No hospital today. Unless you count the 2 hours of today that carried over from last night. Yep, yesterday started at 8am and ended at 1.45am this morning. Then up and atom at 8 this morning, was on my way to Oxford Street by 9am. Mission: Dad’s birthday. I have had no time in the past few months to buy a present for Smallest Brother (birthday 16th Feb), nor for Dad (birthday 9th March). So, after three hours on Oxford Street, including one trip to John Lewis, purchase, Waterstones, purchase, back to John Lewis, return, then to Victoria where Wittards had apparently closed down. Challenges. Nevermind. With a Krispy Kreme in mouth and a Little Brother in tow we made the train to Kent with 30 seconds to spare. I would like to say that once in Kent all my worries dissolved. Had that not been for the fact that I checked my finals results online on the train. God damn this easy to access internet.
Ok. Yeah. I failed finals. I am pig sick. I am disappointed, disillusioned, upset. I’m swinging wildly between “people who fail get loads of tutoring and do better in the long run” and “fuck this shit, I never should have bothered, who was I fooling that I thought I could be a doctor?”. Details: I passed Knowledge and OSCE1 happily. I failed OSCE2 (long cases). You are allowed to fail 2 stations in OSCE1, I failed one, by one mark. And I think that was because, yep, I forgot to wash my hands. I know exactly how it happened: I was still trying desperately to rub in the last stations’ s hand gel when I started my second MDD station. And as such forgot to replenish the alcohol soaked fire-hazards that were my hands. No worries. For OSCE2 you are allowed to fail one station. I failed 2. The first was the integrated station, which I will put my hands up to: I have no idea what I was supposed to be doing. The kick in the teeth was that, that should have been fine. If I had then not proceeded to fail the MDD history station by ONE FREAKING MARK. Now, one mark or twenty marks, I still failed. I can bitch and moan until I’m blue in the face. But I failed. And after 12 hours of trying not to cry, several supportive texts and the feeling that I have managed to disappoint Dad on his birthday (I’m sure he isn’t disappointed, he’s a chillaxed guy, but I feel like I’m a disappointment right now), I think I have come to terms with this.
I am far from feeling cool. I am a confident person who should breeze through the retakes. But the thought of failing the retakes I just can’t handle. I genuinely do not know if I would repeat the year. I was only ever half- convinced of this ‘being a doctor’ thing in the first place. But we will rely heavily on our PMA infection from here on in. Not that it worked the first time round. But PMA doesn’t care what time round it is. I will do what I need to do. Like Batman.
A self-portrait will be added to this blog in retrospect (I have no camera cable with me this weekend). I have done a sketch of the family. I’m not sure I can muster looking at myself tonight.
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