had to move to a different location whereas I was still in the same trust. 

It was uneventful. I doubly played a role as a Medical F1 on call as well because the medical SHO (whom I swear I have fallen in love with after last night) was struggling but remained so pleasant, each time telling me that he was okay when I repeatedly offered to help him even clerk new admissions, and kept thanking me when I helped him do odd jobs. Unfortunately, the sickest chap died despite my heroic efforts at catheterising and ABG-ing him...but an inoperable CA and an ischaemic bowel with a Lactate of 8.6 would have unlikely interested the surgeons in a laparotomy. 

It is true what the Med Registrar was saying - there is such a difference now retrospectively standing back and looking at the events that had unfurled this past year. How much better I am now at the end of my FY1 career than at the beginning. Even if it is just small things like working the system or telling the nurse to just forget it when there is minimal urine output in a perfectly well patient overnight. Hello, nobody pees at 4 am when they are asleep for God's sake! 

So it is with a tinge of emotion that I bid my first year of my career as a doctor goodbye. 

It has been full of ups and downs and it has been such a steep learning curve and despite it all, I am proud that I have come this far with the following to be proud of: 

1) I made it through all my F1 on calls and normal days without shedding a single tear. Yes, I have had my fair share of being treated unfairly and being shouted at for no reason, and making mistakes that could potentially endanger a person's life but I had refused to cry. Not once. 

2) Actually gained some knowledge clinically. Or at least I'd like to think so. At least now I clearly know what dilated loops of small bowel look like and what to do when someone is in ileus. NG Tube for God's sake. I Don't care whether the patient likes it or not. 

3) As much as I was afraid of surgery, I actually learnt some surgery from the few sporadic bouts of being a surgical house officer and actually doing something useful besides a ward bitch. I am only looking forward to learning some Orthopaedics because let's face it, I know nothing and we all know that we just have to man up and face our fears sometimes. 

4) Learnt to read ECGs properly. I suppose that was one of my better areas in medicine anyway. Nowadays if something looks weird I just holler for the Cardio reg and force him to come over and take a look even if he gives me grief. That's because I have also learnt that despite all his swearing, he isn't all that fierce and I'm not the least fazed by him taking the piss out of me. 

5) Can successfully totter around in fairly high speed in heels/wedges. Fashion comes first, regardless of your job. 

6) Am hopefully one step closer to being a Cardio God. 

It's been a good year, F1. Despite the fact that my days on Elderly Care almost did my head in and made me lose all my hair, Cardiology was a dream and Colorectal was great fun mainly because I had the best registrar in the world who even gave me a present when I left. 

And now on to embrace the world of Orthopaedics. My first day tomorrow and I am scheduled in theatre. The Consultant is not just going to throw his hammer at me, he might drill a hole through me and throw me out the window eventually. 

Good Luck. 

So you think you can doctor

As this academic year draws to an end, it amazes me how fast time flies. Perhaps the word 'academic' isn't even right in this context because I have certainly been doing nothing remotely 'academic' since I graduated from Medical School last year.

This time last year, I remember starting out as a wide-eyed house officer, clueless to so many things. Starting a weekend day ward cover less than 2 weeks into my career as a junior doctor, I did not sit down for 12 hours that day and became hypoglycaemic. I remember going up to my SHO and helplessly asking him for help because I could not cannulate someone who needed IV Fluids. I remember someone going into acute pulmonary oedema on me into Day 2 of my career. The only achievement I can hold my head high to is that I *touch wood* did not burst into tears during any of my medical on calls or nights, even when faced with the most horrendous situations.

This time in 2 weeks I turn into an Orthopaedic SHO. Perhaps I had made too many snide jokes about my wanting to be an Orthopod in the past, that this is payback time. Perhaps I might actually want to be an Orthopod after this 4 month stint, who knows.

At this point in time, it is one year of my career as a doctor down....an indefinite number of years to go.

Don't get me wrong, there are times like now when I am on my set of nights with my nose dripping relentlessly and feeling rotten, that I wish I did not have to do night shifts, and I question my obsession (or ambition) to be a Cardiologist as such. I do think that it would be nice to have a job where I had normal working hours and did not bear such huge responsibility of whether someone lived or died just because of the mistakes I made.

Recently, I notice myself losing my temper all too quickly and my impatience mounting by the second when things are slow and don't go my way. I am uncompromising and demanding and I get annoyed when people are slow to understand things that I say.

And then I check myself right there. I detest stereotypes and the typical stereotypical female doctor lusting after a high-flying, stressful job is one of a Tiger Alpha Female who makes everyone else shudder from head to toe as soon as she turns her eye on them.

The role of a female surgeon or a high-flying, competitive medical specialty such as Cardiology paints the exact same stereotypical picture. As with my entry before on sense of style in the work environment, I refuse to conform to such stereotypes just because the 'norm' is such.

And yet there are days when I find myself so excited about ECGs and chest pain and heart failure and PCI's that it is sad. Even when my days on Cardiology were as a glorified secretary, sitting at my favourite spot on the ward typing on the computer furiously and doing referrals for CABG surgery to Southampton, I missed it when I was away and on call. With the same pace on Colorectal Surgery which I once loved and actually wanted to do, I feel no such attachment to my job and in fact, got so bored towards the end of my normal days on surgery that I was becoming rather cavalier about stuff.

It seems there is such a long path ahead to trudge on in this competitive journey of pushing everyone out of the way en-route to clinching that training number - it makes me wonder if I really have what it takes to become a Cardiologist.

Or more importantly, do I really want to....that badly?

But for the moment, let's live in the present. Now that I am fully GMC-registered as a fully qualified medical practitioner, I can doctor.

Or at least let's hope so.

A Warrior, Reborn

At the Semi Finals in RG '13: the headlines finally read - Nadal d. Djokovic. 

After a whirldwind of a match lasting 4 hours and 37 minutes, just short of their historical 5 hours 53 minutes showdown in Melbourne in 2012, only one man could emerge the winner to move on to the finish line. 

And that man was always meant to be Rafa Nadal. 

Certain matches will always transcend our familiar definitions and labels, and this particular semifinal at Phillipe Chartier this year probably fell short of a few. It wasn't classic. It was not 'epic' either. It probably fell a little short of 'elegant' in more ways than one, particularly amidst the blindingly fast shots that zipped through the air and the 173 mph groundstrokes of Novak Djokovic that only one man could persevere and come through: and that one man was Rafael Nadal. 

It was a particularly stressful match for me to watch, and halfway there, I forgot that I was watching a semifinal and not the real deal as I had been last year. 

My heart ached when Djokovic played like he had ice in his veins during the second match, basically throwing it away, and lurched to 200 bpm when he seemed to suddenly regain his footing and come clean in the 3rd and 4th. 

The final and deciding factor, was however, that the Djoker still has much of discipline and consistency to learn, at the end of the day. And eventually, my heart wept for what might have been, and all the hope that I had been harbouring throughout the entire match. 

Perhaps more dramatic than should have been perceived, and perhaps it is such that one should never too much harbour only to have it crushed in front of your very eyes. But at the end of the day, I was clear about one thing: some things are just meant to be. Call it destiny, call it twists of fate, call it life. 

Perhaps what made this defeat even more unforgettable was how much my tennis experience had changed over the past 2 years or so. I remembered the days of me and Lynn - when we would be within the same time zone and easy contact of each other when watching matches. How she would always understand this perhaps 'over the top' excitement. 

Then I remembered how the last time a similarly epic encounter had occurred between these two men, there had always been that one person who would be sharing my nerve-wracking palpitations and cheering me on to never lose faith in my Djoker.

This year, it was JH who had to listen to my outbursts about this French Open semifinal - with a "What is wrong? Who is Djoker playing?" 

And then after that, "What??? Since when was Djoker World No. 1????" 

At the end: Nadal walked away with the trophy for the 8th time as expected. 

Sometimes though, fate tugs this way rather than the other. 

Next year, I will be there. And perhaps next year, it will be Novak Djokovic who will be the new King of Clay. 

The Fashionista Wannabe

So I admit it. I am a sucker for all things pretty and shiny. 

And stripey. 

And dotty.

And flowery. 

And lace. 

So yes, basically I am one of those girls. I have too many clothes for my own good. The number of shoes I have could rival that of a small shoe store's. I used to have so many accessories in my jewellery box that I could have opened up my own stall in a flea market. The number of bags in my collection grows exponentially by the day despite me proclaiming after every purchase that this was the last, because I would never need any more. 

I once jokingly said that if I had not ended up becoming a doctor, I would be one of those girls at Vogue or In Style or that next biggest fashion magazine to hit the streets. 

Think Anne Hathaway in 'Devil Wears Prada'. Ideal.

The truth is, I could never imagine myself doing anything other than my day job nowadays despite the fact that it does not actually involve much brain work besides running around chasing stuff and not being appreciated for it. Bar the fact that I derive pleasure from being 'busy' these days, I have continued to develop my personal sense of style within the limited scope of my job. 

I have never been a trend-setter or one of those girls who can boldly pull off the funkiest of designs. Neither am I a fashionista - think those socialites in Gossip Girl. But the one thing I can give myself credit for is that I do have a sense of style, whether or not it is an acquired one, is another matter. 

Sometimes it makes me wonder whether I am in the wrong field of work. If only I was this good at making spot diagnoses or recognising little things in patients rather than pull this piece and that together to make a perfect match. But then I scoff aloud and check myself right there. Who ever said fashion and medicine couldn't be in the same semantic field? I may love dressing up and pairing pieces together and experimenting with different trends, albeit in moderation, but I am no fashion designer. Never. Ever. 

But there are days that I wish my job did not involve being splashed on by bodily matter or scurrying around the entire hospital looking for a blood gas syringe or trying to run after a consultant surgeon during a 2 minute ward round, just so I could possibly turn up to work one day looking like this: 

Or even complete my outfit to this extent: 

Many a time when I have lamented to my mum that I wish I had a job which involved a whole lot of sitting around on cushy chairs so that I could be decked out in heels all day long, I have gotten a "Pffttt" in response. 

You? Sit around all day long? Did you not hate Elderly Care medicine so much because there was just too much sitting around because it was just too slow for your pace? 

So perhaps while my career as a house officer draws to an end, I will stretch out these remaining days with whatever limits my work wardrobe can be stretched to and however much my feet can stand being tortured by running around in wedges all day long, and look forward to the day that I can be finally be sat in my own office. In heels. 

For the moment, I can continue living in my own shopaholic bubble to whatever extent my funds can allow me, and build towards being that fashionista that I have always wanted to be.

Incise & Drain

When I was 13, I wanted to be a Neurosurgeon. Perhaps because back then, it sounded seemingly cool. 

At some point in medical school, I wanted to be a Cardiothoracic Surgeon. It had been unknown to me then, but I had already fallen for Cardiac physiology...and more. 

Few years along the line, I was sure that I wanted to be a Cardiologist rather than a CT surgeon. 

Enter my first job and first year as a junior doctor: I was more sure than ever that I wanted to be a cardiologist, if not - medicine. 

Today on my first day as a surgical house officer on call, I ponder how I ever considered surgery in the first place. How was it that I ever thought I possessed the qualities and the personality of a surgeon? 

So much bitching, back-stabbing and heaping the blame on others already. 

ARGH. 

Give me back Medicine! Give me back Cardiology!! 

2013: BOOM!

So 2012 came and went SO SO quickly that it took me the whole of today for it to sink in that I am now at Day 1 of a fresh new start.

This year's NYE celebration was as different from last year's as night from day. I spent the day time in a comatose state, completely exhausted, having finished on night shifts. The irony was that my night before had been a state of boredom beyond words. The Surgical F1 and I sat at the mess looking at each other, he having offered to do as many cannulas for me as he could (simply because he was bored as well!) before he finally decided to sleep, and me, having watched him and the Surgical SHO snore away for every single night before this, decided to cave and join them as well. The funny thing is when you DO sleep, compared to when you don't, you wake up even more exhausted than usual each time you are interrupted to do the most stupid jobs. 

I then decided to attend a costume party with my usual outfit - a pretty dress. Unfortunately I was the only other person in the whole place to not be dressed up as something, so my constantly repeating over and over again that I was there as a 'pretty girl' could only get me as far. 

Counting down to 2013 was a bit anti-climatic to say the least. We spent ages trying to find this person or the other and when we finally did, I was already sober beyond words. It didn't help that the bartender at the club rejected my debit card and I didn't have enough cash on me, and that we had to drag my drunk friend back home in a taxi at the start of the night because she was almost wasted beyond words. We did, however, manage to have quite a bit of fun at the end of the night, despite the series of events that prevailed, with me being utterly confused at 3 am in the morning amidst deafening music and having a flashback of an unfortunate scene that had happened a few years ago. 

At that time, having a whole week off post-nights AND having the directorate forget to take my request into account that I wanted to cancel it off the rota seemed like a good idea. But with my Microsoft Office not yet arrived in the post and my wandering mind unable to concentrate on reading any book for long, it makes me despair and wish that I was actually back to the manic conditions of the elderly care wards tomorrow. It doesn't help that I started the morning of my new year with the most intense conversation ever at 5.30 am in the morning and that I was so tired today that I fell asleep at 6 pm only to wake up with a start at 8 pm. Aye, messing up my own sleeping patterns indeed. 

It is possibly slightly sad that I am spending my first day off lamenting about the fact that I wish I was going back to work rather than be left with nothing to do and to fester with a zillion thoughts in my own head, and it reminds me of the dismal times in the midst of Final Year when I was going through emotional turmoil and had nothing to distract myself from apart from the fact that finals were looming and I had to pass them by hook or by crook. 

But this is why I like my job. I like the fact that I am constantly on the go and always called to do things left, right and centre. I like that nothing is predictable day to day. I like that I am so busy all the time and when I look up it is suddenly 5 pm already. And I love the fact that my life is routine as such, and at the moment there are only important things ahead to dwell on: successfully completely F1, focus on taking postgrad exams and make the most of this damn career. Because it is possibly the only thing in my life that I can control at the moment and the only thing I can make sure doesn't go pear-shaped.

My new year's resolution, apart from learning to be a better doctor, however is to be this girl:

My figure is no 5'6" (I am only 5'4") but I sure as hell can have that bag. I will be sure of it :) 

And as Kel says, it is only another 3 more months before I am on home soil and catching up with my beloved chums again! I absolutely can't wait!! 

For the moment, I need to reignite the positivity that I had when I embarked on the start of 2012 - that this will be one hell of a year and I will take down every single lemon that life hurls at me. Because I know that this will be an even better year than the last. And I will make sure that I become every inch of a kick-ass doctor to measure up to it. 

BOOM!