A weekend at last

Dear folks,

I hope you are all well. I am finally at home and a pie is baking in the oven, the flat is clean, and I feel like I can update the blog at last.

I am settling into work and getting used to being addressed as "doctor", though the words, "thank goodness the doctor is here" still don't sit comfortably (will they ever?) I love my team, and have developed a reputation as being perennially cheerful. They did not see me crying on my 2nd night. Hurrah! Also, I have the thought of ophthalmology to comfort me through the rubbish parts of general medicine, like never being able to take holiday when you want to. The on-call rota is of machiavellian, perhaps escherian complexity. Both politically AND physically impossible. I can tell that when general medicine gets too much for my seniors, they go off to their happy specialty places - one wants to do rheumatology and the other wants to do GP. IT's important to have a happy specialty place in your head where General Medicine can no longer hurt you (though in the House of God, one of the rules is "They Can Always Hurt You More.") That is the First Rule of Medicine.

Poor Tim is on call this weekend and I hope the pie will go some way towards comforting him. Pies tend to do so. They are a comforting sort of food. I made the pastry and everything. From scratch.

Points: domestic enjoyment 1: academic work: 0.

Today I met with my educational supervisor, who is my consultant, who is also my clinical supervisor. He was very nice and could not ever remember if I was from Oxford or Cambridge. Hilariously. I suppose they sort of meld into one giant pointy towery quaddy type thing for people. 

We chatted about medicine for a bit. One of the things I have noticed here is that people tend to be more pragmatic about medicine. In medicine, there is a phrase everyone uses all the time - 'when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.' It's a truism, like the phrase 'common things are common' which gets repeated endlessly. It needs to be repeated because rare things are interesting and fun, but hardly ever get diagnosed, and a textbook symptom that fits a rare thing is more likely to be an unusual presentation of a common thing. But one thing I have noticed in Oxford, perhaps because of the high density of geekiness there, is that people really, really love the zebras. They rejoice in the zebras! You give them a hoof and they'll take an entire herd of zebras, wildebeest, and perhaps a lesser spotted monkfish. Even when they kno wit's a horse, they like to pretend what woul dhappen if it were a zebra. And then they get a bit carried away.

Whereas here, whenever I mentioned a zebra as an alternative diagnosis, I met only with slightly awkward silence.

Awkward.

Still, everyone's really nice. I'm getting used to being addressed as 'pet', and 'love' and 'hinny', which was really really confusing for a bit. I'm getting used to 'canny' meaning 'good' and I've even started calling lunch DINNER. LUNCH. DINNER. Oh my frick. And I've said that something was 'grand', and meant it.

The northern accent needs work though.

I've got so much more to say but feel like there' sjust too much to say! I'm loving where I'm living. I'm loving the local gym. I'm enjoying cooking in my nice, clean kitchen. I'm really really enjoying it here. I'm really happy. I'm excited about work. I'm settling in. And I feel like a grown up. Honestly. Like a real doctor. I'm getting used to Dr on my cards and letters, and people calling me Dr, and feeling like I deserve to be here, rather than a medical student who's got too big for her boots.

Right, it's time to get things ready for Tim to come home. I'm sure he's going to have a lot to tell me.

Can't wait to see you guys for housewarming.

xxxx Connie