savoy096

This will be my last post on this site. It’s been a pleasure writing here for you, even if I only had a short time to do so. Maybe you’ve learned some things about me in this last month or so. To be honest, I start all my pieces with the intention of writing about my surroundings or creating a narrative. As usual, I ended up accidentally writing about myself and where I am right now in my life instead. Whoops. Regardless, it would be nice if you’ve come out the other end of October feeling as lucky as I do. It’s a true blessing to have some free time and then to figure out what you want to do with it. I have a beard and a bookmark folder filled with Batman resources I’ve titled “research”, where before I just had a loose study schedule and nothing to do in my spare moments. As I ponder on what I’ll do with my empty hour from here on out, will you afford me one last read before I pass the torch on to somebody else? Of course you will. The post doesn’t continue unless you silently agree....

I think it’s important to be polite. I’m Canadian so that isn’t a mind-blowing revelation, but it’s still true. My affinity for the “magic words” goes beyond my homeland’s supposed culture, however. My mom and dad are a couple of lovely Israelis who never expected me to memorize the long list of rules that make up modern, western etiquette. It never occurred to them despite almost 30 years of acculturation molding them into the Israeli-Canadian hybrids they’ve become. Furthermore, nobody was ever checking up on that part of my development. I can assure you that there is no “manners police force” in Canada, although I’m not very clear on what the Royal Canadian Mounted Police does and so I apologize if I’m mistaken. If Canadians are found to be nicer than the average global citizen then it must be something in the water. Or the syrup. My knowledge on this topic comes from self-driven learning and not formal training, which may make me a poor authority on the subject of manners. Emily Po...

My face is itchy. Its sensitive surface is repeatedly molested by tiny hairs that are aggressively tickling and torturing it. With each sensation I am filled with regret. Not enough regret to shave the offending culprits, mind you, but regret all the same. I have once again joined the proud lineage of men growing a beard and being absolutely miserable about it. I am not the first medical student to tread this well-worn path, of course. Lots of my brethren have opted to add to their mental burden by adding weight to their once-smooth faces. My only differentiating feature is that while they do so in admirably stoic silence, I am an eternal grump with a keyboard. As such, you are lucky enough to be graced by some lazy comparison to my education while I rationalize my voluntary agony. So why am I doing this to myself? Is this my (not-quite) mid 20’s crisis? Is this the crossroads where I recklessly abandon the graceful contours of my baby-face for the unexplored auspicious look of an adul...

Have you ever felt nervous right before going on a roller coaster? The tall, mechanical loops and repeating soundtrack of squeals and screams that entice you on the drive over suddenly make you unsure of your choices. You start to sweat and your heart-rate climbs while you anticipate the mechanical beast you’re about to forfeit your fleeting sense of security to. You fill with dread, you get dizzy and your eyes lose focus. You feel lost even though you’re exactly where you wanted to be. If you can imagine that, I ask you to extend that sensation over weeks or months and then appreciate that this is what medical school feels like for a procrastinator. You’re welcome to wonder how chronic procrastinators get into med-school, but I assure you we are an invasive species. There is no pride in it, nor should there be but, somehow, we who delay the inevitable always seem to find ourselves getting by just fine. But it’s not fine, not really . Regardless of habits and skills, within all of us i...