Therapy?

The heart beats a trifle faster.

Nothing to be alarmed of, this is to be expected. After all, it is the only thing standing between me and my degree. My darling precious medical degree. My cursed forsaken medical degree. Love and hate in equal measures.

The last one. The big kahuna. My semester 10 finals. One long case and one exit viva to go. I stand outside my patient’s room, not knowing who awaits inside.

Of course the heart beats faster. Just a trifle.

Haven’t I dreamt of this feeling since I was a kid? A kid who saw his dad see and manage patients on a daily basis; whose entire time in school was geared towards a medical career ahead (fittingly, this kid hated maths with venom too); who saw the kindness in his dad’s eyes and the gratitude coming out of patients’ mouths; and of course a kid who dreams of one day NEVER having to take exams EVER again.

This is the last one after all. Until my specialist exam… but let the kid dream awhile ok?

I had to take the hardest route here possible. Chinese school, compulsory subjects, exam-oriented, A-oriented, teachers who only looked after the top students, best friends are your closest rivals, bloody Form 6 for 2 years, dodging the quota system… I’ve fought long and hard. Too long and too hard to think of any notion of going back. All my friends have already started working. Some are married with kids. I am still a singleton in university. A college kid. One step down, and I have only my STPM results to show for. Nothing else, no diplomas, no nothing. What the hell…

All those thoughts in my head… I have to shelf for at least another 2 hours. 2 more hours and I’m home free. Do or die, baby.

The bell rings. I step inside my alotted room. A middle-aged woman sat near the desk, waiting to be interviewed by who she hopes is a medical student in the final stages of his education. I block all my thoughts… took a deep breath. Only one thing on my mind now, to find out what this woman has.

She was a wonderful historian. She told me her entire story from A to Z, pausing so I could clarify a few doubts, pausing so I could write down fleeting details frantically, pausing because she thought she was going too fast.

"No, it’s ok aunty… go on."

An hour later… I am whisked away from the room while we collect our thoughts on paper. As I collected my papers I realised she would be the last patient I saw in medical school. I had to remember her name, and I did.

An audible clock ticked, as if taunting the innocents. Slower and slower the 15 minute break ended, and the death knell approached. I was taken into another room for questioning. And as I opened the door, a sigh of relief came over me… I was not in the bad books of any of the lecturers inside the room.

"Present the patient’s history."

I gladly did. And as I did, I subconsciously counted the seconds and minutes to go before time ran out. In that room either time would run out or the lecturers would run out of questions. Either way, it was your last chance to impress them. Otherwise, you get to see them again in 6 months. A thought too traumatic to bear.

You show off whatever knowledge or wisdom that had been imparted on you for the last 5 years. You carry your words confidently and stylishly, because you know your patient inside-out. You have a reason, a justification for everything that has been done for the patient. And finally it’s just the combination of you and your nerves, hoping to impress the hell out of the 3 lecturers seated in front of you.

The questions came surely, conversely, automatically… like clockwork. None too diffucult, none too easy… after all their prerogative was to pass you, unless you harm your patient. All the same, the only thing audible inbetween the questioning, answering and the taunting clock… was my heartbeat. Ready, steady, faster.

Was half an hour too much to bear?

Mercifully, the bell rang at the half-hour mark and another room awaited with another set of lecturers. They held our portfolio, what could be said as our thesis. Our life’s work, condensed into a 300-page text. Detailed histories and managements of 10 patients. And they would question us from every nook and cranny, every corner and crevice, and they well made sure we knew about our patients.

"Tell me this patient’s age?"

That detailed.

An examiner from Malayan University headed the portfolio questioning. An unfamiliar face, not an unkind face, but certainly not someone you would cry to if you have troubles. She looked stern and sure. Was she a faculty member ready to welcome me into the realm of doctors as a colleague, or was she holding the proverbial magnifying glass, hoping to expose and blow open whatever weakness I had? The timer started and the questioning begun. I held my breath.

My final set of questions nearly sent me into a cardiac arrest. This particular lecturer was not at all interested in managing a patient, he was way more into research and evidence-based outcomes. And his questions threw a curveball.

"What kind of study is this?"
"Is this kind of study validated for this kind of drug?"
"Do routes of administration of this drug affect the study’s outcome?"

I sweated bullets, yet answered in a tone that hid my nervousness and sense of what-the-hellness boiling inside of me.

Are you trying to fail me?

I lasted 30 minutes, 30 sweat-riddled, angst-filled (not the teenager variety), panic-inducing minutes. Feeling like I have suffered 3 heart attacks in a row, I exited the room. And as I turned the doorknob and shut the door behind me, a strange calm washed over me.

I thought I did enough to pass.

It’s over.

5 years of toiling in the sand, the stone, the rain, the mist, the havoc, the storm.

It’s over.

No more examinations for a long time.

It’s over.

And yet, a certain kind of emptiness. I told myself.

It’s over.

My heartbeat slowed down almost to a lull. Maybe it knew more than I did.

My life is a veritable soundtrack, where I am chief sound editor, song selector and ultimately select the final 20 best songs to be released on CD for the most profits. Sometimes I wish I could be more mainstream, so more people could relate to what I’m saying; yet sometimes I wish I could be more indie, ala the OC soundtracks… more arty, but you tend to sound overinflated while you gloat over your superior musical choices… but your audience do not know what you are talking about.

Ultimately, why not a blend? I take it from my dear friend Yean Koon, who says that she has enough music in her head NOT to get an mp3 player. She always has a song for every occasion. A rock lover who occasionally strays onto the unknown, which might turn out to be rewarding in the end. She can rattle on about Fall Out Boy and Hoobastank with the best of radio listeners, but when I ask her what she really listens to… ah, an eclectic list of relatively unknown musicians pop up. Mark Ronson and Christopher O’Reily anyone?

Ok, my point. There is a song for every moment. If you one day you become the director of your own autobiographical movie, surely you want every song for every pivotal moment to be the right one? They do it on TV/movies all the time. Can you actually watch Back To The Future without the theme? Star Wars? Remember the moment in Grey’s Anatomy which practically made Snow Patrol famous in the US? Songs have an otherworldly ability to make or break a moment.

But sometimes God can play funny tricks on you. Sometimes I don’t have a song in my head and God sends me one through the radio. No joke. It is so oppurtune it is scary. Like the time in my obs and gynae posting when I finally completed my quota of deliveries. Exhausted by yet another midnight shift oncall, but fantastically happy because I can finally rest easy, after popping out a baby boy from his mother’s womb, I turn on the radio… and this song hit me.

"I feel so alive, for the very first time
And I think I can fly…"

"Alive" by POD. How long have their music not been played on the radio? And I get it the moment I expected it the least, like a wallop to the head. So who’s alive? Myself or the newborns? Either way it was an appropriate song. And the time I completed my final medical examinations… pop into the car, and this song plays.

"Never again will I hear you
Never again will I miss you
Never again will I fall to you"

"Never again" by Kelly Clarkson, as an ode to my final exams for a long time. God truly has a sense of humour.

But with all that has come and gone the last few weeks… results day, graduation, convocation dinner, goodbyes… how can a handful of songs represent the plethora of emotions and thought running through one’s head? It is near impossible… and my head is empty for once.

I will write about graduation and convocation dinners… there are lots of really nice photographs to share. But only when I’m ready. For now… everyone’s still in the euphoric-catatonic-separation-anxiety-don’t send me to Kelantan phase. Let it rest. In the meantime, the radio makes pretty good company. Inbetween all the nonsense rubbish by Akon and his imitators (why does he even deserve imitators!!!) who picked up his "singing like a duck" ability, there are a few gems in between.

"Hey there Delilah" is pretty pleasant. You can substitute Delilah for any 3-syllable name and dedicate it to anyone. I can think of only Emily… or Genevieve, which sounds better when sung. Or any standard 3-syllable Cina name lah.

"Time After Time" is a song I cannot get out of my head at the moment. A rock-radio update which I think sounds better, if heavier than the original. Now it’s finally alright to sing a previously girly song because these guys did it! Hitting high notes have never been more fun.

"Stronger" by Kanye West, NOT Britney Spears reminds us why its alright to listen to techno again. Along with a slew of songs I wish I clubbed to but never found the opportunity… "The Way I Are", "Give It To Me", "Umbrella", "Shut Up And Drive"… damn. But that one night in Aloha after convo dinner was fun, courtesy of Sarjit and co. The unbelievable coolness of "Sexyback" followed immediately by the what-the-hellness of "The Final Countdown"… I know, Nithia, I know.

"4 in the Morning" by Gwenny Stefanny reminds me of the endless nights of study in Batu Pahat, and a firm reminder that a simple melody can latch on to your subconscious like mad. Like mad I tell you. The first time I listened to this song I could not get it out of my head. And so I pressed the repeat button again and again. Jill shares my sentiments on this, and this has gone on to become "our song". Haha.

"Thnks Fr Th Mmrs" by Fall Out Boy had a video made with monkeys! Which guaranteed instant success. That aside this song is crazy addictive especially the clap-your-hands part. You wonder why this song isn’t used for goodbyes and happy occasions until you listen to the words… "thanks for the memories even though they weren’t so great"… oops.

I wonder why no one played "Graduation" by Vitamin C during our convocation… it would have been superb, appropriate and totally emo. I know I used that "e" word in the wrong context… I don’t care.

To remember the previous life that was in Semester 10, Batu Pahat… the radio was all I need. And strange as it is for me to say it, I miss that place already.

Dad,

I made it.

I hope I’ve made you proud.