Cum sa iei rezidentiatul la medicina generala, prin ochii unei tipe lenese, cu attention span mic, dar cu ceva, nici macar multa, determinare
am ajuns in facultatea de medicina dupa 6 ani de facultate de stomatologie. m au aruncat in anul 4, primul stagiu fiind pneumo, 8 saptamani, la suub. oribil. nu stiam unde naiba sa ma duc si incotro sa o iau, uitasem cadranele abdomenului si ma durea undeva de diferenta intre romflante si crepitante."ca pasii pe zapada". cred
evident. restanta. 7 credite. mult. am invatat cateva zile in septembrie si am bagat fortza ultima zi, fix de un 7. cred ca si iubitu inca si aminteste doza de imipenem din pneumonii.
fast forward 2 ani, plimbata prin tot bucurestiul, fututa de a lungul si latul mai mult cu drumul decat cu cerintele, fiind aproximativ aceeasi lepra fara de miza care am fost, incepand anul 6 cu un fel de morcov in cur pentru marele trai-ti-ar familia rezi.
am avut mereu acest mare handicap ca nu stiu nimic, si sincera sa fiu, nici nu voiam sa retin sau sa ma stresez pentru note, mai mult decat trebuia. oricum eram la taxa pentru ca a doua facultate.
un alt motiv pentru care nu m am stresat e pentru ca nu vreau sa fiu genul ala care stie putin din toate, medic per se, v am zis ca mi e lene, vreau sa fiu desteapta pe segmentul meu.
pana nu mi am luat cele2 volume de compendii, am trait din memoria de scurta durata, noroc si karisma.
apoi a trebuit sa face the facts si sa ma pun pe treaba
acest examen este intr adevar un cacat. si nu spun asta pentru ca covarsitor de multi se plang, inclusiv eu, ca ai informatii puse alandala, unele gresite, altele contradictorii, altele, pula mea, sa ocupam spatiu.
acest examen este un cacat pentru ca lumea, oricat de in serios cica il ia, nu il ia suficient de serios. stiindu mi defectul de a fi venit total alienata si mai mult sau mai putin neteda pe creier referitor la ce inseamna medicina, am "bagat mare", cum ii placea lu iubithu sa mi zica.
am subliniat si colorat nopti si zile la rand. stateam 8 ore pe zi citind cacaturi, memorand si facand scheme, formule mnemotehnice, asocieri, alfabetizari (Bloc Coronara Anterioara BCA, anevrism pe anterior, infarct pe inferior, etc). mi am luat 3 zile din viata memorand gene canceroase si cautand sa tin minte chichitze gen billroth 1 gastroduodenal,billroth 2 gastro jejunal.alfabetic, D versus J.
ca sa ajung acu 3 zile, duminica, frig, urat si scarba, sa dau de niste subiecte anuntate ca fiind mega grele, peste niste colegi cacatzi pe ei pentru nimic.
bine, pentru mine n a fost nimic. eu am luat excelent.
ok, secretul e ca trebuie sa stii ce se cere. sa faci distinctia intre clinic si paraclinic. intre acut si cronic, intre stanga si dreapta, sistola si diastola, in sau in afara, fals sau adevarat, cu exceptia.
50% din timp am facut analiza pe text. apoi pur si simplu am rezolvat grilele.
si puteam sa iau mai mult cu cateva, 20 de puncte sa zic. dar ma plictisesc rapid, si daca nu mi iau zone out la jumate de ora, nu dau randament.
pana la anu, eu nu ma mai ating de aceste carti, in eventualitatea in care trebuie pentru ca nu prind ce mi as dori. cu 2 saptamani inainte o iau usor la pas, trecand prin toate cele o mie de pagini cu sufletul flori si zambet pe buze, pentru ca stiu exact ce se cere de la mine
quick eye, vezi mai sus, si capacitatea de a te plictisi 4 ore pentru tot restul vietii tale. smecher, nu?
si inca nu au dat atat de greu pe cat ma pregatisem, lame, step up yo game bitshes 8-/
Nov 21, 2018
Jul 14, 2018
what he had
am avut cam 3 fosti pana sa dau de b.
primul parca a avut un par minunat.des, dur, puternic, o keratina de ultima generatie.
ceea ce are si EL.
al doilea parca avea 2 ecrane conectate prin voodoo si un fel de gen HD care ma minuna pentru ca tocmai aparuse Twilight si parca a insistat sa ne uitam pe ambele deodata, why fuck my life.
ceea ce are si el. minus gay ismul de Twilight.
Al treilea parca avea o garderoba minunata formata din tricouri care i veneau turnat, probabil una din punele chestii pe care le-am apreciat la el.
ceea ce are si el. stie ce i vine bine.
primul canta la chitara, plictisindu ma aproape, pentru ca mi am rupt de vreo 4 ori amprentele inainte sa scot vreun 're' din mine
ceea ce face si el,doar ca pe discuri.
al doilea facea fotografii si incerca sa mi explice 85 cu 1.8f sau ceva, si tot ce putea sa prinda era my fat side, de care, din pacate pentru el, am scapat.
ceea ce are si el. alaturi de nush ce 120 sau 12 sau fisheye sau ceva, si mereu reuseste sa ma flateze in poze. cum naiba de numai el reuseste?
al treilea se dorea a fi medic si de succes si un chirurg eficient si mi amintesc cum tineam cu el pentru asta. slava cerului ca i a reusit
ceea ce fac si eu.
primul parca a avut un par minunat.des, dur, puternic, o keratina de ultima generatie.
ceea ce are si EL.
al doilea parca avea 2 ecrane conectate prin voodoo si un fel de gen HD care ma minuna pentru ca tocmai aparuse Twilight si parca a insistat sa ne uitam pe ambele deodata, why fuck my life.
ceea ce are si el. minus gay ismul de Twilight.
Al treilea parca avea o garderoba minunata formata din tricouri care i veneau turnat, probabil una din punele chestii pe care le-am apreciat la el.
ceea ce are si el. stie ce i vine bine.
primul canta la chitara, plictisindu ma aproape, pentru ca mi am rupt de vreo 4 ori amprentele inainte sa scot vreun 're' din mine
ceea ce face si el,doar ca pe discuri.
al doilea facea fotografii si incerca sa mi explice 85 cu 1.8f sau ceva, si tot ce putea sa prinda era my fat side, de care, din pacate pentru el, am scapat.
ceea ce are si el. alaturi de nush ce 120 sau 12 sau fisheye sau ceva, si mereu reuseste sa ma flateze in poze. cum naiba de numai el reuseste?
al treilea se dorea a fi medic si de succes si un chirurg eficient si mi amintesc cum tineam cu el pentru asta. slava cerului ca i a reusit
ceea ce fac si eu.
May 15, 2018
Writing prompts
- when someone's heart breaks, so does a piece of our world. this creates fissures, valleys and even cracks in the pavement, tell the story of the grand canyon -
everything was so expensive those days... and everyone was so nice. but fake nice, the kind of nice that spirales into self reassurement and a long line of lies. convenience and timing combined with fear, self loath and anxiety, over which poured that fucking rain. a mild inconvenience, an overwhelming whiff of petrichor, dim light, no vitamin d, and cracking joints.
and everything was so expensive...
those in a position of authority did everything they could. offered vacations in that remote Nhingfre place everyone dreamed about, the only place truly alive with sunshine. that was for those who worked and paved. not even earthquakes did so much damage.
on Nhingfre 2 were those who managed the mental state of the world. tireless work, but remarkably, quite in vain. love born out of fear is still a lie, and it still damages, eternally reshaping the earth. so ian thought to himself... if even our most sophisticated servers cannot pair up someone to perfection, why bother. again with the fear? they were palpably fewer. a billion and a half less, but still able to produce catastrophies. strict control was instilled. robotic behaviour to overpower authentic sensitivity was taught from a young age. instead of toys, charts with emotions to interpret. instead of normal toddler physical activities, like running or hoop jumping, classes of body language. and instead of nursery rhymes, cooking and calisthenics classes. aesthetics was just that important. uniformed, robotic and predictable. it sorta worked. but god forbid you stepped out of line... twice.
those on a third strike god knows where were sent. somehow it was all kept under fragile control.
they meet, they court themselves and they stay. it's the norm. few rebelled. out of conformity or fear, self delusion or the very best of the education system.
few had kids though. they were the ones that usually disappeared. the others just perpetuated the myth. that perfect, fake, polished turd.
ian never adhered to that. he was fortunate enough to be sexually uninterested in anyone, and that simplified things by about 75%. he was also blessed with the idiot syndrome, so he genuinely believed in love and all that jazz. safe to say, he was a sure bet not to fuck things up and crack the pavement, and the green armband with the little triangle attested that.
as a strong guy, he was really enjoying working on reinforcing the building structures and the occasional bridge foot. he never cared for pouring cement on the street, as he hated to see the little green dandelions being scalded in hot black tar. green, as his armband... weith little triangles for leaves. green as well.
twice a year he was sent to Nhingfre to work on his tan, mood and developing intimacy with those around. it was much easier outside the gloomy grey cities around the globe.
today, he was reading on a bench about the fourth revolutionary wave, that radical period in which they managed to somehow bypass the common sense and humanity and instill the feared '3 strike rule'. he loved the charts about how the quality of the air subsequently emproved, how the little Nhingans managed to grow purple feathers again for the first time in over a century. he licked his lips with delight dotting over the graph depicting an enormous decline in overall healthcare costs, but feared the graph right below, depicting the costs with mental health, the other branch of the system, was somehow biased. an increase of cost that small was either fake, or horrifyingly true.
he stroke the green graph about pollen quality -naturally, only going up-, and looked around. he suddenly felt the urge to squeeze something in his arms, to call it his, and to whisper to it all about the millions perhaps of tiny, green dandelions he protected throughout his life. he thought about his pet shinka, Ned. insufficient affection entangled him. he felt less love than usual towards him.
he gazed with increasing dissatisfaction at the circular camp where he heard laughter, and moaned disgruntled. he imagined sex, all of a sudden, but the warmth of his groin was covered by the increasing sadness that no one, not ever, expressed interest in him. he imagined holding hands with the blonde girl who painted over buildings, kissing the tall guy from payroll, and thrusting himself into his boss.
not one of the three ever seemed to notice him, really notice him. it was always hello and goodbye and a smile, but no genuine interaction. fear.
he felt angry and powerless. but he looked at his green band shining in the sun, and remembered he was good and kind. he could not and should not feel anger.
and in that moment, he slipped. all those years of exercise, of emotionless existence couldn t help him. the biggest sigh escaped his lungs, the ultimate abandonment sign, of hopelessness and unfulfilling.
.... and it cracked. it was so big, the sound traveled for miles and miles. a loud boom filled the air. the dust rose and somehow overpowered the clouds. the sun managed to spread its warmth all around, not just on those tiny islands.
thousands of people died of course. from that sigh.
which, incidentally, was the one sigh that actually put an end to it all.
it had been lifted.
everything was so expensive those days... and everyone was so nice. but fake nice, the kind of nice that spirales into self reassurement and a long line of lies. convenience and timing combined with fear, self loath and anxiety, over which poured that fucking rain. a mild inconvenience, an overwhelming whiff of petrichor, dim light, no vitamin d, and cracking joints.
and everything was so expensive...
those in a position of authority did everything they could. offered vacations in that remote Nhingfre place everyone dreamed about, the only place truly alive with sunshine. that was for those who worked and paved. not even earthquakes did so much damage.
on Nhingfre 2 were those who managed the mental state of the world. tireless work, but remarkably, quite in vain. love born out of fear is still a lie, and it still damages, eternally reshaping the earth. so ian thought to himself... if even our most sophisticated servers cannot pair up someone to perfection, why bother. again with the fear? they were palpably fewer. a billion and a half less, but still able to produce catastrophies. strict control was instilled. robotic behaviour to overpower authentic sensitivity was taught from a young age. instead of toys, charts with emotions to interpret. instead of normal toddler physical activities, like running or hoop jumping, classes of body language. and instead of nursery rhymes, cooking and calisthenics classes. aesthetics was just that important. uniformed, robotic and predictable. it sorta worked. but god forbid you stepped out of line... twice.
those on a third strike god knows where were sent. somehow it was all kept under fragile control.
they meet, they court themselves and they stay. it's the norm. few rebelled. out of conformity or fear, self delusion or the very best of the education system.
few had kids though. they were the ones that usually disappeared. the others just perpetuated the myth. that perfect, fake, polished turd.
ian never adhered to that. he was fortunate enough to be sexually uninterested in anyone, and that simplified things by about 75%. he was also blessed with the idiot syndrome, so he genuinely believed in love and all that jazz. safe to say, he was a sure bet not to fuck things up and crack the pavement, and the green armband with the little triangle attested that.
as a strong guy, he was really enjoying working on reinforcing the building structures and the occasional bridge foot. he never cared for pouring cement on the street, as he hated to see the little green dandelions being scalded in hot black tar. green, as his armband... weith little triangles for leaves. green as well.
twice a year he was sent to Nhingfre to work on his tan, mood and developing intimacy with those around. it was much easier outside the gloomy grey cities around the globe.
today, he was reading on a bench about the fourth revolutionary wave, that radical period in which they managed to somehow bypass the common sense and humanity and instill the feared '3 strike rule'. he loved the charts about how the quality of the air subsequently emproved, how the little Nhingans managed to grow purple feathers again for the first time in over a century. he licked his lips with delight dotting over the graph depicting an enormous decline in overall healthcare costs, but feared the graph right below, depicting the costs with mental health, the other branch of the system, was somehow biased. an increase of cost that small was either fake, or horrifyingly true.
he stroke the green graph about pollen quality -naturally, only going up-, and looked around. he suddenly felt the urge to squeeze something in his arms, to call it his, and to whisper to it all about the millions perhaps of tiny, green dandelions he protected throughout his life. he thought about his pet shinka, Ned. insufficient affection entangled him. he felt less love than usual towards him.
he gazed with increasing dissatisfaction at the circular camp where he heard laughter, and moaned disgruntled. he imagined sex, all of a sudden, but the warmth of his groin was covered by the increasing sadness that no one, not ever, expressed interest in him. he imagined holding hands with the blonde girl who painted over buildings, kissing the tall guy from payroll, and thrusting himself into his boss.
not one of the three ever seemed to notice him, really notice him. it was always hello and goodbye and a smile, but no genuine interaction. fear.
he felt angry and powerless. but he looked at his green band shining in the sun, and remembered he was good and kind. he could not and should not feel anger.
and in that moment, he slipped. all those years of exercise, of emotionless existence couldn t help him. the biggest sigh escaped his lungs, the ultimate abandonment sign, of hopelessness and unfulfilling.
.... and it cracked. it was so big, the sound traveled for miles and miles. a loud boom filled the air. the dust rose and somehow overpowered the clouds. the sun managed to spread its warmth all around, not just on those tiny islands.
thousands of people died of course. from that sigh.
which, incidentally, was the one sigh that actually put an end to it all.
it had been lifted.
Jan 30, 2018
7deadlysinswrath
nimic din ce i gresit nu e strain de mine.
acum, sa nu astepti sa ti definesc
ce i o iluzie, o greseala, o iubire
ce e presus de mine e tot ce i omenesc...
m ati inghetat pe rand; nu toti deodata
cu o minciuna, un dans, chiar douazeci
m ati pus pe hold, shut up, don t talk about it
dezamagire pictata in nori reci.
si acum... acum... dupa atata vreme
sa dau eu socoteala cuiva?
de ce m-agat de ultima mânie?
de ce mi fac solo viata grea?
poate n am fost pana la capat explicita
ceva ce vreau sa evit, pana-n final.
dar cand esti trista, si ai furie n tine
my darling, in furie n ai egal
vorbesc cu mine, scriu cu mine.
inca o data, ca de-atatea ori.
cin-sa m asculte? n are cine.
ca mi ati pictat sufletul in 3 culori.
rosu, de la furie nemarginita
verde, nou proaspat si precis
si negru. mereu si iarasi negru
un fund de lume. safe spot. abis
si sunteti voi, toti trei deodata
cu mine, una, singura, in zari
si va-ntrebati de ce urasc tot incontinuu?
pentru ca, pur si simplu, imi dati stări.
tresar, ma-ncrunt, marai usor sub perna
visez, respir calm, aparent, si va rad in nas
iubesc si tremur, rad in verva.
dar va urasc. ca sunteti niste lasi.
acum, sa nu astepti sa ti definesc
ce i o iluzie, o greseala, o iubire
ce e presus de mine e tot ce i omenesc...
m ati inghetat pe rand; nu toti deodata
cu o minciuna, un dans, chiar douazeci
m ati pus pe hold, shut up, don t talk about it
dezamagire pictata in nori reci.
si acum... acum... dupa atata vreme
sa dau eu socoteala cuiva?
de ce m-agat de ultima mânie?
de ce mi fac solo viata grea?
poate n am fost pana la capat explicita
ceva ce vreau sa evit, pana-n final.
dar cand esti trista, si ai furie n tine
my darling, in furie n ai egal
vorbesc cu mine, scriu cu mine.
inca o data, ca de-atatea ori.
cin-sa m asculte? n are cine.
ca mi ati pictat sufletul in 3 culori.
rosu, de la furie nemarginita
verde, nou proaspat si precis
si negru. mereu si iarasi negru
un fund de lume. safe spot. abis
si sunteti voi, toti trei deodata
cu mine, una, singura, in zari
si va-ntrebati de ce urasc tot incontinuu?
pentru ca, pur si simplu, imi dati stări.
tresar, ma-ncrunt, marai usor sub perna
visez, respir calm, aparent, si va rad in nas
iubesc si tremur, rad in verva.
dar va urasc. ca sunteti niste lasi.
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