The Crazy Wench

I blame Ed Sheeran for this. I blame age. I blame being alone for so long. But mostly, I blame Ed Sheeran.

I’ve never been in a relationship. Not many people believe this, I don’t know why. Some think it’s because I don’t want to be in one. Yeah, sure. I can’t even eat lunch alone in public. Not being in a relationship is TOTALLY my choice.

It’s never bothered me much. Until recently. Lately, I’ve noticed that I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

I’ve been thinking about how nice it would be to have someone to turn to when I feel extreme emotions, instead of telling myself, “God, I need to find time to write in my diary.”

Ugh. I sound so sappy.

In short, I sorta kinda maybe want something like this:

Damn Ed Sheeran.

It’s a new chapter. Sort of, anyway. I’ll keep it simple: I’ve moved back to Kuala Lumpur to complete my housemanship. We need not go into the details of how I did it, but I did.

So, here I am. Trying not to look at the rest of my friends on the verge of completing when I’m not even halfway there. Telling myself that all my decisions and everything that has happened is for a reason. Praying that everything will fall into place.

It has to. Otherwise, I’m fucked.

I learned 2 things this year.

1) God reads my blog

2) He doesn’t understand English so well.

When I said, “three-month extension, here I come!” in my blog post, I was KIDDING. Not only did I get extended, it was for FIVE MONTHS.

Most of my friends are in their third posting, and I’m just beginning my second.

I’ll admit, a bulk of my extension was my fault. A big part of me decided that I wasn’t cut out for Sabah and I attempted to get my ass back to Kuala Lumpur. I won’t bore you with the details, especially since it didn’t work, but all this trying to get out of KK was definitely a contributor to my long stay in the surgical department.

I’ve finally been released from the shackles of Surgery and I’m now in the Paediatrics department. It’s too soon to say if I like it or not, but I’ll tell you this much: I’m going to do whatever I can to be done in the 16 weeks I’ve been given.

I was informed by a good friend that pictures with him in them were not included in my last post. I know I said there’d be a Part Two, but I can’t believe I bollocked the post up like that.

( I also didn’t know I had friends who still read the blog.)

So, to the guy who would abandon a movie with friends for a massage, this one’s all special for you.

The Only Guy I Knew In Moscow With Dental Floss.

Sabah has made me do what every person I’ve known since college has wanted me to do: get a driving license.

I know it got on nerves whenever I said, “I can go anywhere the LRT goes. I have no transport.” The truth was, the transport existed. I just didn’t know how to use it.

Some of you may know this, but for those of you who don’t, here’s the thing: I went for driving lessons back in 2003, right after my 18th birthday. I was down to my final lesson and I decided to stop. It was a stupid, bratty thing to do but I couldn’t take my instructor. The man was always getting on my case and yelling. I wasn’t a bad driver, that much I knew, so why was he yelling so much? I was entertaining thoughts of suddenly hitting the brakes whilst going downhill just because I knew he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Imagine that.

As I said, stupid and bratty. And really childish.

I wasn’t really interested in driving either. It was something I was asked to do so that I wouldn’t have to waste time doing it later (heh.)

So, for the past ten years I relied on my mum, my kind friends (one of which ALWAYS bitched about paying for the Penchala Link toll) and public transport. I didn’t find it troublesome. I’m sure everyone else did but that’s a different story.

Then came the appointment letter that sent me to Sabah. Anyone who had ever lived or been to Sabah told me to get my license before starting work, that I would definitely need it. Did I? Of course not. I’m nothing if not in denial about something or the other.

Jump to Kota Kinabalu. Car-less, license-less and completely stuck. No mum to drive me around, insane taxi fares (if you can get a taxi) and 2 hospitals to work in. I knew I was fucked.

It was clear that I had to get my license and quick. Thankfully, the number of hours one needs to spend on less are a bit of a joke so if you’re determined, a couple of weeks are enough to legally raise hell on the streets.

I was determined but arranging for lessons on days off, pre- and post-night shifts were tricky. I ended up taking 6 weeks to complete everything. Do you know what the biggest joke was? My lady instructor this time was even more of a pain in the ass than my first instructor! I was actually missing him!

At least he didn’t keep comparing me to other students, didn’t keep telling me I was weak and didn’t say that he doubted I was ready for the exam. More importantly, he taught me how do drive a car in places like Cheras at 5pm.

This sow disguised as a woman kept making fun of other students who were learning, probably (very likely) complained about how awful a driver I was, gave me confusing instructions and encouraged me to daydream about doing serious damage to her face. The only thing that stopped me from actual physical harm was my empathy for those working in A&E. No one likes a new admission.

I had a pre-exam evaluation and the actual exam. Both times I felt more relaxed with the examiners than I ever did with my instructor. I wanted to laugh when I realised that I’d much rather sit for 5 pre-exam evaluations than spend 2 hours in a car with that woman.

(okay, this is getting draggy.)

Long story short, she taught me how pass the exam. And pass the exam I did.

Really.

My Ticket To A Life In Sabah

It’s not glamorous and exciting. There’s no baby plopping out at the main entrance of the hospital or quick romps in the linen room. Then again, if those were my examples of glamorous and exciting, I shouldn’t be left in charge of the adjectives department.

My typical day at work consists of me asking people about their bodily functions and writing about it. If said functions involve producing fluids, that’s a fair amount of time spent on the details. Colour, odour, volume, consistency, frequency and all those other things you need to know to put you off having breakfast. From time to time, I’m brave enough to prescribe drugs. Brave like Courage The Cowardly Dog, that is.

But I’m not complaining. I like going to work. I still loathe waking up early, but I’m comforted by the fact that some of my friends are dog-tired, taking blood samples from grumpy patients while I’m still contemplating hitting the ‘snooze’ button.

I enjoy seeing patients every day, I love seeing them get better and I’m thrilled when they get discharged. That last bit is partly for a selfish reason, though; I’m happy that they’re fit enough to leave and lessen my workload.

One downside of working in a hospital is the wave of germs that hit you when you first start working. Some of them really do a royal flush on your immune system. I fell victim to an upper respiratory tract infection, which was beautifully diagnosed as acute tonsillitis. We’ll ignore the fact that I’ve not had tonsils for the past 21 years. My silver lining comes in the form of the fear of developing pneumonia. I was so afraid that I decided to fuck everything and take amoxicillin. Some of you may not know this, but I have an impressive list of drug allergies. I nearly died taking aspirin and penicillin was a pretty cruel bastard to me too. You can imagine how reluctant I was to take the meds.

Now that I’m almost done with my course of antibiotics, I’m pleased to announce that there IS a drug I’m not allergic to! There’s hope for me yet.

Next post: My attempt at juggling work and driving lessons. I predict a big crash.