Medical students are an odd breed. Right now they are smart but often stupid, drinking nineteen pints and taking knock-out pills then running to see how far they get before they fall. Soon enough, after five, six, seven years (depending on year outs, failed years – you get the drift), they’ll be junior doctors. The righteous junior doctors who we should be supporting in their long hours and dedications. Then they’ll be fully-fledged doctors, in charge of our health and the ones that sign the notes that get us out of work.
Yet I am no medical student. I’m not even in the sciences. I am a humanities student. I do not understand how the mind of a medic works, and they don’t understand how my mind works, but we somehow exist together in an odd little jumble of ‘I’m almost a doctor’ speech, debates over whose essays are harder, and varying opinions on almost every subject. Somehow the three of us, two medics and a humanities student, manage to live in a kind-of harmony, and that may just because I’m related to one of them. Still, it makes for some fantastic anecdotes.
Our ‘bedside manner’, as they might call it, varies greatly. A medical student clearly learns to be confident (hell, you don’t want your doctor um-ing and ah-ing over whether to give you this drug or that one), and be assertive. In a medical situation, they need to be able to take charge if need be and make quick decisions, declaring what they can do and how they’re useful. This all makes perfectly good sense, but this is ‘interesting’ to deal with in a normal daily atmosphere. Perhaps it’s because there’re two of them in the flat, but the competitiveness is overwhelming. Conversations that would normally go like this:
“Hey, how was your day?”
“Yeah not bad. You?”
“Yeah, alright, thanks.”
End up being vastly different….
“Hey, how was your day?”
“Well I’ve been on a ward since nine and managed to impress one of the doctors on call which was good, and I managed to put in a cannula first try, and had to tell a few people they had cancer which was really trying, but managed to also contribute to saving someone’s life. How about you?”
“Uh, yeah. It was alright.”
Suddenly, finishing a book within a day or managing to write a 3000 word essay in record time, or even both at the same time, isn’t all that impressive anymore. Hell, it was only ever really impressive to myself and my humanities mates to begin with.
There are conflicts, of course – as is with every flat and it’s occupants. Roommates will argue at some point; it’s practically law. There are tensions over contact hours at university (eight hours a week compared to eight hours a day causes a dangerous cocktail of jealousy, despair, and utter turmoil – see my earlier blog if you need more on this), the amount of work that’s been set, and even the level of stress you’re at.
But there are also some great moments. For them, it’s when I knock on the door because yet another one of my friends has messaged to see if I can ask my brother if the lump on their leg needs to be medically treated. Or it’s when other humanities friends come round and they get to lament over their long hours and their abilities to save lives and have an audience that can’t say ‘well, yeah, we all do that’.
For me, it’s the moments when they try to help me with my degree. Now don’t get me wrong, they aren’t helpful in the slightest, but they say such fantastic comments that I get to write down and tell my friends about and even write a blog about. (See what I did there?)
It’s when I’m writing an essay that I seem to get the best comments. All I have to do is sigh loudly and cry out ‘Oh cruel world, why must you make me write an essay of 4000 words on a concept featured in eighteenth century travel writing?’, and immediately my ever-so-helpful-and-assertive-in-their-abilities medical student roommates will pitch in with their thoughts.
Warning: these quotes are from real life medical students.
They most likely haven’t written an english essay since they were 16.
“Just put in loads of semi-colons. That’s what I did in GCSE English.”
“Use the word juxtaposition. That sounds like a word that would get an A grade.”
“I used enjambment all the time because it’s long and sounds French.”
Honestly, I’ve no idea how to follow that. How can you follow that? Actually, I know – once again, you immediately text your friends so they can laugh over the medical-student-essay advice and then write down those tips because they are going to be featured in a blog real soon. (Love you guys really. And I’m sorry, but you can’t write English and/or Classics essays. Stick with saving lives.)