Before you start reading this, I must tell you something important. To help you, of course. With Perspective. It took me a long while to realise this. Countless of unanswered questions over the years and yet it makes perfectly good simple sense to someone in my shoes. I am a pessimist. A realist on some days, if I am lucky. Most probably an optimist on heroin crack or LSD.
Another thing you must know is how much Murphy loves me. The feeling is never mutual. Pinned on me like a leech feasting on every last red blood cell. An epigram I can never seem to shake. its the only conclusion i can draw since he keeps besowing his wrath upon me since 1991.
Retrospect brought me to this conclusion. Two occasions served as exhibit A an B. Exhibit A began on an uneventful Sunday night during medical school. we had these deadly Monday tests that the entire campus would write which serves as “continuous assessment” but really was just an added opportunity to lower academic confidence and shatter your one ounce of self esteem which u may have (god forbid) aquired during the week, to smithers.
Tests on all subjects consecutively on 1 day. A Monday. Every Monday. I stayed on an all girls military style concentration camp hostel for 5 years and the order of sequence i observed was very straight forward.
Friday night is a “day off” from the busy week. The party goers are out(despite curfew at 7pm). The nerds (me) are eating and watching series (no tv) and having an existential crisis, may be wondering when will Britney spears ever sing again? Does she have laryngeal carcinoma?
Saturday is for lectures in the morning(distasteful I know) and a ride to shop rite as an outing (i know). Saturday afternoons are for consoling your self and reassuring your self that theres always Sunday .
Sunday you panic. Notes flying around girls running around like headless chickens all asking the same question . are u ready? The Obvious answer is no. Never say yes. Because The question is never intended to gain an honest answer, but just to console the questioner.
Anyway. A Sunday like any other. Panic ensued. Cramming enough knowledge into my head like a packed taxi from kwamashu to south beach in December. Microbiology was the subject. And I no worthy match. Cramming diarrhoeal bacteria(the chapter) into my brain as fast I could. Knowing deep down it would never help. The microbiology lecturer was fierce . I was genuinely afraid. She was a no nonsense type of woman who had a big red dot on her forehead and an ability to make you have slight urinary incontinence with a stare.
I was too busy studying to cook (pasta or cheese toast) and the canteen food was a mixture of luke warm water and a few floating veggies. So I did the logical thing and opted for chinese fried rice. Poor choice.
While devouring the rice without so much of a chew I suddenly heard some unsuspecting noises from my usually quiet abdomen.like any good medical student, I ignored it.
I rushed to my tests with microbiology being the first and I sat down unphased probably next to old chap Murphy.
It sounded beautiful at first. But also scary. The noises in my abdomen grew louder. I wondered if I Should reply in turn. I then realised I had diarrhoea. I left the test without a word leaving my answer sheet completely blank aside from my name and the incorrect date. Gastric flu had me for 3 days non stop.
As you could imagine the lecturer was not impressed. After explaining my situation she still awarded me a big fat zero and mumbled something about how I may owe her marks. And then not surprisingly shouted at me fpr 15 minutes about the wrong date!