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! 

Just Because

There are only a handful of people in this world who actually know me inside out. That in all truthfulness, I look stronger than I really am. 

But since I have started this job in August, I have only gone upwards and forwards from there. Much to the point that I feel I have such good control over my emotions these days, I have almost talked myself into NOT feeling. Or rather, not actively feeling anything. 

But I am human. Just because I don't cry doesn't mean that there aren't days when I feel like work is sucking the energy right out of me. 

Just because I don't say anything does not mean that my heart doesn't break when I see that old lady tottering around the ward, being denied that cup of tea she can't have because she isn't safe to swallow.

Just because I hold my tongue and smile certainly does not mean that I feel any less impatient towards the lack of insight and initiative some people have. 

And just because I am remaining positive about my new job in Geriatric Medicine and the amount of general medicine I am hoping to gain out of this sure as hell does not mean that I miss Cardiology any less. 

The strange thrills that I get from diagnosing and managing someone in heart failure OR talking about pacemakers OR managing fast AF make me wonder at times whether I have just anchored myself because I dislike change, or perhaps...

Perhaps that I just like things that I cannot have. 

The Downfall

I had to admit, it was a little hard to believe when this picture greeted me this morning. Never in a million years had I imagined that it would be Andy Murray of all people that Djoker would be crushed by. 

Andy Murray....with all his whininess and the eye-rolling worthy hype by the British press. 

Yet, perhaps it is that pride always comes before a fall. Or rather, in Djoker's case: his racquet-smashing tendencies ended up with him being completely smashed by the Scotsman. 

It was one of the most frustrating matches of my entire life to absorb. First things first, I had been all but bubbling with excitement at the thought that I could finally catch a US Open match because it was actually early enough for my BST night time (9 pm instead of the usual 12 am). 

When Djoker was broken in the first game, I knew something was amiss. 

The first set suddenly was over with Andy Murray in the driving seat and me venting my anger out to Coco on Gtalk. 

How different things were from the year before, where my US Open 2011 experience comprised of blurry snippets from another TV via a Skype conversation and me declaring that things were over for Djokovic when Federer led 2 sets up, only to be told later on that "NOOOOO where is the faith? A World No.1 is a World No.1 for a reason!" 

This year, my little bit of faith left in my Djoker was hanging on a rapidly fraying string when he again was trashed in the second set. Yet, I still persevered and told myself that things could turn around like it had against Federer. Like the commentator said eventually, it was a battle of the forehands, and the obvious winner who emerged was Murray. 

In the end, a few points shone clearly from this match. I went to bed annoyed for perhaps more than just the sole reason that Djoker was crossing the fine line between stubborn and dumb. I was also, perhaps, annoyed that everything had changed in the span of 12 months. 

Oh well. Next year, Nole. 

Till then, I hope you are happy now, Andy and Team GB. 

"I don't ask for much..."

This quotation brings back fond memories in a context of inside jokes and much associated laughter. It used to be something I said with a tinge of dry humour. And yet, today it actually shone through. 

It has been a week of ups and downs. At times, I did feel as though I was being crushed to death under the weight of a zillion things. At others, it felt like things could flip between going perfectly well to suddenly catapulting into disaster and crashing down upon me. 

And then there are times like these that completely make my day:

1) Sliding in a cannula flawlessly when 2 different people had failed 4 times before me. 

2) My patient grasping my hands and telling me 'Thank You SOOO much, my dear. Thank You. You have been so kind."

3) Another telling me that 'your skirt is really pretty, my dear.' 

4) And one colleague commenting in response to another's "Ohhh Alyssa always looks like she's just walked straight out of a fashion magazine. Always!!" 

And the icing on the cake is that Friday looms tomorrow and in 24 hours I will be seeing these lovely ladies:

So in fact, I did mean what I said. I don't ask for much at all. And in fact, it never takes much to make me delirious with joy. 

OMG I absolutely can't wait for this weekend!! *BIMBOTIC SQUEAL* 

Plus, I have Monday off!!!! *STARJUMP*

The Peplum Phase

So it's official. I have yet again, another new addiction. 

This time, it is none other than the very demure, very classic, absolutely to-die-for peplum. 

I started wearing them over summer after being talked into buying a couple of tops in Singapore by some salesgirls and have been so hooked ever since. 

I don't take very many pictures of myself in the different outfits, but trust me, if I had an endless supply of cash, I would be buying every single peplum top I set my eyes on this very moment. 

This...was particularly love at first sight:

This was something that I could even potentially wear in the hospital, and ohhhh soooo versatile! The only glitch that it was Phillip Lim and obviously out of my budget as a measly FY1. 

And then there was this: the perfect answer to my dual obsession with lace AND peplum. A recipe for disaster, if I ever set my eyes on this in any High Street store for sure. 

Thankfully, this one was designer and would have ripped a hole in my wallet. Now, if only my job didn't really require running around the corridors trying to rush to an ABG machine for results or answering bleeps in between trying to juggle scribing in notes. If only I could wear stiletto heels and pencil skirts and walk at any pace I liked. 

Well, a girl can always dream. 

So yeah, the only downside of the peplum top is that it probably adds a couple of unnecessary inches to my not-so-tiny waist, and seeing as I am not 44 kg, that might not be ideal, but hey....there are just some vices in life that should be allowed. 

On second thought, forget the practicality of work outfits. I am so buying a lace peplum top the next time I go shopping. Even if it doesn't particularly come across as hospital-friendly attire, I could always wear it the next time I go to a dressier event, perhaps when the moon next turns blue. 

Gosh, I am such a shopaholic. 

So this is what I signed up for...

A life of continuously rushing around the corridors of the hospital, being bleeped in every single direction and having a seemingly endless list of jobs to complete over each stretch of 12 hours. And when I say 12 hours are not enough, I mean they are not enough. 

First weekend of ward cover being on call - check. 

Horrendous ward cover oncall experience - CHECK. 

I am not much of a Drama Queen, but last night, I was on the verge of exasperation. I had to hand over a list of stupid jobs to the Nights F1 simply because 12 hours was not enough for me to run from one corner of the hospital to another in between getting bleeped every 5 minutes and sprint down to A&E for TWO cardiac arrest calls. So amidst watching two ppl die and watching a guy I had clerked in slowly deteriorate right in front of my eyes with the most deranged blood results ever, I had to mentally psych myself aloud into bringing on another day of ward cover without buckling. 

If there is one thing that my debaucles with matters of the heart have taught me over the years, it is to be stronger. And in moments like these, it has never proved to be more useful. 

So today, I cruised into 3 pm in the afternoon thinking that all was completely under control. And then things started to spiral the other way. Each time the Med Registrar saw me, he would take a look at me and go: 

"Alyssa, have you eaten all day?"

"No."

"Oh my God. Please. Go and eat something." 

And proceeded to drag me into the Doctor's office to force me to eat a doughnut. 

And just as I was leaving tonight, he took one look at me and said "Alyssa you look absolutely knackered. Are you okay?"

Yeah, maybe not. After I was bleeped to see someone who turned out to have a Pulmonary Oedema on my way to Handover at 8.55 pm. After not eating anything before 10 pm for the past three days. Maybe not. 

Not to mention all the stupid questions that I have had to ask the Reg over the weekend and how my heart just lurches each time I am faced with a really sick patient. 

I have so much to learn still. It makes me really wonder if I will ever make it to be a Medical Registrar. Or any kind of Registrar at all. 

We'll see how I feel in three years or so. 

Hello, Cardiology F1 speaking

Because that is all I say these days when I get bleeped left, right and centre to prescribe this person Clopidogrel, rewrite that person's drug chart or please come and review Mr. X who is suddenly complaining of chest pain. 

And each day, it is almost amusing when my fellow F1 and I are notified of yet another new admission into CCU, and upon asking the question "What's the story with this new patient?", it seems our telepathy skills have improved drastically because I could almost put my money on it being Chest Pain. Or Shortness of breath. Or a collapse. 

When I was a Final Year doing my Medicine and Surgery placements where I was shadowing the F1, I was positive that I wouldn't have any trouble adapting to the job the following year, simply because much of the feedback I received revolved around me being 'really efficient' or 'too useful to discard' on the wards. Yes, my knowledge was hardly there. But I didn't like wasting time and I liked making sure that everything was sorted before I called it a day. 

Now that I am a junior doctor in Cardiology for real, it seems that I had imagined myself to be better than I really was. It took me a while to grasp the Trust's IT system, almost making the then F1 whom I was shadowing frown many a time in exasperation when I asked one stupid question after another. When I finally got my mind around that, the number of errors I came up with was astounding. I would cringe each time a weird look came across the Registrar's face when I had to explain yet again why the angio images from Salisbury had not yet arrived, or the look of astonishment on the Consultant's face when I could correctly give an answer to "What are the signs of Pericardial effusion?", as though it was amazing that I actually knew something. 

So my knowledge as a doctor remains close to obsolete. And I apparently am not as 'valuable' on the wards as I had imagined myself to be. The Registrar is always one step ahead and it seems I still lack the initiative to have everything perfectly in order at each start of the day. 

Today I told my Consultant that I wanted to be a Cardiologist. Fortunately for me, he was as encouraging as one could be. Whether or not it is a feasible achievement, that is a matter for the near future, but for the moment, I have this to work towards. 

Don't get me wrong, I might be dense. And my medical knowledge might be 1/100th of a Cardiology SpR's, but I enjoy my job. I enjoy the adrenaline it brings each day from rushing around chasing stuff in between having to clerk in Primary PCI's from Cath Lab. It gives me a sense of fulfillment when I know my patients so well that I can give an accurate summary without having to refer to the clerking proforma. And it makes me proud when I manage to successfully beg the Physiologist to squeeze in an echo for my patient who is hanging on a very thin thread of patience because she has been waiting for days just to have an echo. 

I love the fact that working hard everyday helps me take my mind off everything else and that I don't even have time to be bored or exasperated with my life, or rather a lack of it. It helps me take my mind off my homesickness, how much I miss my friends and the life we had in London as med students, of how much I have suffered one blow after another to my heart in recent times, and the uncertainty of my future. Without work, it seems I feel almost empty and at the verge of withdrawal symptoms. Knowing me, it is just like me to get hooked on something else to get my mind off the issues at present. 

And at the moment, I am determined to get myself hooked on the job. 

Who knows, as far as Cardiology as career is concerned, this could be as good as it gets. 

So here's to hopefully making the most out of my 4 month Cardiology stint and stepping up to the job. They are big to fill, these boots. But I never say never. 

Vamos Shing! 

New Beginnings

The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. I think I have to be grateful for the fact that I am stressing out with 2389 things to do before starting work rather than have to sit on my ass and ponder about whether or not I will be nervous about not having the excuse of 'just being a medical student' to fall back on any longer. 

So, graduation came and went. After much fussing for months and months on end about what colour of an outfit to wear under the robe, what shoes to match them with, how high they should be and etc, we are finally holders of an MBBS degree (Bachelor of Medicine and Surgery). 

Could not have done it without the finances and undying support from my parents who have listened to me sigh, tear and stress my way through Medical School. Each time they have done nothing but give me anything under the sun that I desired and believe in my meager abilities. Kudos to Mummy and Daddy Sim! 

Onwards and forwards to new lives... and with them of course, comes the inevitable farewells. The three years spent with 'The Neneks' and 'The Cartoons' have served us all well, and I am positive that we will remain fast friends for a long time coming. Some bonds are just meant to be as such - unbreakable. 

Also, the biggest new beginning would be the huge move out of London down south to the sunny coasts of Dorset in South West England. Possibly 'the middle of nowhere', as Lynn's Persk Friend describes, but I get to play wannabe Cardio God for my first job, so hey, if anything I suppose there's always that to look forward to. It has always seemed strange to me that after all these years in the UK, I have not developed any sort of affinity towards it at all. Each time I prepare for another 13 hour flight back to the UK, the reluctance to leave home is truly overwhelming. As with most things in life however, I do appreciate that the grass is always greener on the other side. But the one thing I have been sure about each time people have queried me about my future plans was that there was no freaking way I would live in the UK for another ten years on end.

Then again, I suppose anything the one thing could happen. Perhaps my Cardio God aspirations will soon evaporate and be replaced with being an Investment Banker (IB)'s wife whose main concern would be which Balenciaga bag to wear each day. 

Actually, that sounds like a much better plan already rather than straining to hear Mid Diastolic Murmurs and picking up all the signs of Mitral Stenosis.

So Here's a toast to New Beginnings. Of surviving my experience as a Foundation Doctor and of making the most of my medical degree :)  (And my life as an IB's wife in the near future)

Bruxelles

So with the hype of officially passing finals and Med School being over and done with, 'The Cartoons' and I reunited back again in London to make the most of our remaining holidays before the formalities of Graduation, Farewells and Doctoring began. 

And what better way to commemorate the last of our time spent together in this part of the world than a Euro Trip! 

Destination: Bruxelles, or Brussels - the capital of Belgium

Mode of Transport: Eurostar (Read: Convenient 2 hour journey from a train station in the city and NO fluids restriction! Awesome stuff)

Participants: Us girls and Daisy's Plus One. 

Mood: Jubilant! 

Didn't take very long to figure out what our main agenda for the majority of the trip was. Doing this:

In front of the miniscule-sized Mannekin Pis, which we took ages to find. Talk about anti-climatic.

Brussels was a nice change from the hustle and bustle of London. Small, reasonably-priced transport and easy to get around, with the help of our awesome tour guide, Mr. Rengier. We had fun gorging on Belgian Waffles, Chocolate and Frites dipped in a variety of sauces, amidst me flagging from a HUGE pot of Mussels. There wasn't that much to do or see per se, but it was a nice enough and relaxing holiday for us, and something to remember before we went our separate ways. 

And we even squeezed in a load of sight-seeing, thanks to Tour Guide #1! Four churches, the European Quarters, The Grand Place, parks, cam-whoring outside the Atomium and a whole load of laughter and movie sessions at night.

We even found a car park whose top floor overlooked the entire city and spent a fair amount of time taking self-indulged photos which could rival any Backstreet Boys or Spice Girls promo poster. Coming soon. As soon as Daisy gets around to uploading them.

It feels a little surreal that we have now reached this point in our lives, when only two months or so ago, we were worried sick about whether or not we would get through finals. It feels even more unimaginable that in a while, we will be going our separate ways, and not know when we would next see each other again.

Ah the friends that bless your lives with their wonderful presence. It's just a pity that people come and go in our lives and there is no way we can prevent that.

Thanks for the past three years, Cartoons xxx

Singapore Spree

And I say that because it was every bit one heck of a shopping spree as it could possibly get!

Since I would be in Singapore being a Cardio enthusiast for two weeks in the middle of May for my electives, I had a brilliant idea to organise a sequel to the Tenerife holiday: a relaxing (SUPPOSEDLY!) weekend in Singapore, catching up with these girls, because the last time we all saw each other was as far back as April 2010!

Tenerife - Easter 2010

Unfortunately, we were missing a member of the 'Tenerife Gang' as Noemi was busy being a hotshot architect in London this time, so the three of us made do. 

We hit the ground running! As soon as Hanna arrived, we kicked-started by hopping off to the much talked-about Universal Studios in Sentosa. 

The place was small, but didn't disappoint. The last time I had been to a theme park was 6 years ago, and the Alton Towers trip in CC with me and Jenn screaming our heads off on the 'Nemesis' rollercoaster lives in my mind. So this outing to check out Universal Studios was much welcomed indeed. Amongst the Marilyn Monroe lookalikes, Kung-Fu Panda 'Po' and Woody the Woodpecker, we even managed to pull a 'Gossip Girl' moment on the steps of this library. Not the Metropolitan, but in this case, the New York Public Library.

Priceless Moment of Note: Sitting on the Battlestar Galactica, 90-second rollercoaster, and me being really pleased to be seated in the last row, only to find out later that the scariest point of a rollercoaster IS being in the last row, because it picks up speed as it zooms down with gravity. Congrats, Shing.

After a tiring day gallivanting around Universal Studios, being soaked wet on a ride amongst other things, we even managed to trek it back in time for dinner and catching up with the CC buds and then drinking wine till almost 2 am, where the boys proceeded to order bottle after bottle of wine even when we had dropped a zillion hints that it was time to head back. Perceptive much?

But nothing would stand in the way of our shopping plans. The girls had big plans to shop down the entire GSS (Great Singapore Sale), so up we were before 9 am the next day and off to brunch at Wild Honey

The rest of our remaining two days were pretty standard despite our big plans to shop down the entire Orchard Road each day.

It seemed our brunches were never enough to provide enough fuel for shopping because we ran out of energy so quickly each day that it became a bit of a joke eventually how absolutely shattered we were after just a couple of hours of shopping.

Towards the end, I concluded that the one blessing in disguise that does well for curbing my borderline shopaholic tendencies is the fact that I lack the stamina to squeeze all the shopping malls dry despite the amount of caffeine or food I consume for the day. In fact, Post Prandial Stupor struck so often that by the time Sunday afternoon swung around, all I really wanted to do was to get on the first plane and head home.

I kid. But we did leave Singapore feeling like we needed another day to recuperate before heading back to work (for them) and off to my new ObGyn placement in Kch.

Nevertheless, even Rex's friend from Med School was wildly impressed that we had managed to remain such close friends after almost a decade of friendship, and the amount of effort we have put into meeting up as often as possible. In this case, almost once-yearly holidays.

The girls say that they can't possibly be up for more shopping sprees for the next trip. I concur wholly.

Till we meet again next year (hopefully in Penang!) 

Soulmate. Check, Mate.

This lovely lady turned 26 years old yesterday. Truly the nicest, prettiest, most efficient, kick-ass Doctor I have had the pleasure of knowing this lifetime :) And don't let anyone convince you otherwise, Dr. L X Wong. 

Fortunately the events of our last birthday bash from January in Balham (read: mine) didn't prevail. No drunkard lapse of memory, no massive hangover, no incessant vomiting. Thankfully. 

We had a very fun-filled rest of the evening catching up on matters close to the heart, with responsible drinking. And in the end, one or two revelations struck me in the early hours of that morning as I was trudging home (my first late night in FOREVER!)

It occurred to me that the last time I went to bed at 5 am (or even 6 am) was almost ages ago. That was when I discovered I could speak to someone for a record 8 or 9 hours on end without feeling like a minute had passed. 

Last night, I discovered that the record was very much breakable. I could execute the same feat perfectly well with a group of my close friends, and for the first time, I realised that it was equally AS enjoyable. And that blurry image of a scene of cheap beer and incessant laughter was really all in the mind. 

After a whole night of exchanging tales, of priceless advice and of convincing each other that it never pays to be 'too nice', we are left with the one tag line everyone has been telling me since the beginning of time, that when you meet 'THE ONE', you just know. It's as simple as that. There is this thing called 'indescribable chemistry'. And there is also this thing called 'Timing'. Timing can be a bitch, but hey, sometimes she lets up and things actually do work out. 

To which I obstinately thought, I have been increasingly cynical over the years, but I have no doubts about that statement. 

Because I am sure that I have experienced that chemistry, and I have met that person. I might not have been his, but he sure was mine. I know how it feels when everything just seems so right, even if the brutal truth is that it only remains that way in your head. But as with most circumstances that I have come to realise the hard way over the years, it isn't enough for just love to bind two people together anymore. Sometimes, reality sucks. 

But I'm not into making sweeping declarations or premature dramatic gestures. That just isn't me. So as with everything in life these days, we shall wait and see. And I'm hopeful that one day, I will be able to tick it off as one of the things on my list and go:

Soulmate?

Check. 

Yes. Check, mate. 

This King of Clay

No one deserved it any more than he did. 

A huge Congratulations to Rafa Nadal, a name that will forever be embossed in Grand Slam History. 7-time champion of the French Open and the most deserving King of Clay ever. 

When I first started following tennis years ago, I had grown from disliking Rafa to slowly developing a growing affinity towards him, and eventually, making him my inspiration with his resilience and discipline. 

This year, finally being rid of Med School exams and having the luxury of time at home, I was able to witness Rafa's moment in history. Given, it wasn't an easy match to follow, firstly because he was playing this man, whom I was rooting for: 

Djoker had just entered the finals from a thrilling straight-set win over Federer, which had been both slightly surprising for me and entertaining to watch at the same time. 

But the moment these two went head to head, it was very clear that the outcome would be as predicted. Rain or shine, Clay or Mud....Rafael Nadal was the reigning King of Roland Garros 2012.

And eventually, I found my affinity towards Rafa returning again. Especially when he shed those tears of joy the moment reality sank in. 

VAMOS, RAFA! I can only hope that I can learn to develop a tenth of the resilience and determination you possess. 

See you at Wimbledon!