The First Year

I have many fond memories of my first year in college. Not the least of which was because of the things that I had to learn. Back then I was a fledgeling, the world was new and fresh and every new day was an opportunity to learn something new. 

We had 3 subjects in 1st year. Anatomy, Physiology and Biochemistry each one was fascinating in its own right. 

Academically it is also the most exhausting year in MBBS not counting final year even though it is possibly the least demanding of them all. 

First of all,  we were disoriented for a while, unable to understand or make sense of the tests. What do they expect from us? How should the answer be written? What part of the syllabus should we study especially since everything seems so damn important? Secondly the pressure. We have just entered a course that we have to do well in, not only that if we are to fail in the first year we are held back for 6 months separate from the rest of the batch. For the rest of our MBBS life we will lag behind the regular batch and forever be branded by the oh so imaginative term, ' repeater batch. ' 

I remember how close to a regular school it was. Theory clases practicals and 2 hrs of dissection every day. 

The teachers had come up with a very effective strategy to help us get over our inate fear of dead bodies. The disection hall was a large room with 5 tables surrounded by a cluster of stools. On these tables layed 1 corpse preserved with formalin and and kept in refrigeration until it was time for it to be cut. 

20 of us to one were assigned to 1 body. And we had to just sit there looking at if. The first day everyone was apprehensive and scared as if it was going to come alive any second in a fucked up rendition of a zombie apocalypse. The second day our fear was waning but we just sat there somberly remembering as that book says, " all men must die. " By the 4th the disection hall was a picnic spot for us with a highly disagreeable smell, we were bored out of our minds and spent our time talking to each other. 

By the next Monday any respect we had for the dead had disappeared and we were itching to pick up that scalpel and cut through the skin. 

And so we did, each one of us taking our turn with the body. I named him Bob in my head. Over the next 8 -10 months Boby had his arms cut open to the bone, shoulders dislocated and cut away. The same procedure repeated for his legs.  His chest was cut open at which point we cracked open the rib cage like a shell only to remove the heart and the lungs leaving behind an empty cavity with clotted blood at the corners. Next was the abdomen where we had a look at his inards before we disemboweled him. I had the dubious honour for hosing out his intestines. I still remember holding that greasy tube one end to a open tap letting the water flow through the length of it clearing it of formalin preserved fecal matter. We then promptly cut it open and  observes the mucosa. And of course the head..

We spent at least 3 months on that extremely complex area trying to memorize the nerves blood vessels and the bony passages they ran through. The skull was unceremoniously cracked open in due time and the brain removed. The eyeball broken open from within the skull to remove his eyes and to observe the muscles and the nerves there. 

Did we feel guilty for what we were doing? Hell no. Even then we were learning a skill that a few of us would need to hold onto for life. We were dehumanizing Bob. He was a subjet, an object of intrest, a means to an end. 

I guess the only time we felt any kind of sympathy for Bob was during the disection of his nads. I felt rather than saw everyone of the boys at my table stiffen as the female professor brought the scalpel next to his scrotum. A collective shudder ran through us as the scalpel pierced the skin. She brought out the oval mass and we flinched when she cut it in half with what we agreed was unnecessary brutality. The other one was disected on by a batchmate who to my misogynistic eyes seemed to be having fun. 

I know, I know. It all sounds rather callous and most of you guys are horrified by what we do. For us it was our everyday life and as improbable as it seems we all made some good memories there. 

The one thing we never really got used to was the smell. Formalin is a semi volatile liquid with an all pervasive odour. And every day we were forced to root through a body drenced with the stuff. Our professors in their infinite wisdom baned us from wearing gloves. And right after the Disection class was lunch break and let me tell you nothing kills the appetite faster than hands smelling like corpses.During the entire course of 1st year all of us were obsessive  about the state of our nails trying to ensure that we didn't consume bits of dead guys accidentally.

First year was about so much more than that. It was a time when we all got along with each other. It was were we made friends and I made a huge number of shitty decisions and deal with all the shit life threw at us. And I don't regret a single day.

Bambi

Bambi is the name of a Walt Disney character, a fawn to be specific. In recent times it has acquired a number of  different meanings one of which is similar to the phrase, "deer in headlights." That was me. I was Bambi.

Joining any professional course is an adjustment, there is the obvious change in the subject matter, location, people and even the student teacher dynamics. Gone are the days where the teachers patiently sat by you to ensure no child is left behind. The start of a professional course brings with it a news flash. "You are no longer children, its every man for himself now".

I was lucky in that regard because the college that I had chosen made small  little changes to ensure that we wouldn't feel that way. There was the school like enforcement of dress code, complete with a call to your parents for any violation, the constant nagging and incessant demands of respect from our teachers. Pointed reminders that without respecting our elders we would get no where in life. Blanket ban on use of any form of technology. I remember my phone being seized when I used it to take a picture of our time table. Professional course my ass.


I suppose its my duty to shed some light upon the world of MBBS for the future hopeful doctors who are reading this.
1 . the course lasts 5.5years. One year for the first year, one and a half for second year, and one year for 3rd year 4th year and internship each. That means that by the time you earn your graduate degree your friend would have received theirs and have settled into their jobs or else will be working on their masters. Looking at it in terms of time saved it would be better to join AFMC which offers a dual degree of MBBS and military administration (hearsay please verify before you do something rash)
2. look into the college before you join. For the most part private colleges see very little patient flow, meaning you have fewer opportunities to learn clinically. Fee structure often differ between colleges and hostels also must be looked into before joining any institution.
3. Most of you guys are bright kids and are used to scoring 90+ marks every where. Sorry but your grade are gonna fall. get used to struggling with a workload 2-3 times bigger than your PUC syllabus and getting high 60s and low 70s for your hard work.
4. That being said its pretty difficult to fail MBBS because the minimum cut off for passing is 50% separately in internals and finals. I know plenty of people who are content to put in enough effort to scrape just that.
5. Bond. the regulations keep changing year to year. In my case it seems that I will have to take up rural service. Something I don't have a problem with really but its something to take into account for your PG aspirations.
6. An MBBS degree alone can ensure a livelihood for most doctors. Trouble is most of us want the life that the high fliers have and for that you have to plan your future. Post graduation, higher studies, it dosen't matter as long as it adds letters in front of your name.


This is probably the most pragmatic version of what you guys have to know.

Sure I could say that it is your responsibility to make sure you do not harm the patient and that you must serve the community, but I am not naive enough to think that the bulk of you are joining the course out of the goodness of your heart. The course will teach you what you are supposed to know. Skill comes with experience and relies on your natural ability a fair bit. Whether or not you will become an instrument of goodness in this world however is entirely up-to you

Once upon a time

I have always been fond of stories. I like how they get me out of where I am, my imagination free to construct a different world, one where I am the protagonist, the usurper or simply an observer.

I used to think that I would end up writing a book and would spend hours together thinking of a decent plot.

Both of these traits had the effect that I was never really a part of my world. I lived within this world like someone taken hostage with no interest even disdain for we're my life was taking me. But that has to change. I have to face my life with honesty. So I have decided to tell you my story. Only I am not entirely sure where to begin.....

Let us begin from the point in time when my life began its path down a somewhat concrete future. The brief interlude between courses where the black dots you inked into circles decide your future occupation. Anyone from Bangalore will know about this quite well. To anyone outside India I guess I can only compare it to the SATs in America. There is no specific exam to write and so students are obliged to prepare for the ones they sit, each unique in their level of difficulty and the rules they followed.

During my sisters time she had applied for multiple exams in 3 different states and in the end she counted only on 3.
Somehow unconsciously knowing that my chances were slim in any of them I  chose to attend only 3. Of the three my chances were the best only for 1. CET. The others were disasters waiting to happen.

I remember going to the first one, staring at the empty sheet and looking around at the room.
I had only registered for the exam so that I would receive a wake-up call to get me studying for CET. I never really expected to get through it but it was still unnerving to see all those people marking away the answers. I remember seeing this extremely pretty girl sitting a few feet diagonal to me. Pink top, black jeans and ballet flats. She was wearing a her hair in a pony tail to keep it out of her face. Calming myself I spent the rest of the hour staring at a bespectacled beauty next to me, while she furiously inked her answers in.

So I hit the books as hard as I could, which is code for not very. I mean I looked at the tuition material given to me. (That was the only action they had seen all year. Till the day they were handed over they retained their 'new book' smell.) I focused upon Chemistry and Biology. I always did love Biology, something that I can ascribe it to my crush on my highschool teacher and my very amazing teachers at PUC.
Physics excites me as well, in a philosophical way. Somehow all those theories make me see life in a totally different way.  As a subject that I needed to study however it ranked at the same level as Maths. I guess in the end it came down to my nature. I was pretty lazy. Still am. So I never bothered to sit and work out problems and sums. Therefore my aversion to subjects which have them persists to this day.

And so, ill prepared as I was I attended CET. The fact that I found a relatively easy examination difficult was not lost on me. Resigning myself to not a very respectable result I went back home.

The last exam was a bit of a joke really. AIEEE. I have no idea why I chose that one. I even got a rank. 48 thousand in state. 2.3 lakh in the country. Lol. If any of you remember that was the year that there was a minor mishap. Something to do with opening the answer booklet before the exam time. The exam was delayed by 2-4 hrs. I remember wanting to ditch the exam and going home to eat freshly made byriani. My father however convinced me to stay and write the paper.

Post exams I knew that I was in trouble. I spent the break at my native dreading the results. Each day the gnawing at the pit of my stomach in creased. I even began to pray that they wouldn't come.

And like all bad things the results came out anyway. My engineering rank was a 4 digit one. According to my parents not a good one. Apparently if i had gotten higher i would have been able to get into a good college in a course of my choice. It all seemed quite abstract to me I had nothing to compare that information with so the rank held no real meaning for me.
And then my sister says that I got a 3 digit one in Medicine. I just nod and wonder what to say to my parents. And then she screams out my rank in disbelief. Apparently it was good, really good. An assured seat. Surprised? Yeah you and me both.

What was even more surprising was the ludicrous disparity in the ranks, considering that 2 of the subject they use to assign the ranks were the same.  I don't think my family expected anything quite like that and I don't blame them. I never really gave them a reason to.

Then of course there were family meetings. Gatherings where my sister voiced her surprise and my parents showed their price. They were happy for me and so was I. I could choose of course, whether I wanted to be an engineer  or a doctor. In the end the answer seemed obvious.

The happycynic chose to be a doctor.