Wonderland

It seems hard to imagine that 2014 is drawing to an end and again, my whole year has almost passed by without me achieving much in life. I suppose I imagined myself living in a sort of Wonderland before moving back, and then I took a whole month and more to get used to this job that I had loved so much before. 

Each day when I open up my various pages of social media, besides seeing this person getting married, that person getting engaged and this other person winning some kind of top-notch award, I drag myself on to my feet and realise that I have nothing much to share with the world besides trudging to work before it is barely light.

I suppose I can't complain much. I don't live at the other end of Singapore and am lucky enough to be able to get to and from work easily. I am also lucky that now it has been almost 6 months since I started work, I am less at a loss with the different abbreviations and I know how to get to A&E back to the ward without losing my way. I have also done countless 30 hour on calls now to the point that I know how it feels like to survive without sleep for 2 days. 

However, I do find myself questioning myself over and over again if this is what I really even want. 

How distant those days of bonding with my favourite cardiology registrar over coffee in the echo room or my cardiology consultant heaping praises over my winning the audit award to everyone in the hospital seemed. Here, I am less than dust. Not that it really mattered. I had at least gotten over the fact that if I got through the day without being shouted at, I should count my blessings. 

But I hadn't realised until recently how exhausted I was doing back to back 30 hour on calls until a few days ago and it made me wonder. If this was really what I wanted out of my entire life. Running around the hospital at top speed, getting angsty at stupid A&E referrals and snapping at everyone else. 

I wasn't that kind of person and I wasn't willing to be. 

These days, the thing that makes my days is listening to Taylor Swift and 1989 on repeat, gawking at her amazing outfits and how amazingly skinny she is....how I could never ever be this skinny despite my efforts (sporadic, yes, I know...) at gymming. 

And I think back to this time last year and the days of eyelash-batting at Mr Crook and gossiping about nonsense seem so so far away. 

This year I will spend boxing day on call, NYE post 30 hour on call and the rest of the month slaving through the usual routine of work + running around the wards + getting used to this life. 

It seems that when I was so inspired and so determined to achieve this cardiology dream in the UK, the dream has never seemed to distant to me until now. 

This trophy, his again

Wimbledon 2014: Djokovic d. Federer


And then there were two. Two Wimbledon titles, that is.

If anyone wanted to show an alien from outer space what an exquisite game tennis was, all they should do is play a tape of the first set that went down between Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic at the Wimbledon Finals 2014. At the end of the first set, although it was Federer's way that the tie break ended up going, I paused and shook my head in disbelief. What a game. What top quality tennis. How beautiful. 
I later told my friend that it must have bee quite amusing to witness the conversation that unfolded between me and my other friend (Federer fan). She, who lost hope in the  beginning after he was 2 sets and 2-5 down, with Djokovic serving for championship point. And then, all of a sudden, he wilted, just a teeny little bit, and it was me who was depressed all over again with an image of the old Djokovic flashing before my eyes - the weak mental game and inability to psych himself back. 
It was even more unbelievable when Djokovic had another chance at match point when Federer's serve was called out. He summoned Hawk's Eye. It wasn't. And he survived in the match long enough to take the 4th and force a 5th set. This was classic Federer. Impeccable tennis. The aces, the calm demeanour, the barely breaking a sweat.

The Novak circa 2008 - 2009 would have buckled under that pressure, having championship point slip through his bare hands. He would have just wilted after sitting at the sidelines and the Federer we knew would have finished him off like a junior. Heck, even I didn't believe in him. I had resorted to giving up all hope after having shouted at the TV screen for almost 4 hours.

But this is 2014, and Novak Djokovic sat quietly at the sidelines, gathered himself to defy it all and found his way back to win the trophy.

It was an emotional end to the day for many. Firstly, for Novak himself who, after eating another blade of grass to continue his tradition, dedicated this win to his future wife and child and his late coach who had told him he was going to be World No.1.

For Federer who wiped away a tear, standing gallantly at the side watching Novak receive the trophy.
"Thank you for letting me win today," he had told the legend. And indeed, it takes two to tango. Without Federer, there would never have been such great tennis at play.

And for many of my friends, die-hard Federer fans...without whom this experience would not be half as fun.

Lynn posted this screenshot of our Whatsapp conversation where we gave ourselves bouts of palpitations during the match. 4 whole of years of enthusing over tennis matches and grand slam results and watching tennis is still as enjoyable with this girl. Federer v Djokovic clashes and Wimbledon would have never been the same if our paths hadn't crossed. 

So as of today, Novak is World No.1 again. The best in the world, they say. And perhaps winning this Wimbledon was just what he needed to end this 18 month drought of not winning any Grand slam titles. But such is the world of tennis, which is why I love this game so much. It is unpredictable and full of surprises and yet when executed brilliantly, so beautiful to watch. And I believe Federer's last day has yet to come. I also believe that there is much more this World No.1 will bring to his game in the near future. 

May the best man win

It has been 2 whole years since my last visit to Centre Court in 2012 where I watched Rafa Nadal crash out in the first round in front of my very eyes, 4 whole years since our first venture into the grounds of Wimbledon where I very unpleasantly turned 5 shades darker and after that, where the exhilarating experience of the Quarterfinals on Centre Court made everything worth it. 

Wimbledon 2012 

Fast forward 2 years later to 2nd July 2014, where I had just emerged from an amazing 3 hour experience of Transformers on the big screen. 

My  Wimbledon app bleeps a notification and I flick it open. 

WHATTT!!?!? Andy Murray, the defending champion of Wimbledon 2012 - knocked out of the Quarterfinals by an 11th seeder whom I had hardly paid attention to before this?

This had got to be the best day ever. 

"OMG Andy Murray is OUT of the tournament!" 

"Haha, told you it was gonna be another 77 years before he wins it again" 

"#spankedbacktoscotland"

It's difficult to describe why I feel so strongly against the poor chap. Perhaps because he isn't the most charismatic of tennis players and although he has matured greatly in the game since those early days, his attitude still annoys me on the court. But most importantly, last year, when I had been watching him diligently on the TV screen - the only Wimbledon match I had managed to catch properly amidst work - I had watched my Djoker defeated right in front of my very eyes. It was a devastating experience, if any, and didn't do my distaste for the Scotsman any favours. 

But this year....things were getting real. After watching Novak battle his way inconsistently in and out of being in the lead against Grigor Dimitrov last night to reach his 3rd Wimbledon final in 4 years, I had come to a surprising conclusion - that in fact, Roger Federer was probably more deserving of this championship than Novak this tournament. And that it was obvious yesterday from his breaking Milos Raonic in the first game of the very first set that sometimes, all you need is the spirit of a champion, and in that department, Roger was the clear winner. 

So I have to admit that although I am a Novak fan through and through, a small part of me is contented with Roger winning the championships this year. Mainly because it has been so long since he has last won a Grand Slam and because he has been close to flawless this tournament. Milos never stood a chance and I gave up after a few minutes of watching the youngster wilt against the 32 year old.

But as they say, may the best man win. Either way I look forward to another highly entertaining tennis match to watch.

Good luck, guys.

Back for good

Back when I had first announced my decision to leave the UK for good in March, it had seemed so far away then. On top of studying for my MRCP Part 2 exam and tearing my hair out amidst consecutive on calls and questions, the one thing I proclaimed daily was that I just wanted to go home for good. I couldn't wait. Later on, when these exams had been passed and done with and there was no longer any real stress, I ranted about how I hated surgery and ENT daily. That I couldn't wait to leave this place forever. 

Truth be told, my departure from the UK was more uneventful than anything else I had ever experienced in life. It had been completely drama-free, perhaps aided greatly by the fact that we were in a mad rush to lug back my 28492 outfits and shoes that I had collected over half a lifetime in a country I had come to know so well over these years. There was no longing and bitterly missing my life in the UK after coming back here. In fact, I have almost forgotten what it was like back there - and this is what I'd like to think is what it is like to feel settled. That this decision to move back for good was none other than the right one all along. 

When I had first told my consultant of my decision to leave a few months ago, he pointed out that I had spent so many years in the UK that I was probably more 'anglicised' than I had thought over these years. Which I had to agree was slightly true and slightly not. I had come to find myself to be someone who was neither here nor there since I had left home at the age of 17. Amongst my English friends, I found myself to be 'more Chinese' than I had ever thought with my principles and yet back home, the tag 'UK Girl' never seemed to have left. Living abroad brought me the freedom and independence that made me grow into the person I was today, and this, amidst a myriad of both good and bad things that transpired - McD runs in the middle of the night, getting so wasted on 80% strength liquor, trudging 2 miles to the train station in ankle-deep snow clad only in ballet flats, coupled with short interludes of winter / easter / summer holidays gallivanting in Europe or being pampered back home....I would never have traded in for anything else ever. 

And then the one big party that was 'student life' ended, and the real world loomed ahead. Friends started to leave....one by one. For different parts of the UK, for Scotland, for the East. Boys came and went and sadly, none were here to stay. On call rotas started to shape our lives, followed closely by the pain of studying for post grad exams. There ceased to be a 'Club 168A' or a 'Daisy, Minnie and Coco' and meeting up for short European breaks  / weekend breaks seemed to be the only thing I lived for. And as much as I had professed that the past 2 years of my medical career had turned out with me having nothing to show for besides an amazing ability to multi-task and churn out discharge summaries at top speed, I had to admit that the only bit of meaning to my life was probably connecting with medicine and reinstating my faith in what I had already known - that I was a medic through and through. That it had been insane I had actually considered Colorectal Surgery and Ob Gyn for one brief point in medical school.

It feels strange to be leading the most unproductive life ever when I had hardly stopped to even breathe for the whole of May with my back to back on calls. Truth be told, there is alot of soul searching that I have been left with to do at the moment. Whether or not my incessant desire to live the Cardio dream and put up with a lifetime of stress and exams was what I would really want in the future, if life would really become as empty for me as being only about constantly struggling to keep abreast in this rat race that is medicine with no knight in shining armour riding along in a cloud of dust in the distance, if I was really cut out to be the best of both worlds in the future or if I could just handle one at a time.

But I reckon pondering never really did anyone any good, and I have come this far to achieve my fierce childhood dream of becoming a doctor. We only move forward from where we go, and hope for the best.

And for the moment, I'm optimistic that I can make it. 

Happy

And so by the goodness of God, I woke up one Friday in early May to an update on the MRCP website saying that the Part 2 results had been released and thankfully, I had passed again. Far from aced it, mind you, but hey, my aim was never to be a genius anyway.

I was riding on a cloud that night when I embarked on my second weekend in a row of surgical nights - something that mind you, I hate to the core. And then after a couple of days the euphoria passed and I started realising that even when you have passed both written parts of your membership exams, there is still so much that you don't know and there is still so much yet to come.

But for now, let's focus on happy things for the time being, i.e. that my last FOUR days of work are approaching. That this is the last time EVER I need to do bloody ENT Surgery or any kind of Orthopaedic / Urology / ENT / General Surgery on call EVER again. That my one month of freedom and holidays at home are coming up. That I might actually make it as a Cardiologist after all, now that I have leaped through yet another hoop along the way. That I drew my time at this hospital where I had built so many memories, gotten to know so many incredible people and grown so much as a doctor, to a proper close and had an amazing time at my party.

There is so much I have to say about leaving this country where I have spent such a significant number of years of my life, but I think that deserves another post in itself. At the moment, we have been so busy chucking stuff out and moving that I have not paused to take it all in.

But as this post says, happy things and happy thoughts only for now. 

Not enough

When my 4 months as a Gastro SHO was up on Tuesday, I had been building up the sadness within for a good week before. In fact, I had not anticipated enjoying Gastro this much when I first started - read: the days when my ward rounds ended at 3.30 pm, Upper GI bleeders dumped their systolic BP every 6 pm and I was sure that the bosses thought I was massive idiot with my obsolete medical knowledge coming from Orthopaedics. 

It was a very eventful ending to my last day on Gastro, in the wrong way. At 3.50 pm I opened up Patient A's chest X Ray, annoyed that it had taken them almost 4 hours from the moment I requested the CXR for it to finally be done. It was the most impressive CXR I had ever seen, think massive pneumoperitoneum with the diaphragm pushed wayyyy up. I ran over to the Oncology ward to make sure the patient had not died, and was duly impressed when I was told he was out sitting in the sun - that he had not managed to die since 24 hours ago of being admitted with these symptoms. The Consultant buried his face into his hands, the registrar who was in endoscopy rushed up 20 minutes later saying that she had just seen the X Ray....and the day ended with the patient insisting that he could still fight for his life....he had this much strong willpower inside him. No amount of 'You are going to die and you are not fit for an operation' would enter his mind. This was truly denial - the first phase of receiving bad news. 

And then my registrar gave me the cutest chocolate bunny I had ever seen and said she had had the easiest rotation this time around because I was on the wards and that I would be amazing at what I do, even if I ended up being a Cardiologist (which she proceeded to mutter under her breath - was really boring). I swear at that moment, if I had not wanted to be  a Cardiologist this much, I would have buckled and sworn that Gastro was totally my thing. 

But seriously, amidst all the chaos of the ginormous medical ward that I was based on, the crazy days of Gastro inheriting almost every single Gastro AND general medical patient in the hospital, and my 8 pm finishes with no registrar, no other juniors and no Consultant, I had come to love this job more than ever. So much so that I had only ever felt this sad once: the day I left my job as a Cardio FY1 last year.

These days, however, it is not enough to just be passionate and profess how much you love a specialty anymore. The days over the last two weeks when I have been slaving over firstly day on calls and then night on calls, when I stole every minute in between clerking patients to do two or three questions, or when I forced myself to stay up and do a paper even after the most horrible night, or when you power through 13 patients in one night on a crazy medical take and want to die from exhaustion, it isn't so easy to love this job when I am not a genius who aces the MRCP exam without having to crack my brain over all this excessive information.

Having been through med school and being a doctor humbles me time and time again and makes me recognise my own limitations - that I am far from clever and I am mediocre. I work hard and I am willing to pour all my enthusiasm into Cardiology but sometimes I am truly doubtful that this is all it takes to get me there.

If it's so hard for me to even pay attention and juggle studying + working to pass these memberships exams, I can't imagine the state I will be in for PACES, or when those specialty exams loom in the near future.

*headdesk*

Come on, you can do this. You can conquer this Part 2. A few more days of endless mugging and suffering and it will be all worth it.

VAMOS SHING! 

A New Era

It seems like yesterday that I was young and fresh. Now, I say this like I am a grouchy middle-aged lady, but the truth is that the early and mid twenties are long over, and it feels even longer ago that I was a wide-eyed teenager. Where had all the time gone in the blink of an eye? 

I see myself evolving from day to day. And at this point in time, in my late twenties, sometimes I wonder if I have gained anything in life besides a medical degree, more lines, thinning hair and a ton of weight. 

The one thing I am sure that I have gained, however, is a tasteful sense of style. Don't get me wrong, I may not be Tatler Magazine's Woman of the Year or Fashionista of the Month, and not everyone shares a similar taste in my clothes, but I pride myself on not being tacky. 

Or, perhaps, it is just that I am probably 5 kg heavier than I was when I was 16, and there is no way a person of my height and weight and well past the age of 18 could pull of micro minis, plunging halter tops and strappy sandals any longer. These days, it makes me uncomfortable to appear in a hemline higher than above my knees, and I rarely appear in anything strapless or a halter neckline. My wardrobe is completely obsolete with any tops that need a zillion stringy bits tying together and it makes me uncomfortable when a hint of cleavage starts showing in any tops. 

It also helps that these days, I am meant to be a professional who is busy saving lives and nobody would want their doctor to turn up looking like a hooker. 

Last year I was obsessed with lace. I still am, don't get me wrong. 

This year, I discovered the wrap dress. 

I have long been a fan of Diane von Fursternbug. The only problem was that I could not afford anything from DvF because I was no lady of leisure and a poor aspiring doctor who has yet to pass the membership exams could never afford DvF on a regular basis. 

So I surfed. And made a mental note to hunt down high street alternatives. 

I love how this brightly coloured piece is demure yet striking at the same time. Totally screams power dressing all over.

I LOVE this piece. The take on a short sleeved wrap dress is something that I have yet to see and it screams versatility all over.

And finally, who can resist mesh sheer polka-dotted sleeves? 

Sigh. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better off as a personal shopper or some kind of fashionista who had her own clothes boutique rather than the struggling aspiring cardiologist that I am now. It makes me wonder how my flair for piecing together outfits comes so naturally even when I am late for work and rushing to just throw on the first few pieces I see, whereas in contrast it takes so much for me to remember medical facts, tiny details, make sure I don't mess up at work....and on top of all that, claw everyone out of my way to the top. 

If it takes so much for me to even pass my membership exams and stay focused, I wonder if my whole life is going to filled with stress, a feeling of emptiness and dreariness AND still not be able to reach the top or even fulfil my distant dream of being a Cardio God. 

Why couldn't things be as simple as I thought they were when I was 16? Why couldn't I just have all the things I thought I would when I imagined myself at this age? 

At this point in time, it looks like I will end up looking as haggard as a rag from the exhaustion of mugging for my MRCP, stressing over on calls and work AND I would still end up not being a Cardio God and NOT having a Prince Charming of any kind to prevent me from drowning under all this pressure. 

Oh well. 

CNY Festivities (or rather, lack thereof)

So as with every other year since I have been in the UK, CNY often comes and leaves unrecognised. Surreptitiously, in the dead of night. 

Since I have left London, however, it seems my CNY 'festivities' have hit a new low. Gone are the days of our 'Concord' gatherings and dinners in Chinatown, despite the shrinking number of people in our group. 

I can't for the life of me remember what happened last year during CNY. After racking my brains like mad, I suddenly recalled that I had been on a weekend ward-cover day running around like a headless chicken throughout the whole hospital tending to every medical patient in the hospital who was threatening to die. I told myself since then that no CNY could be possibly worse than this.

This year, my CNY had hit a new low. Being the solo doctor on Gastro that Friday, I had been dreading this day for weeks, having been on a two or three man team on a Friday on Gastro and still leaving at 730 pm. Thankfully though, my desperation must have been heard and God must have answered my prayers because it did not turn out to be anywhere as horrible as I had expected. 

However, my CNY itself was desolate indeed. I spent the weekend cooped up in front of my computer, stressing about not being able to finish all my work before my impending job interview and then stressing again about my lack of medical knowledge. Why oh WHY did I have to sit MRCP?

I told myself that this would be my last CNY spent in a similar fashion in this country, though. 

So what's a girl to do but research pretty cheongsams? 

Last year, I had a bit of a nervous breakdown when my good friends Sue Lynn and Leslie got married and proclaimed that their theme was Shanghai 1920's, to which I suddenly realised that I had no cheongsam and no similar 1920's themed outfit. With my mum's help who went on a cheongsam rampage in Kch, I finally managed to rock up in this: 

Which, considering the fact that I had not spent a few hundred bucks having it made to measure, turned out pretty good. Unfortunately, I had put on a ton of weight then and had not looked my optimum self, but now have a few cheongsams at hand to choose from. 

And then I discovered this Singaporean designer, Ong Shunmugan, and I knew I had to get some of these dresses next year:

What better to complete my true love for peplum than to have it in form of a cheongsam. Ingenious! 

Well, perhaps I should grace Team Gastro with my presence in a cheongsam one day. 

What say you?