Every Lousy Horror Movie Has A Sequel


The good Lord has been kind, and has proved once again that He reads my blog.

Not only have I been transferred to a relatively calm town in Peninsular Malaysia, I’ve been placed in the Radiology Department. It may not be histopathology, which is my pet passion, but it’s certainly a branch of medicine I like very much: Diagnostics.

All in all, 2016 was pretty damn decent to me. A good job with normal hours, excellent colleagues and a nice house. All those things I bitched and moaned about in my last post? It’s like a 180 degree spin with rainbows and sunshine thrown into the mix.

I get sufficient sleep, I can dress up pretty for work and I enjoy my work thoroughly. I wouldn’t say I hated housemanship, but there were days when I thought to myself, “Ah…fuck. Work.” Such days are etched into my memory, and it’s good because I appreciate every moment of where I am in my life currently.

My hair, you ask? Let’s just say we can’t have it all, yeah?

These are far too many words used to say that I’m back to regular blogging.


Things I Have Lost

The ability to come up with better blog titles is definitely one of them, as you can see.

It’s taken me longer than the average person, but after slightly more than 3 years, I’m done with being a house officer.

In the past three years, I feel like I’ve pretty much lost everything that makes me who I am, but there are a few things I’ve lost that make me go, ” why did I have to go and like medicine so much?”

Here’s the few:

1.Proper sleep

Since I began working, I can count the number of times I’ve slept without dreaming about work, or without waking up in the middle of the night, thinking that I’ve forgotten to do something at work or that I’m late for work.

The only times I have proper (i.e. dreamless) sleep is when I’m exhausted or have recruited the assistance of alcohol or Tramadol.

2. The ability to wear high heels

I love shoes, because no matter how many tubs of ice cream I gobble up or slices of pizza I inhale, feet don’t get fat. And legs look pretty damn nice in heels.

Along comes housemanship, where your tasks include being every single staff member of the ward and my 3 inch yellow espadrille heels with the cute bow on top will NOT cut it as sensible footwear. As a result, most of my days are spent in flats or even worse, black Bata school shoes. This bad habit of wearing shitty looking shoes has encroached into my life and now I’m never fully dressed. Fuck you, Sia, the smile doesn’t help when you’re wearing a gorgeous floral dress and brown flats.

3. A sense of style

It starts with shoes. Then it moves up. I start my morning by thinking about all the work that I potentially have to do in a day. That by itself usually eliminates skirts (no one wants to commence CPR in a skirt, trust me.) So, trousers it is. Everything else doesn’t matter because we have our white coats on anyway. By the end of my final rotation, my wardrobe consisted of stretchable trousers (no need to iron) and anything that fit.

I’m not saying that I used to be some super stylish chick who was at the helm of the fashion train, but at least I didn’t feel embarrassed about my clothes when taking pictures. These days, I look so bad that friends choose not to tag me in pictures out of the kindness of their hearts.

4. Hair

So. Much. Hair. Gone.

I’m sorry. This one’s too painful to talk about.

5. Life outside work.

My phone is flooded with pictures of x-rays, wounds and patient details. All my conversations are about cases, jobs to carry out and the like. My messages to my mum only consist of, “I reached work already” and ” leaving work now.”

The occasional invitations to go out just to chill and relax are met with, “Nah la, it’s ok. I work double shift tomorrow.” or ” No, I don’t have a full off day this weekend.”


I don’t expect these things to all return to me once I start life as a medical officer, but I hope whatever force that’s keeping them away from me allows visits.


Malaysia Airlines Flight MH2606 To Kota Kinabalu

This was written before I started my actual work. Wouldn’t want you to think I have time for myself. Snort.

So it’s finally happened; I’m employed and working in Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Kota Kinabalu. There’s no turning back now.

Not that I want to chicken out just when things are about to get interesting and meaningful, but I’d be lying if I said that my first thought when I got my placement letter was not, “Fucktits! Appeal for KUALA LUMPUR!” It’s only natural, seeing that I’d been home for 5 months. Comfy bed, transport, meals, The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and of course, my insane family… what’s not to love, right?

Of course, appealing to work in another hospital when I just got a place in the hospital of my choice seemed counter-productive. And while I’m not the biggest fan of religion, I strongly believe that the things that happen in life are in our best interest (cue for everyone to start their arguments on how *insert tragedy/terminal illness* is proof that my opinion is rabid bat balls.) I prayed that I’d get something that would benefit me the most in the long run, and this is what I got.

So, how’s Kota Kinabalu, you ask? I can’t tell yet, but so far I’m pretty okay with it. The people are friendly and nice, which is something I was (somwehat) deprived of for seven years in Moscow.

One major obstacle for me at the moment is the lack of a driving licence. An aborted attempt to get one in 2004 has now returned to kick me in the shin repeatedly. I feel the pain every time I have to fork out RM20 just to get to work.

This inability to drive brings me to the challenge I’m about to face: my first rotation in a hospital famous for being tough and taking driving lessons at the same time. It’s probably going to turn out the way you predict: the shit of an elephant with dysentery will hit the fan and I will be screwed.

Three-month extension, here I come!