Did I Ask For Fries?

Back when I started this blog, the thing that appealed to me about WordPress blogs versus Blogger blogs was that you could have entries about all sorts of topics, and they would cohesively come together in the one blog.  If you were only interested in one sort of topic, you could filter by that category and ignore the rest of the posts.

Recently I’ve realised that although yes, potentially, you can filter like that, the odds of someone actually being bothered enough to do that are pretty slim.  Speaking for myself, if I wasn’t interested in over 50% of the posts someone made, instead of applying a filter to categories that interested me, I’d just stop reading altogether.

I’ve also come to realise that the posts I make are either about Uni, or about the rest of my life.  Since these areas are so disparate, I strongly doubt that people interested in medicine are going to care about what food I ate that night, and conversely people that want to read about how I went in the City to Surf don’t really want to hear about how I got to witness 25cms of someone’s anus and colon being resected the other day (it was damn cool btw!).

The solution is pretty obvious: split this out into 2 separate blogs.  Coincidentally enough, that’s just what Blogger is great at doing, so I’ve decided to make the move, and have a fresh start, like a lot of other blogs that I read have done recently.

I’m also hoping this will give me some renewed vigour about the act of blogging, to make it a useful tool for working towards goals, rather than simply being a dumping ground for recounting what I’ve done during the day.

Maybe this will work, maybe it won’t, but there’s only one way to find out.  If you’re so inclined, you can now check out how my studies are going, what I’m learning, and how I’m trying to integrate all the snippets of information we come across in 3^rd year in Did I Ask for It Stat?  Otherwise if you want to read how the non-medical aspects of my life are going, please continue to read Did I Ask For Fries? in its new location.

I’m not going to shut this blog down, because I want to keep these posts from the last year or so.  If at some stage I workout how to export WordPress posts to Blogger I’ll do that, but for now that’s in the too-hard basket.

So adios for now, hopefully I’ll catch you on the flipside!!

Why Gulf Air sucks:

• They let people onboard with crazy amounts of check in baggage.
• They do not stage their boarding by row number, so boarding the flight, and having everyone attempt to fit their gargantuan amounts of luggage in the overhead lockers becomes an absolute disasters.
• The remote control on A’s chair was busted, and had clearly been for some time, given the amount of wear and tear on the faulty buttons compared to other remotes.
• The flight attendants do not respond to pressing the flight attendant button.  I don’t mean they wait 10, 30 or even 60 minutes before responding.  They don’t respond period.
• When you do happen to catch one heading down the aisle and explain your problem, they listen, say they will do something about it and then never return or fix the problem.
• When you catch them 45 minutes later they say they will try again and then never return or fix the problem.
• When you ask why you can’t swap to 2 of the 3 empty seats in the row behind you they say the woman there has been complaining about a sore back.  Am I being unsympathetic in suggesting that a sore back doesn’t need 4 seats on a full flight? Especially considering she was sitting up and only occupying one and a bit chairs. Wouldn’t 2 suffice?
• When you ask another attendant they promise to telex the ground staff at your next stop and arrange a seat change before passengers boarding at that port check-in.  This attendant then never returns.
• 5 hours later when you walk down the back of the plane to use the toilets and see that attendant there they claim that they “could not” send the telex, but won’t explain why, especially given they were the ones they suggesting that’s what they could do in the first place.
• They let someone bring 5L of “holy water” onboard and store said beverage in the overhead lockers despite potential damage to electrical equipment.
• Ground staff at the net port whilst cleaning the aircraft smelt said “holy water”, realised it was some form of strong alcohol (and therefore flammable), was unlabelled and confiscated the 5L container.
• Passenger owning said water chucked a massive wobbly midair when he realised this was missing.  Had a big argument with the new flight attendants who had taken over the plane at the last port and had no clue what was going on.
• Said passenger decided to stash his massive suitcase (that shouldn’t be allowed onboard in the first place, see point one) in the aisle for the rest of the flight.
• Said passenger was informed by the crew that he was blocking the aisles and the plane cannot land until the aisles are clear.
• Said passenger refused to move it.  Lots of shouting ensued.
• Aircrew informed passenger that unless he moved his bag in the next minute he would be arrested on arrival in Sydney and civil action taken against him.
• Said passenger refuses to move his bag.  Starts yelling in a mixture of English and Arabic.
• Flight announcement is made that the plane is unable to land until the aisles are clear, so our descend is on hold for now.
• An Arabic attendant has a big loud argument with said passenger in Arabic.
• Other passengers start yelling at said passenger to move his fricken luggage.
• Arabic attendant finally lugs the suitcase back overhead.

Why Gulf Air ain’t so bad: 

• Plane finally lands without crashing, only an hour late.
• The food is pretty decent, and the icecream they handed out late at night was awesome.

 Awesome though it was, the icecream certainly didn’t make up for the rest of the bollocks.

…although since my previous post was well over 2 week ago, I’m obviously not in Broken Hill anymore.  The 2 weeks I spent there were pretty amazing and really started to open my eyes about rural and remote health issues within Australia, both in Indigenous and non-indigenous communities.  I really liked the town of Broken Hill itself a lot, and definately hope to return someday!

After returning from Broken Hill I had 3 nights in Sydney before buggering off again.  For the past 3 1/2 weeks D and I have been in Egypt.  We’ve pretty mucd done it all: Cairo, Alexandria, Siwa oasis (my fav bit so far), Aswan, Luxor and finally, where we are now, Dahab.  We’ve seen more pyramids, temples, feluccas, deserts and museums than yuou can poke a stick at.

I had fully intended to update this blog well before now, but this is the first time I’ve sat down in front of a computer to do more than send a perfunctory email to my parents telling them that I’m still alive.

We’ve got 6 days or R&R here in Dahab, before we head back to Cairo for a full-on day of souvenir shopping at the Khan-Al Kallili bazaar there (we’ve left all our shopping till then so we don’t have to lug it around with us).

I think we need the rest too.  For the last few days I’ve had a horrible sore throat and fever, and as I type D is back in the hotel room where’s he’s been laid up for the entire day with what seems like a nastier version of the same thing.

We’ve had an awesome time here though.  I love, love love the food here, and am already lamenting how I need to get back into the exercise when I get return.  The skirt I am wearing right now is definately tighter than it was when I left home - too many felafels, tahini, bread and pancakes.  Mmm!!  

Having said that I’m hungry right now, and need to go out in search of a snack, but first, the obligatory photo share!!!

Shali Town, Siwa by night:

Me trying on a Siwan costume on Xmas night:

A felucca on the Nile:

Abu Simbel, amazing, except for all the tourists there!!

D and I onboard a felucca:

Tomorrow morning I’m packing my bags and heading to Broken Hill for a fortnight.  I mean that literally because at the moment clothes are strewn all over my bed, but nothing is yet inside my backpack.

I’m lucky enough to be going with a volunteer group doing some Indigenous health checks in some of the communities around BH.  Should be pretty amazing.

Being geographically challenged I looked at a map of NSW today to work out where we are going.  Man it’s a long way away.  We’re driving there as well.  That’s a lot of music to listen to along the way!! 

I may or may not have internet access while I’m away, so if not I will look forward to catching up with the busy world of blogland when I return.  Hopefully I’ll have some cool stories of outback life to share as well!!

Apologies to anyone I may have freaked out with the previous lot of images (especially you Mary!)  I promise the post below includes no guts or gore, and does not harm animals in any way!!!

Right now I feel like this pelican.  I can’t decide whether I’m yawning or excited, but either way it’s a great feeling because I’m officially on holidays – YAY!!!

This is assuming I passed the OSCE that we’ve had over the last 2 days.  I find out next Friday, and I’ll be pretty gutted if I don’t pass.  I feel optimistic about my results, but with some of the stations it’s hard to know if I got enough of the criteria to pass or not – 6 minutes just isn’t long enough (for me anyway!) to take a full developmental, nutritional and paediatric history, or to do a complete cardio exam including peripheral signs, limb pulses, chest and back as well as summarise results!!  Anyway, not much I can do about that now so I’m not going to dwell on it!

Instead I think I’m going to go for a walk.  I have a dentist appointment at 2pm that I’m really not looking forward to, because I already know it’s going to be long and painful and traumatic.  Earlier this year an old filling of mine broke off the side of one of my back molars.  The dentist that repaired it was awful – she spent the entire time bitching at her assistant, while at the same time not doing the best job because there is now a big gap between that tooth and the adjacent one so that food always gets stuck there.  I think I’ve bought about 4 boxes of floss in the last few months.  So I’m getting this filling repaired, and a new one in another tooth.  And yes I am feeling sorry for myself.  I hate my teeth!!!

It doesn’t help that a house across the road is undergoing renovations involving an extremely loud drill that has been going non-stop for the last 45 minutes. The knowledge I will have an actual drill doing much the same thing in my own mouth in the next few hours is quite disturbing.  I need to escape!!!

A and I just booked flights to Egypt. Is that the smartest thing to do on a Saturday night whilst just a leeeetle tipsy?

We leave in 27 days.

Of those 27 days, there are 2 days until my clinical exams, which last for 2 days.  That leaves 23 days.  16 of which I am going to be in Broken Hill.  That leaves 7 days.  2 days of which I will be in da Gong for my brothers graduation.  The remaining 4 days are split between our departure and me starting uni next year.  After our first 3 days of uni, I move to Orange for 4 months.  I’m sure that’s going to require some organisation.

Planning is so not my middle name.

If I fail this exam, and have to come back early I am *screwed*!!!

Since a picture speaks 1000 words, here’s yesterday afternoon in 2,000 words for you.

In case its not easily discernible from the wonderful quality of my phone camera, what we were doing was learning how to suture on pigs feet.  Apparently its the closest thing to mimicing human flesh.  We only learnt one stitch - the interrupted stitch - but even that took me a few goes to get the hang of.  I found the activity quite interesting, and kind of soothing in that it reminded me of the crossstitch and tapestry I used to do when I was younger.

After about an hour in the room with 15 pigs feet I have to say the smell did get a little too much for me though.  The ethics of using dead animals in this way doesn’t really sit easily with me, but at least it is for a more useful purpose than simply eating them.  I don’t eat pork because pigs are one of my favourite animals, and the way most pigs are raised and bred really appalls me.  I’m ashamed to say that at the time I was so interested in learning to suture I didn’t stop to think about, let alone ask where these pigs feet came from and how they were raised.

Next week I will be asking where the pigs came from and suggesting that they source future pigs feet from a cruelty-free farm if they don’t already.

Even though I have no interested in eating pork, I’m also going to email supermarkets and suggests that they do the same.  If you are at all interested in this issue, why don’t you go to savebabe.com and make the Pro Pig Pledge yourself?

Good: 

When you get out of the shower, walk into your room, dry off and put deodorant on.

Bad:

When you decide to place deodorant on your cheek instead of your armpit.

Even worse:

When said deodorant is roll-on, and you cover the whole of one cheek before realising what’s wrong.

 The lesson:

Sometimes you should just go to bed when you’re tired, hygiene be dammed!!

My grandmother is one of the most impressive people that I know.

I remember back in high school I had to write an essay on someone who I admired and I her picked her. If anything, the last 10 years have only increased the admiration I feel for her.

To describe her life story, I’d have to write a book. In fact, she herself has done that, buying an A4 notebook for each of her 6 daughters and filling it with her tale: growing up in a small village in the Ukraine, surviving the war by escaping to Austria then pretending to be Polish in order to be allowed to come to Australia, losing one daughter along the way and finding her 40 years later in Canada via Brazil.

Hearing stories of her life, and even the life my mum led, makes me feel like a spoiled brat. I wasn’t put into prison when as a school-teacher I dared to spank a naughty child. I wasn’t tricked into working for a socialist government by false promises. I was never tattooed on the arm with my prisoner number that remains there 70 years on. I didn’t have to leave my home country one night by sneaking onto a train. I didn’t have to beg a childless couple to pretend one of my daughters was theirs so we would be allowed to enter another country as refugees. I never had to cope with the grief of realising my eldest daughter had been put on a different boat, and not knowing what country she ended up in, or even whether the boat arrived safely.

Neither was I forced to leave school at 14 to look after my 4 younger sisters while my mum had to go to work because my stepfather was a useless drunk. I’ve never had to make all my own clothes for myself and my sisters because I couldn’t afford to buy them. I have never had to go into our backyard to milk my own cow (although I think it would be pretty cool), or to eat the same soup for lunch and dinner practically everyday. Then later I never had to share a small 2 bedroom flat in Sydney with 5 other females and a bathroom so small you can stand in the centre and touch every wall.

With all these circumstances ranging from difficult, to just plain devastating, I look at my mum and my Babushka, and see them as amazingly strong people. It makes me wonder what I would have done, how would I have coped, were I in their shoes. How will I describe my life to my grandchildren should I have any? Will my life be as alien to theirs as my mother and Babas are?

I watched Baba on Saturday, as we walked down the streets of Cabramatta where she lives. At 84 her only complaint is arthritis of the knees, which makes her slow to get up and start walking, but after 15 minutes she is ok. This meant that she linked her arm through mine for balance and support, a gesture which warmed my heart, and yet make me ache with the reality of her mortality. She is still a statuesque woman, but as age takes its toll, at 176cms we are now equal in height.

In the last year the Liverpool government has started a social group for the Slavic eldery women in their municipalty. Every Thursday they bring in speakers who can speak their language, or take them on outings or do some kind of craft. It has literally given my grandmother a new lease on life. She speaks of it with such excitement, how she has started writing poems and making things, how she has bought a camera, and showed me some photos of her group out at the zoo.

One lady who recently joined her group was actually on the same boat out to Australia as my babushka. Until this group formed they had not seen each other for 50 years. When this particular lady was told about the group she asked if there were any other Russian women in the group. The person she spoke to on the phone said that there was a Russian lady and a tall Ukrainian lady. Straight away she asked if the Ukrainian lady’s name was my grandmothers, when answered yes she knew it had to be her.

I wonder how many other size 11-shoed babushkas there are out there in Cabramatta?

So I passed.

Well I *think* I did.  The last 5 digits of my student number were in the word document that got posted at 11am around today.  I hope the last 5 digits of my number aren’t shared by any of the 267 other people in my class.

My celebratory afternoon consisted of:

• hearing a wonderful talk from a man who has lived with HIV for 22 years and going strong
• playing lawn bowls (and thus being able to cross something off my 43 things list)
• drinking too much wine whilst playing lawn bowls
• going out for bruschetta, pizza and sangria, mmmm.  Resisting the gelato.
• going to a pub
• going to a wine bar
• coming home and contemplating whether I will make it to boxing tomorrow morning at 8am. eek!! 

Life is good!!