Ways to skin a cat

Tutor (neonatologist): What do you guys know about Toxoplasmosis?
Student A: Um...you get it from cats or something?
Student B: Yeah, so being pregnant's a great excuse not to take out the kitty litter.
Tutor: For sure. But I really think cats should be banned during pregnancy. In fact, just shoot them all beforehand. You could make all sorts of things, nice scarves, hats, coats...
Student C: ...stirfry....
[pause]
Tutor: If anyone else said that, we'd be in trouble!

Guess who C is? Auto-racism all the way.

Starting Paediatrics at the moment. On day one, we were taken on a 1.5hour tour by a DOCTOR around the Paeds areas. We're not in surgery any more, Toto! There's a games room, where we were officially welcomed by the Starlight Foundation peoples to come and play Guitar Hero. Hell yes. And there are all these secret things I never knew existed in the hospital. Like playgrounds, a small school, and, I shit you not, a fairy garden.

There's a palpably different vibe among paeds folks as well. There's laughter at Grand Rounds, rather than the tense one-upsmanship of the internal med one. They are nice to students. They care about patients. I want to marry a paediatrician dammit! Not so sure if I could be one. At this point, kids are still like a foreign country. To put it delicately, it seems like paeds = geriatrics = vet. heh. (*ducks*) Nah, the kiddies are cute, but it's challenging enough doing grownup clinical exams, let alone with a 3yo kid trying to burrow into his mum's lap.

In other news, I'm getting on the exercise bandwagon at long last. So many times I've heard, in PBL or in GP clinics, people glibly advise "diet and exercise". Easy to say, a bit trickier to do. For doctors, as well as patients. I was looking around the tute today, and at least five of nine of us in the room, including the tutor, were at least on the "moderate to high risk" side of the BMI scale. One of my GPs in rurality was full on obese, with diabetic foot and everything. She'd tell the tall skinny guys to put on weight, and say nothing to the metabolic syndromic patients who rather resembled herself. Blind spot much?

All these years I've thought that I'm just not a gym-junkie type, but it's finally clicked that everyone has to become one, sooner or later. Either before or after you have a heart attack. There's also a concrete incentive: my dad and I are doing a Biggest Loser challenge. If he wins, I get $2k towards my Eurotrip budget, while if he wins, I have to get him a present worth up to $500. Game on! We're txting each other progress updates. Example: "Watch out, Loser: 1kg in <1wk already! Go comfort urself w some chocolate." Heh. Such love.

My method is pretty straightforward: gym pass + calorie/fat/sugar cutting + daily logging. I'm using SparkPeople to track progress. Another handy resource is CalorieKing, which has Aussie-based nutritional info.

It's only day 4 so far, but it feels sustainable. I find myself actually looking forwards to the gym, which is just weird. All this motivation just came out of nowhere! And the diet part isn't too onerous. I'm not anal about the calories, just trying to up the fruit and veg, cut down portions, limit naughties, that sort of thing. I've discovered that really thin slices of apple are handy, as it takes so long to eat them that by the time you're halfway through, you're not even hungry any more.

The only question is why I didn't start this before! It's so simple: move more, eat less. I think I was scared off by the beautiful people at the uni gym, but luckily at my present one it's a mix of HeartMoves oldies, athlete types and the unfit young like moi, so it's not too intimidating. I am scoping out the classes to see if I'm fit enough for them though, cos it'd be pretty demoralising to be overtaken by some 59yo with a triple bypass!

Two tongues = handy

My cardiologist "aunt" from Hanoi came to visit for the weekend. It was entertaining. She took me to an exorbitant but mind-blowingly awesome buffet at a 5 star hotel yesterday. Srsly, there was like foie gras cooked on demand and a chocolate fountain. Then today we ended up at a "binh dan" restaurant. It was hilarious cos she was visibly, like, "holy shit this place is SO LOW CLASS". Whereas to me, a place with chairs that are more than stools 10cm off the ground and tablecloths is woah break the bank already. I've been eating at pavement stalls. She said it was the first time ever she'd been to one - having spent her whole life in Vietnam! I'm not sure whether she knows she's in the 1%. I wouldn't say she's a snob, just...removed. I'm still fascinated by her, though. Such a dynamic, complicated yet endearing modern woman in a society that's not really caught up yet - the stuff heroines of novels are made of. Her family's interesting too. Her mum was a ballet dancer, then joined the army's arts corps (who knew such a thing existed!), then switched into medicine and later Eastern medicine. She knows Portuguese fluently, having worked in Africa for some time. Her dad was a famous architect, and went to Cuba and France to work. Like, wtf, I didn't know there were people like that in Vietnam.

So I was farewelling her today when I got into a conversation with a xe om driver. He's a good bloke. Then one of his regulars came round, an Aussie. So began one of the funniest, most disjointed conversations in my life because while neither party could understand the other, I got both ends.

Dramatis personae:
1) Aussie: 61yo, Vietnam Vet, big, bluff, rough-house Queenslander with tatts and a beer gut. Doesn't speak any Vietnamese and probably thinks everyone should understand English. Likes giving the driver punches in the arm, the only way he can communicate.
2) Driver: 40ishyo bone-skinny, chain-smoking, gap-toothed. Doesn't speak English except for "yes", "no". Ducks when Aussie comes, having been smacked too many times.
3) Me: bemused and amused, in PJ shorts because wasn't planning to stay downstairs for long.

Snippets.

Driver: I have no idea where he wants me to take him! And he never pays me enough. He only pays 70 000 for a whole day's driving, I barely break even with the cost of petrol these days. I might as well stay at home. It's no holiday, being his driver.
Aussie: He keeps taking me in circles and asking for more money, the greedy bastard. I always shout him meals and cigarettes. It costs me 150 000 a day!

Driver: There was this girl who kept wanting money from him...she wanted him to buy her a motorbike! I tried to tell him to stay away.
Aussie: There was this girl - she's 38 but looks lots younger. Isn't she cute? *whips out phone*

Driver: I feel sorry for him despite his cheapness, because without me he'd have to take taxis everywhere. He's a good bloke.
Aussie: I'd punch the lights out of anyone who tried to lay a finger on him. He's a good bloke.

Driver: Did you see the powdered pills he put in his coffee? Can you ask what it is?
Me: Shit, I hope they didn't give me the wrong cup! I'm scared! I don't want to ask. He wants me to come up to his room to "fix his computer". I don't know what to do!
Driver: Oh my god. He loves flirting with girls. Don't go!
Aussie (oblivious): Can you ask him how I can buy some fairy lights, like up on that tree there?

Yes, I did drink from a cup potentially with white powder in it AND went to his room. I KNOW!!! I can feel the disapproval coming down the mother-daughter psychic connection line as we speak! But he left the door open in his room, and I poked my keys between my fingers as makeshift brass knuckles just in case. Nothing happened, thank Jeebus...I'd have no one to blame but myself. Fortune favours the extremely stupid sometimes.

We sing with one voice

Remember how I was feeling like a stranger here? I've discovered these really are My People. See, in Australia, people look at me like I'm a weirdo whenever I randomly burst out singing in the street. Haven't they seen musicals?! But here in the motherland, EVERYONE does that. Bus drivers, roadside stall owners, cleaners, doctors in ED or surgery - elbow deep in someone's belly. They'll just be working then suddenly break into folk song mode and no one blinks an eye.

A genetic excuse!

(and a one, two, one two three four...jazz hands!)

Roxanne

I've been wondering why on earth there are clip-clopping high heel sounds above my room at the hotel at odd hours of the night. This evening, I get in the lift with a very cheerful man in business attire. My gaze wanders from him to the sign describing each floor. 1st & 2nd: wedding restaurant. 3rd: stock market company. 4th & 5th: hotel floors. 6th: massage parlour. 7th: sunset cafe.

I see the 6th floor button lit up, look back to the grinning man, remember the night-time clip-clops...and totally crack up in his face. Heh.

Lost in interpretation

How could I forget this one? It's from Flynnie.

Dr (to nurse): You know, we really shouldn't take drug samples.
Rep: Why??
Dr: There's no such thing as a free lunch.
Rep: I'll bring some next time!
Dr: That's not what I...sigh. *takes drugs anyway*

There was more lost in translation at the conference I was just at. I died several times in lectures when Vietnamese audience-members would ask questions in heavily accented English, and the Australian or American lecturers would be totally "wtf?" but gamely give a detailed answer about a completely different topic and then say "did I answer your question?" and everyone ended up completely confused. I was tempted to offer my services as a Vietglish to English interpreter, but it was more fun silently cracking up. Heh. Bilingualness is so worth it for those moments. And then there was the hilarity of the simultaneous interpretation, with two waves of reaction to every joke, one delayed by half a minute, like an in-person satellite delay. The UN must be a barrel of laughs.

Lost in translation

Scene: conversation with a mumbly patient with a jacket covering up her mouth.

Her: Doctor, I have pains / a fever / seizures / am pregnant with octuplets.
Me: You want a blanket?
Her: ???
Me: WANT. BLANKET?
Her: ???
Me: ???
(Both: Weirdo.)

*****
Scene: friendly, nerdy (does Vietnam make them otherwise?) and extremely loquacious Viet student accosts less friendly, less nerdy, taciturn Oz-Viet student. Note that he'd already talked to (= at) me about a) the cathedral in Dalat, b) his goldfish, c) how his parents met, d) how to read an abdominal ultrasound (appreciated) and e) domestic violence in VN. And asked what my religious convictions are and whether I was sad at my parents' divorce. Boundaries already! He got my e-mail and mobile number, mis dios.

Him: Talking to you, it's like honey is melting in my mouth.
Me: Errrr what?
Him: Like honey, you give nourishment to my voice.
(Me: But all I did was nod....twenty minutes ago!)

*****
Scene: a discussion about how (un)likely it is my children will speak Viet.

Five Foot Nothing Ortho Surgeon: You probably will marry a Westerner, right?
Me: Maybe, but possibly an Australian-born Vietnamese like me.
FFNOS: Not a Vietnamese-born Vietnamese?
Me: Most only come up to my shoulder. [forgetting his stature, as we were seated]
Others: LOL!
FFNOS: Some of history's greats were short! Napoleon said that a man's stature should be measured from his head to the sky, not from the ground to his head. Napoleon! Who else?
Others: Hitler?
FFNOS: Hitler! And Charlie Chaplin.
Me: I'm not really looking to marry Hitler or Charlie Chaplin.

*****
Scene: a man lying in bed, bored.

Me: So, what's wrong?
Him: Nothing.
Me: I mean, why are you in hospital?
Him: No reason. Nothing at all.
Me: ... You're here for a rest?

*****
Another time I thought that weedkiller - "thuoc co", literally "grass drug" - was some kind of herbal medicine. And I puzzled for ages about a lady with a presentation suggestive of gall stones, but who'd just had her gallbladder removed recently...until I realised that she'd said she'd just had her pancreas out, not her GB. Same difference right?

We had an Aussie in today and basically I was the language monkey, which I was happy to be. Me with my crapola Viet! It was a good day. Learned a few things, got the same provisional diagnosis as the doctor a few times, was useful to at least one person ("the toilet's outside on the right"...heh), didn't witness any more dust to dust, talked to people. Had delicious variation on bubble tea. And my new tailored pants fit well, MOST importantly. Still secretory though. Are lungs really that necessary? Can I just do away with mine?

Going to the enemy capital tomorrow. Yes, where they captured and tortured John McCain! Except I don't get to stay at the Hilton.

Sham-fricking-bolic

Ok, so Plan A was this: 2 weeks in Saigon, 6 weeks in Hanoi. However, after the Othello explosion, I was debating whether to continue with the original plan to go to HN, what with the risk of him going spazz at the thought of DevilSpawn (yours truly) working with Des. My presence cramps Des' style - she can't get out in case he tries some shit with me. Plus there's the added inconvenience of not having anywhere to stay - we do have some distant contacts (my mum's brother's soon-to-be-ex-wife's cousin twice removed or something) but a) I'm not keen to share a room and b) it's a big ask to have me for almost 2 months. Could stay in a hotel, but transport is a bit tricky.

Thus, Plan B was to stay in Saigon. Here, the doctor I'm with is my great-uncle's friend. Their family has a nice big house with room for me, plus kids to play with, and they have an English school which I could help with. I was only hemhawing about going here because we didn't know them well and because he's less in the loop about what the purpose of the placement is. The time here so far has been patchy: long periods of waiting around doing nothing, but then again yesterday I went with him on call and got to do some cool things, like take part in laparoscopic surgery, sew people up, test for appendicitis. Even got a case of subcutaneous emphysema (air under the skin from a broken rib stabbing a lung...the guy seriously looked and felt like a squishy balloon!). This kind of stuff convinced me that it'd be ok to stay here after all. Last night I was preparing to do the paperwork with the uni and hospital to make it official. I like the South, despite the heat, cos the people are straightforward and easygoing, as opposed to the Northerners' veneers and status games. But wait, there's more! Today we find out that this supervisor is resigning his job. He handed in his letter just this morning.

To think I went to VN partly because it'd be easier to organise. What a country. It's got an unique ability to drive one nuts. I think the problem is that we're entangled in a web of obligations, debts and favours here, at the mercy of others, and there are all these unwritten rules and traps. Bearshit is the inevitable result. In Oz we have atomised lives, not relying on anyone except nearest friends and family. Perhaps it's lonelier, but it's a hell of a lot more peaceful.

Vietnam travel tips

• Go to Saigon, Hanoi, Ha Long Bay, Sapa, Nha Trang, Hue and Dalat if at all possible. Take the train from Saigon to Hanoi, there's great scenery of rice paddies and hills and buffalos.
  
• Don't drink the water or anything with ice, for this will end up with you hugging the toilet bowl, or worse, the squat toilet on the side of the road where the plumbing is a hole running down the mountain. FYI, a litre of water with one teaspoon of table salt and eight of sugar plus lime for flavour makes for a decent rehydration solution. Says Wikipedia, so it must be true.
  
• Speaking of which, always bring your own supply of tissues and toilet paper. And work on your thigh and ankle muscles, you'll need em for squatting.
  
• Do buy one of those face-mask type things that everyone wears. Helpful if you want to take a ride on a xe om ("hug taxi" - hop on the back of a motorbike and hold on for dear life. Quickest, cheapest, funnest, most lung-blackening and dangerous mode of travel). Also helpful if you're in the doctor's lounge in a hospital, and a senior surgeon is chain smoking in this small closed room with the windows shut, and you're too polite to leave. (PS. ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION!) If you're a smoker, this is your paradise.
  
• Avoid raw vegetables and seafood if you're careful. Do try some of the street foods like sticky rice and noodle soups.
  
• If you're on a tour and stop at a beach resort, remember to bring get your bathers from your suitcase, especially if the bus is parking 20 minutes away. Otherwise, an XXXL men's souvenir t-shirt will suffice, though beware of transparency and cling when wet. Whether you wear knickers with this ensemble is up to you - you need to make the choice between modesty in the ocean vs sitting on a bus for the next five hours with a wet bum - or commando. (hint: breezy!)
  
• If you're an Asian girl, be prepared to be stared at like you're some kind mutant freak because of your Australian Weetbix-and-Vegemite-fed height ("are you a basketballer?" at 165cm!) - and, alas, girth.
  
• If you're white, be prepared to be stared at like you're some kind of mutant freak...just because. And be prepared to be ripped off by every friendly-seeming local. There are actually different price lists printed for "international guests", and that's when they're being nice. Travel with a trusted local if you can. Take Vinasun taxis, they're the most reliable.
  
• When you're feeling like a stranger in a strange, busy, hot, dirty land full of skinny little people who speak a language that's half familiar and half gobbledegook (racistpunlol), whose culture seems alien, and you are reduced to nodding and smiling like a dimwit bobblehead doll...be reassured that some things are the same everywhere. Anatomy. Hospital politics. The fact that surgeons wear those bandanna-like caps in theatre, while nurses and others wear the much less badass, but much more hygienic shower caps. The questions general surgeons always ask post-op: "have you been eating? pooing? peeing?".
  
• If you're working in a hospital and you thought you knew Vietnamese, you don't. Buy a medical English-Viet dictionary. Curse yourself for learning a dead language for six years (no, not French! heh) instead of something useful. (ahh it was fun though)
  
• You may want to reconsider going to Vietnam for a rotation if your patership is a very visible dissident in exile, because your host's pathologically jealous and delusional husband may follow her to a (chaste) nocturnal meeting with your uncle and accuse him of bringing news from patership with whom she's (falsely) alleged to be having an affair. Othello may then raid all of his wife's emails and mobile phone, call up her family and colleagues to badmouth her, change all the phone numbers in the house so no one can contact her, and forbid you to stay with them for you are the spawn of That Man. Worst of all, poor Des can't leave because if she does, he threatens to denounce her to the cops for her (non-existent) political connection with said armchair revolutionary - and people have been imprisoned for less in this land of justice and freedom for all (*cough*). Seriously, one of patership's colleagues - an Australian citizen! - was recently hauled in for questioning. Consider writing to the Australian embassy to explain the situation in case Grand Frere decides to mess with you or Des for shits and giggles.
  
• An iPod or similar is a must if you're touring in a bus in which the driver plays Vietnamese folk music at full blast. Earplugs are recommended if you're staying in Saigon, because the blast of motorbike horns never stops, even in the middle of the night.
  
• Wear sunscreen. Don't wear any precious jewellery or carry a handbag - try putting your stuff in a strong shopping bag. Keep a sharp eye on your belongings when on the move.

Just because I'm paranoid

...doesn't mean that the television isn't watching me!

For serious. Day 5 in VN and I'm wondering whether I'll have to get out by those same rickety boats. Man! All I wanted from this trip was to a) never enter a VN hospital lying down (and you thought the Australian public hospital system was bad...) and b) no melodrama of the hair-tearing variety.

One of the above is going well: I'm still standing, though mothership is currently undergoing the South (East Asia) Beach Diet...that's to say, massive gastro.

The other thing, not so great. My placement plans are in shambles due to a shitstorm that is some bizarre variation on Othello complete with misguided accusations of adultery and political intrigue. I'll write more when I can figure out how to protect the innocent. So far Desdemona hasn't copped it yet, but it's a possibility, and I could get dragged in as well.

Plenty of people are bad cooks....

...but it takes a special talent to screw up boiled eggs. I am talented.

A view of a room

Yeah, nudging the world's going to have to wait. The whole universe has shrunk to the size of my study. I've got to figure out a way of passing exams without locking myself indoors for a month and going mad and fat and reading for 16 hours at a time. Seeing as I'll be having exams until about age 30 at the very least, god help me. It might involve...hmmmmmm...not procrastinating until the very last minute? Duh! I say this every semester.

Things keeping me sane:

.....I got nothin'. Actually, the piano and geetar. Today I realised I am grateful to my folks for all those years of lessons. It's a great thing to be able to sit down at a piano and play something randomly for yourself.

I had an idea once for a short story set in the future when instead of getting a jail term, criminals get sentenced with a neurological condition. Like bank robbery: Parkinson's, 3 years. Paedophilia: life with ALS, aka what Stephen Hawking has, with a sadistic robot carer. I did a science assignment on that in Year 10, and I don't know how people can stand it. You gradually lose the ability to move, while retaining your senses and intelligence. You can live like that for decades. The cruelty of it. If there is a deity: what the frig?!! Our teacher made us look into how neuro conditions affect people, and I came across a blog by an ALS patient (though I didn't know to call it a blog then). He'd begin every post with "things I can't do" and "things I can still do". One list kept getting longer, the other shorter. Tried to find it again and couldn't, but there are plenty like it, just google. It's almost unfathomable. Going from being an everyday person with a mortgage and job and kids and hoping you have a quiet, decent life, to your existence revolving around things like...how to swallow food. How to shift yourself in bed. Whether your wife who cares for you 24/7 is about to crack. Or you are that wife and this wasn't what you dreamed of being when you grew up. These could be people two doors down from you going through this hell. The heroism and bizarreness and tragedy and sheer unimagineable variety of normal human lives...bloody baffling, innit?

Baaaaack to the grindstone.

*PC disclaimer (I believe it too) - I know disability isn't all helplessness and despair. Diving Bell and the Butterfly much.

Oh. My. Sweet. Jeebus.

Guess where I just came back from? I'll give you three choices:

a) strip club
b) army recruitment
c) Scientology meeting

If you guessed b), you are correct. Even though a) and c) are more likely to have any luck in getting me to sign up! We were told that there would be emergency resus training and hands-on intubation practice and free taxpayer funded food and interesting speakers. Lies, damned lies! Instead, we got 5 minutes of DR ABC in a tent and a 3-hour YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU spiel. In fact, they didn't even tap into our pro patria mori sentiments, they were just all like "oh join the army, make friends and money, see the world, get fit, have lots of fun". They forgot "be a political pawn and conform and suspend your civil liberties and oh yeah KILL PEOPLE". There was a stark reminder of reality when a doctor guy showed pictures of soldiers with their legs and faces blown off. Not immune to that yet.

It's not that I don't respect our troops. Civic duty and self-sacrifice, I tip my hat to that. Both my grandfathers were army, and all the military people I know personally are warm, smart folk. There are several ex-service med students in my year, one of whom is this twinkle-eyed former airman, future obs-gyn whom I call Jolly Dude, cos he's so cheery and cute. Methinks med attracts the idealists, hence the significant proportions of hardcore evangelists and military. Yes, the people themselves, all good. But still I've got some innate aversion to the crushing discipline and uniforms and unquestioning following of orders and parading with guns. Spare me the transparent propaganda, fer crying out loud. They wanted our addresses and phone numbers- um HELL no!

Hm, I am actually a little surprised. When they said that the ADF is an equal-opportunity employer, I wanted to say what about those dirty homos, you hypocrites? Assuming that they had the same "don't ask don't tell" farce as in the US. But I held my tongue, and as a conscientious blogger I Googled the topic before launching into a self-righteous tirade. Found this from the Gay Military Times. It turns out the ADF are rather more liberal-minded than I gave them credit for- the ban against gays was lifted in 1992 (and the sky didn't even fall - slightly biased source, that). So ADF, grudging props from - well not quite a pacifist, but at least a skeptic.

Anyway. This is what happens when you follow free food! You'd think I'd have learnt my lesson by now. There was the free sausage that lead to storming a uni in an anti-VSU protest, the free pizza that lead to half-arsedly helping organise Spectrum, then that fateful lamington that lead to joining DarcySoc before even seeing Pride and Prejudice which lead to giant flaming shitballs, and Albury freeness which lead to JFSS and potentially to A Country Practice. Yep. Soooo basically the price of my soul is a Krispy Kreme or two.

Heh, I forgot. There was meant to be catering except the people didn't turn up so they had to order pizzas in...! Catering logistics...large weapons...security...do I even need to connect the dots?