I Find It All Relatively Humerus

That title is not misspelled.
To those who are able to figure it out, yes, I am in my orthopedics posting. To those who could not, well, I'm in my orthopedics posting.

It's by far the most relaxed posting that I have ever been in. Of course there are still the hours of ceaseless palpitations when we're preparing for the scary specialists, but after rounds we're all back to normal. And even the other medical officers and even specialists commiserate regarding the ReallyScarySpecialist (heretofore the RSS). Everyone's kinda scared of her. Or at least, really do not want to make her mad. Just for the sake of the human race, or really, just our hearing capabilities.

So what's new?

Nothing much on this end except work, work, and, you guessed it, work. Maybe I'm a little more settled? But that's neither here nor there.

It took 1 year for me to at least gain some confidence.

But, let me reassure all those housemen out there, during first posting, when you're thinking I cannot possibly memorize all my patients. One day, you'll be able to memorize all the patients in your wards.

It takes time.

I haven't really grown up any better. I still feel the same.

Though sometimes I'd like to think that I should make a change. Do my best. Not for myself, but for my patients.

InsyaAllah, boleh.

Of life, love, marriage and epic run on sentences which make less sense than I intended them to

So today, I am sitting here, on the floor of the living room in my childhood home, with my laptop on my knees, listening to Beethoven’s Allegreto Symphony no.7 in A major, OP.92 which I only know of because I searched the King’s Speech OST (it’s the music playing when his Majesty gives that speech through the radio at the end of the movie, wait, that might be spoiler-ish? Ah well.) Contemplating love.

Didn’t see that curveball coming didja?

Not really.

So last year, I made a post on Valentine’s day  (which you can read here, if you so ever wish) and I think that I came across as being rather cynical. I can’t help it, I am cynical. My default setting is sarcasm. Which sometimes people don’t get and they think I’m just being mean, though maybe they’re not that far of the mark. But would it really surprise you, if I said, really, truthfully, I do have a romantic side.

Gasp and call the Night Watch. Or something (incidentally, I do have all the Night Watch books, I just have never read them. Maybe One Day).

It’s not really news if I said I have not, ever, been in a relationship. I do moan and groan and complain about it a lot and in several past posts. It’s nothing new. But what if I said, that forever, I have wished for a love story so sweet, it will give me eternal cavities.

In all clichéd stories of life and love, my parents have known each other since form 1 in secondary school. And I have wanted something as awesome as that. Though, as you can probably deduce, that boat has sailed, been scuttled, and sunk into the depths of the Forever Alone ocean of unrequited love tears. But dramatics and run on sentences aside, yes, I do want to be loved. I do want an epic love story.

Surprise. I am, apparently, a little girl at heart.

But then, I think, what is love? Why do people equate it with a heart, which, really doesn’t even really look like a heart? Where do feelings come from? Why do people always say, follow your heart, when last I knew the heart, which is made out of special heart muscles, with special nerves, and special structures like fibers, chords, and flaps, that all, somehow, work together in synchronicity to make sure that we get the required amount of blood flowing through our vascular system so that we don’t get tired while at rest (stage 4 cardiac failure according to NYHA), does not, in any way, have any cognitive abilities. Making it unable to make an informed decision. Unable, to even make a decision. And yet.

I have a thing for run on sentences. It’s the common bane of all my English teachers. They obviously have not succeeded in culling my penchant for writing long, wordy nonsense. I have only deteriorated after my last English teacher in Matriculation.

But back to love. So? What is love. The scientist would say a mish-mash of various hormones induced by specific conditions to make your pupils dilate, your heart palpitate and a general feeling of warmness, maybe. Also, what happens when you get into a fight or flight situation, except different hormones. I dunno. I’m digressing.

I don’t know why, but somehow, I have worked into cultivating a very hard exterior in which, I am perceived as being, not romantic. I don’t read romance novels, I think watching romantic movies is boring, and while my friends are all, this is so sweet, that man is so romantic, I tell them that I have barfed a little in my mouth while observing their exploits.

Once a bunch of friends and I went book shopping. And among the books that ended up being purchased by my friends was a book, written in a vaguely religious manner, by a religiously educated person, on love. And marriage. And what we should do in this beautiful, wonderful, sparkly institution known as marriage. And I do not understand why she bought this particular book.  So, in the ever ongoing quest to obtain more knowledge, I asked her, why.

She said that when you come to a certain age, you’ll start thinking about these things. About growing up. I replied, but I’m the same age as you. We’re even born in the same month. Maybe you’re just a late bloomer, she said. Have you got a boyfriend Nona? She asked me. I said, no, unfortunately not. A look of comprehension dawned on her face and she said, that’s why. You don’t have a boyfriend Nona, so you don’t know how it feels. You haven’t felt the feeling of being in love and being loved. You wouldn’t understand. I think the conversation then went into tangents of how after I have fallen in love, I would probably change. I don’t know what I’ll be, but apparently, one of them would be a person who voluntarily reads self-help/motivation books on love and marriage and the lovely, beautiful and sparkly institution that is marriage.

And I abhor that answer so much so, because it makes me less human than her. And it is just really me, but it also implies that after having fallen in love, I may turn into a sycophantic human being who breaths and lives love and sentiment. Love pushes through my veins, kinda shindig.  And I hate that.

I may have never had a relationship but that does not mean that I have never been in love. And yet, I still don’t see the draw of reading the self-help, sappy long winded books of love, happiness and marriage genre.

The easy and oft used argument is of course, to each his own. And the more complex argument might include debates on child development, Sigmund Freud vs Erik Ericsson’s modules, nature vs nurture and maybe a long winded and completely illogical argument on why raspberry ripple will always top vanilla on the most awesome flavor for ice-cream in existence. But whichever way you say it, I think that in the end, love is so much more, marriage is so much more, and reading it from a cookie cutter, sugar glazed book is just so dumb.

It’s not like I don’t want to fall in love. Not that I don’t want to get married. Not that I don’t want to have a family of my own. It’s just that I think reading from those books, gives you very high ideals on how everything should be perfect. When in reality, it’s really not that clear cut. Sure you have ideals and motivations and some of them planted in you when you read so and so book or something but in the end, life is never what the books say. I mean, even all the things that have been written in medical texts have been researched and really the most general and common presentation of some such situation or disease, will almost never present the same. And that’s like, damn.

So, in essence, I think that reading those books is dumb and I’m just gonna wing it.

In the end, what made me contemplate love and all the convoluted reasons behind it, and marriage, and so many things that I cannot for the life of me articulate into a comprehensible sentence, is that today, is my parent’s wedding anniversary. And we know how that went off to.

I told my mother this morning, Happy-however-happy-you-want-it-to-be Anniversary. She asked me how to be happy. I told her to have a cookie.

Have fun contemplating life, love and the (apparently, to some books and people) lovely, beautiful and sparkly institution that is marriage.

akunona

AKUNONA: THE GREAT 2012 BOOK CONSUMPTION REVIEW part 2

Have I ever told you that I really, really, really hate bureaucracy? Well, consider yourselves told.
It's all crap really. I hate it. It's needlessly complicated.

In other news, I am getting fatter. Which some people would say a good thing, but I have body image issues as well, so goddamnit.

And on with our scheduled program:

AKUNONA: THE GREAT 2012 BOOK CONSUMPTION REVIEW part 2

AKUNONA: THE GREAT 2012 BOOK CONSUMPTION REVIEW part 1

The End of The Beginning

Not that, that really means anything. A quote from Winston Churchill. Happy New Year, I guess. It is 2013. My brothers have gone off to school. And I am at home, lounging about doing nothing really. There is a reason, and a dilemma behind that, but maybe, at a later date, I will get back to that. I might do a bullet points post on reflections and the like. But I don't really promise anything.

I wanted to watch Arashi on Kouhaku this year. What with being home and all, it seemed like the perfect condition. But my parents won't let me get the channels on our cable. So I watched Arafes. Which, really? Maybe was even better than Kouhaku by thousands.

So, anyway. In the event of this New Year and everything, I thought I'd write an informational post. Well, slightly more informational than the usual fare anyway. I thought I'd write some thoughts/reviews on books that I have read during 2012. At least, the ones I remember reading. And so, without further ado:

AKUNONA: 2012 BOOK CONSUMPTION REVIEW part 1

This Great and Terrible Undertaking

So recently, due to reasons that I have yet to comprehend, I find myself very excited and very interested in History. Particularly World War II history. Now don't expect me to dive into an intellectual discussion of World War II and so on and so forth. I have never been taught to a decently high level on WWII. The history modules of secondary school education in my country being woefully boring and focusing more on the Malaysian aspect of it, I never really learnt all that much beyond the point of, yes we were an occupied country, the Japanese occupation was bad, the Malayan Emergency was very bad. And that generally was it. We have a really redundant education system where the focus of said education is exam taking with all the guts and glory to those students who score impressive amounts of A's in their national exams and no focus at all on what to do next. But that's another story. This current, meandering, slightly irreverent (and maybe irrelevant) essay is on what I found interesting about World War II. The story, not the war itself. Because if history has ever taught us anything, and in the case of WWII specifically, it is that war, is BAD.

Of contemplations

The other day, I had a conversation with a housemate before she went home to Malaysia. She was telling me about her ailing grandma and how they had to look after her and how her mind is going. What really struck me was a small part of the conversation in which my friend says, when her grand ma came back from the local kopitiam and saying that she had met so and so and they had a really nice chat where so and so had actually passed away years ago. And her mother (my friend's mother) on hearing this, said, "Astaghfirullah mak, mengucap. Dia kan dah meninggal lama dah."

And that bit was what gets me. How immediate response is to something that may or may not be mystical. Grandma thought that she saw the ghost of her friend at the kopitiam and they had a chat. Not, grandma's mind is degenerating due to Alzheimer. There's little way that I can say this that will not sound pretentious and rude in the religious sort of way? I don't know. I wish I had a better way with words.

But the point is, I don't really like that kind of mentality. Grandma quite clearly has Alzheimer, but the norm and the social background will almost always fall in the mystical category. They should get grandma treatment? But I can't really say anything.

Growing old is scary.

contemplating thoughts

akunona

Childhood, revisited

So the other day, while we were discussing boy bands and the current trend in today’s coass, my friend and I suddenly found ourselves discussing nursery rhymes. Yes, our discussions do tend to move in rather random tangents. It’s awesome. Once, we started talking about volcanoes and somehow ended up discussing how Hans Christian Anderson is a depressing person.

So, anyway, we were discussing the origins of various nursery rhymes. How many of you know of the rhyme “Ring around a rosy”? Pretty much everyone would have heard of this rhyme. There are several versions to this rhyme but mainly, it goes like this;

Ring around a rosy

A pocket full of posies

Atishoo atishoo

We all fall down

There is also a version where the line “Atishoo – atishoo” is replaced with “Ashes ashes”.  Rather innocuous yes? Nothing sinister there mister. I even remember playing this in the school playground in primary where we linked hands and turned in a circle and at the last line, everyone fell down (regardless of clean pinafores). So, who would believe that apparently, this rhyme has origins in the Black Plague?

A short history + medical lesson, The Black Plague or the Bubonic Plague is a highly infectious disease caused by the pathogen Yersinea pestis. It has caused at least three pandemics and multiple epidemics throughout the course of history, for example the plague in Europe (1348 – 1350) and the Third Plague Pandemic (1855 -1959) that started in China and spread to various continents. The bacteria is most commonly transmitted by the Rat flea, Xenopsylla cheopis. Persons bitten by the flea would be inoculated with the pathogen and develop the plague. The Bubonic plague, a type of plague, is known as such because the inoculated pathogen invades nearby lymphoid tissue resulting in inflamed, necrotic, hemorrhaging lymph nodes or Bubo. There are several theories regarding why it was named the Black Plague, the first being a reference to a symptom observed in infected patients where the skin turns black and necrotic (which is actually due to DIC). The second theory is that the term “Black” was used to describe the current atmosphere during the plague which was said to be bleak and depressing (because, really whole towns were wiped out).

Also, interestingly, there are still reports of the plague cropping up every now and again. And then, you think about all those dead rats you see on the roads on your way to work.  But this is another discussion for another time.

So, the question is, how is this related to a children’s rhyme? I’ll go by lines;

“Ring around a rosy” apparently is a reference to a rosy red rash that would appear on the skin of the infected person.

“A pocket full of posies” is a reference to the custom of carrying sweet smelling herbs and flowers in pockets due to the belief that the disease was transferred through bad smells (gives a new meaning to body odour).

“Atishoo – atishoo” signifies sneezing, which is another symptom shown by the infected person. The other version “Ashes ashes” also has a meaning in which it is a reference to the custom of burning the dead bodies. Whether it was already custom to burn dead bodies or rather an effort to control spread, I don’t really know, but you have to agree, that was smart.

The last line “We all fall down” of course, refers to everyone dying.

Interestingly if you read it as “Atishoo – atishoo, We all fall down”, it basically means, you sneeze, you die. Which is kind off awesome. Because the plague, can also be spread through aerogens and the Pneumonic plague, one type of plague, is the most lethal form, causing 100% deaths in infected individuals if they do not receive treatment during the first 24 hours.  

So, as interesting as this is, my friend and I already knew of it. We had read about it before though our sources may have differed. What we were discussing about was the rhyme “Jack and Jill”. I know, that *points above*, was just an introduction. LOL.

So, what is it about “Jack and Jill”? The rhyme goes:

Jack and Jill went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water

Jack fell down and broke his crown

And Jill came tumbling after

The rhyme has another verse but what confused my friend and I was the fact that Jack fell down and apparently broke his crown. And we were saying, that’s head injury, right there. He had a cranial fracture for sure and kids are actually singing this! And Jill came tumbling after! And who knows what kind of injury she sustained! It was a rather heated discussion whether he was really in danger and did he really have a cranial fracture, and was there a possibility of an epidural hemorrhage. We agreed that prompt action and ATLS would have helped.

So, because this piqued my interest, I decided to Google it. And surprise, surprise.

I actually found several theories as to the origin of this particular rhyme, but I’m going to be talking about the one that I liked the most. Apparently, the rhyme Jack and Jill has roots in French History! Jack, actually refers to King Louis the XVI and Jill, refers to Queen Marie Antoinette. King Louis the XVI during the French Revolution was deposed, accused of treason and beheaded, hence Jack breaking his crown. Jack breaking his crown also implies the loss of King Louis’ status as the King. And Jill came tumbling after because Queen Marie Antoinette was also beheaded.

Talk about head injuries.

The other theories in decreasing order of what interest I found in them are:

·         King Charles I of England, tried to impose tax on liquids but was barred by his parliament leading him to order the reduction of the volume of a ‘Jack’ which is a half pint while the tax remains the same. This actually, means he still gets more tax. As a result of the reduction of a half pint, consequently there was a decrease in the volume of a quarter pint, a Jill (actually spelled Gill). Thus, Jill came tumbling after. Fetching a pail of water actually means the act of watering the liquor which they resorted to because the tax was expensive.

·         Jack and Jill refer to dollars and cents respectively, and going up the hill means a rise in value. But due to the plague (hey, another plague reference!), there was a lack of water and thus a drop in currency (tumbling down the hill).

So there you are two nursery rhymes and their origins. I read a few other awesome ones too of course. Like my favorite, “Oranges and Lemons” (also execution related). And contrary to what my friend and I believed, the lullaby “Rock a bye Baby” did not mean baby dying. But you have to look that up yourself because this is getting rather long.

Still here?

Congratulations on making it this far. Give yourself a pat on the back. Now go Google nursery rhymes. ;)

Incidentally, did you know that in one version of Cinderella, one of the step sisters actually cut off part of her feet in order to fit into Cinderella’s glass slippers? She ended up marrying the prince.

Go learn some stuff

akunona

Take note that all of this should be taken with a grain of salt. Most of it is just speculation and there are various versions flying about that even the most persistent researcher, which is not me, would take some time to explain.  Good, cited sources are also hard to come by and if you believe everything they told you on the net, you probably also believe that some of the world leaders are shape shifting reptilians (which is a different story, here's a link if you want to know more about that)

So, hey. It's just fun stuff to know :)