Every few weeks, usually after when I deal with over 200 patients in a single day or over two days the utmost, a certain piece of my machinery breaks. Around patient number 152 I can feel the blow jogging that piece out of place and around the 167th patient, I can hear it hanging by a thread and then soon by patient number 198..I hear a pop as it flies out and I know I have broken down. I see two more people and run outside as fast as I can, holding myself together so I could glue another piece in. If I get so lucky to find it.
I don’t, usually.
This morning, around 3:35 in the morning..I felt my back break. The entire week came crashing at me. All my emotions, all my buried baggage came spilling out as I sobbed on the deserted footsteps of the casualty operation theater. I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away. I wanted to dig a hole in the very cold marble I sat on and disappear for a while. My shoulders shook with all that was pent up within me as it just poured and poured and poured. And then the wind started to blow. And a dust storm rose, stinging my swollen eyes and settling upon all my wounds.
Right then, someone tapped at my shoulder and I looked up. It was my patient with acute exacerbation of asthma I had managed an hour ago. He had tracked me down to the last place I could be and wanted me to recheck him so he could go home. And perhaps, would I be so kind to check his mother’s blood pressure?
Of course. I’d be right down.
The patient left and I slowly walked down the stairs back to meet my colleague who had been covering for me for the last 10 minutes. Feeling started to return to my numb toes and dust ridden eyes as I sat down to check patient number 201, smiling and making small talk. I could feel the glue drying up and the machine whirring.
Come at me, now, oh dear pain.
I got stamina.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king
Oh we all have that mopey part in us at one or more point in our life questioning our existence and belonging and blah blah blah blah blah. It’s really neat, I wish my cousin had the same quest in him, that kid just ate all my french fries without so much as a how-do-you-do and questioned me for 15 minutes about the composition and mechanism of production of fart.
So I question myself. Where are my roots? I was born somewhere else, bred somewhere else, studied at one place and then the other, my house is in another area I live somewhere else and then college started and off I flew. Exciting, no?
So I choose to study and work in another country now. Scary, right? So that is my quest now. Whether I lose or get there is another story. So from here on-wards, this is what this blog is about, because that is what my life is gonna be about.
Having a purpose to live is a neat thing. And I have missed it
(Title and Stanza: J.R.R. Tolkien The Fellowship of the Ring )
I don’t even know whether I’ll be able to finish typing this up or not. Every bone and every muscle of my body is aching aching aching like GAH
Yeah that’s right. I got a room on the second floor and the shifting left me half dead
Every year it is the same damm thing until my 3rd or 4th year of medicine when they finally give us room worth living
Walking up and down the stairs have left me half dead and I today I gave the worst viva of my LIFE.
I hate everything right now
E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g believe me.
Hey Cyn I gotta say something.
And It won’t be something sane I am sure Jake,and don’t call me ‘Sin’
You are so right.. Exactly. Don”t you think you have a really prehistoric name.. Plus it sounds like that of an old nurse and I almost am expecting you to come running with injections in your hand and squeaking “Yes Doctor the patient died and I found 50 dollars in his pocket, let’s go shop grocery”
I threw a heavy Gateway to Medicine at him. And as usual he ducked and my book got ripped into hundred parts. Scowling I got up while he threw his head and laughed his intestines out. I was irritated as hell. Moron. Like he had a great name. Jacob. Like son of an old fisherman. His name meant ‘to track or follow’.. and he lived up to it. Tracking anyone who went out with me. He even had an air of finding food in my backpack. He had senses of a dog, great likeliness aye =P
Well my name was fine =P Cynthia. Old yeah but it was after Mount Kynthos. Well it serves me right. Not anyone is as tall as I am.. plus it is also related to the Greek goddess of moon. I shuddered at even the idea of Jake knowing so much about my name. He’ll roast me alive with his sarcasm.
I am going out to play guitar, I am sick of so much science. I have worked so much, staring at the book for one more stinking second now feels like a cyn. Sin aye
What’s the matter with you?
I just… lost my brand new book.
Oh come on We’ll fix it.
You will fix it.
Nah. Scotch tape will do.
Jack-O-lantern. You will pay. I bought that book just TODAY!!!
Yeah, plus bought one yesterday. By the way you”ve become a poet Cinnamon !
I got up to snatch away as she pulled another book from the rack. Girls have great tendencies, and this one was a tigress. Or maybe a brave cat. Nah. Stray cat. I will google her name today. Who in the right mind names their child so ancient? Well um mine did……. and so did her parents. Objection overruled. Gah
Easy easy I will fix it and wrap it and put it in a plate and serve it tomorrow. Okhay?
Ha. Good. So you were talking about guitars..
Yeah I was.. I am going to play through the evening, got to shove away all the science from my mind.
Um, Shall I join?
There are gonna be bunch of guys. Sebastian, Henry, Kamal, Adam all are coming. Feel free =P
Oh. Alright. Go then. Bye
Yeah. He has to play with the bunch of morons. I wanted to see guitars too. I had memorised so much about them, researched on them, drew them. It was one of the many reasons I became a friend of this Mr. Jacket Potato. The English word guitar, the German gitarre, and the French guitare were adopted from the Spanish guitarra, which comes from the Andalusian Arabic قيثارةر qitara, itself derived from the Latin cithara, which in turn came from the Ancient Greek κιθάρα kithara, and is thought to ultimately trace back to the Old Persian language. Tar means string in Persian. Courtesy Wikipedia. It makes an excellent tongue twister though. Almost like Betty bought butter but butter was bitter butter so she bought a bit of bitter butter to make bitter butter better butter. Yeah. Look. He didn’t even say anything. Fine. He will buy me a new book. That’s it, No taping and gluing and whatever he is gonna do to my book.
Look Cyn, one second, You threw that book at me and its your fault. I will help you fix it I promise. Like holding the book while you…
YOU WAIT YOU SON OF A BAT YOU ARE GETTING ME A NEW BOOK.
You pay, of course I will sure give you a free ride to the store. Now don’t cry Nurse. I better get rolling :P
I ducked just in time as another book crashed into the wall. Gulp, It was the Dictionary of Biology.