SEPTEMBER 10, 2007
My name is no longer MedZag. My name is #5814.
In respect of privacy (and to keep the gunners of the class from gloating so much their heads explode), my medical school assigns each individual a designated exam number. As soon as test day comes, you cease to exist as a person, and you rematerialize as this number.
#5814 will be the barometer of my medical school success for the next two years. That being said... med school exams are not nearly as bad as advertised (yet). I show up to school at noon today to take the bitch down, run into the token hyperventilating classmates (God rest your souls) and head on down to the lab. Contrary to popular belief, identifying 50 different structures on 25 different cadavers ain't so bad. Granted it sucks, and your brain works hard, but in the grand scheme of intellectual effort I think there's 6 levels of effort: (1) Can do it while watching Rock of Love. (2) Can do it while watching MythBusters. (3) Can do it sans television with music. (4) Can do it. (5) Kinda difficult. (6) F*cking impossible.
For the exam, I grade (out of 150 questions) 20 as a (1) 10 as a (2) 45 as a (3) 70 as a (4) 5 as a (5) and 0 as a (6).
End score: Reasonable. Big bad medical school exams are big, not really bad. But totally doable. End verdict comes Wednesday (and Monday).
Maybe my good feelings of the day come down to my playlist from the morning. I woke up, listened to some Eye of the Tiger, and went of my way. I should really attest my entire medical school career so far to 80's rock bands.
On a totally unrelated note, Portland has begun to be invaded by Vespas. The annoying whine of what used to be a uniquely European phenomenon now has penetrated (ha, penetrate) the culture of the dear state of Oregon. And it really doesn't work for our poor town, the damn things just seem so out of place. It's like Seattle, WA and Florence, Italy got together for a hot and steamy night after a crazzzzzy time at some bar (what bar Seattle and Florence would both hang out at, I have no idea) and Portland, OR was the "accident" that popped up 6 weeks later. I just hope Florence took the news well. Yes, I am making Seattle the woman in this analogy. Or perhaps a better analogy would be when two attractive celebrities get together and make a baby and you go "damn, that's gonna be one good looking baby" and the end product ends up looking something like this. Thank you, Portland.
Another random musing... one of the doctors who leads our PCM (Principles of Clinical Medicine) looks and acts exactly like JD from Scrubs, give or take 20 years. I find it truly hilarious, though I think my group thinks I'm a little weird for laughing a lot more than I'm supposed to. But what else am I supposed to do when all I can think about is a correlary Dr. Cox rant going through my head all throughout small group.