Skip to main content

WANNABE INTERN


Week 2

Message to the Pre-Intern: don’t lose hope!
Week 2, for me, was 2 months post-induction. This was when the wait began to sink in. You mean I’ve been home for two whole months?
By now, I was literally chewing on my fingernails. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t scared of getting a space, but I certainly wasn’t confident about any place anymore.
That is when I began to write this book.
Today is the 12th of September and I sit at the dining table in my parents’ house, typing at 11:27pm (because well, I have an editing job to finish up, but mostly because I don’t have to go anywhere tomorrow morning). If I don’t want to, I don’t even have to take a bath tomorrow morning because well, I can stay indoors all day! (I most likely will stay indoors, except for those few minutes when I step out to buy hot akara for my akamu).
I am spent. You know, I have applied to a couple of places now. Let me start with the first:
LS Health Service Commission
At the State Health service commission to which I applied, I felt I had a ‘leg’, a connection, someone who would help me follow the process through. No, let me start from the very beginning. That day, I’d gone (with my father…don’t ask why I went with my father) to submit my documents at a hospital because we knew someone who’d asked us to do that. Turns out the hospital wasn’t recruiting staff till December and that sure felt like a lifetime!
As we departed, my dad suddenly remembered that there was a HSC nearby and so we went there to make enquiries. Turns out the exam was slated for two days from thence. I was flabbergasted (is that even the right word? I care not actually).
Day of First Exam
I remember that day with keen interest. I seemed like a fresher who was just getting into the university, the way I was giddy to go write my first exam. It seemed pretty easy. The interview wasn’t bad either. Result? I wasn’t called. I was shattered.
Today, right now, I totally feel like they sold us a lie. I mean they told us to go to school, and that we’ll be great if we did.
Well, ehm. I’m out of medical school, and I have spent almost all of my years in school, and no, I ain’t there yet.
Wait, maybe they didn’t expressly say that I’ll be great if I went to school, but it was pretty easy to assume so after this terribly long stay in school. That was mostly what encouraged me through school in the first place, but on coming out my eyes have finally cleared.
Take for instance, they guy across the road from my house. I can bet my glasses (-3.0 myopic lenses), that this guy probably doesn’t have more than a secondary school education, or maybe a little bit more than that. Yet, he has found a way to make me salivate every day with the grilled chicken and all other forms of grilled food substances he manages to make, and at any given time of the day! I’m sure he makes quite a tidy amount of money especially from the external contracts he has- one more proof that if you want to make money, school is not really the ‘koko’.
Workbook:
While in school, what did school represent to you?
In retrospect, what does school represent to you?
Have you gone for a couple of exams or interviews? How was the first one/all of them?

Labels:

Comments

  1. Stefan Langer15 December 2021 at 04:38

    Hi dear,

    Thank you for this wonderful post. It is very informative and useful. I would like to share something here too.Wir bieten beste Heilungsentspannung, Heilmeditation, spirituelle Heilung, metaphysisch-psychologische Beratung in Augsburg und Stefan Langer


    Hypnose Augsburg

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

#MONDAY’S PROSE THIS CHILD; ON THE ROAD

Through my myopic eyes, a fleeting image of a little boy is formed on my retina A little boy in a little suit, Treading the familiar bushy routes before him The boy had neither escort nor directives And surely, he needed none For a 4 yr old on the road possesses more maturity than a 10 year old in ‘comfort’ Swiftly, she navigated through cars held in traffic An adventurous smile tugging at her split lips Providing snacks for impatient car-owners And though panting from car-chasing, She had a visible life of passionate content She probably planned to get off the street, Forsake her hypothetical ‘street-urchin boyfriend’, Give up this demeaning way of living, But I feared she wouldn’t! She hadn’t been wired to get off the street And sadly, she was too content to stage a forced exit. Children on the road and teenagers of the road, Not choosing to be this vulnerable Yet hooded and shrouded in the cold, Filled with shreds of hope that the fut...
Post a Comment
Read more

#POETRY# MOMENTS

So, it’s another Monday. Today’s poem is on moments, appreciating them and taking second looks at the seemingly mundane. Enjoy! MOMENTS You never know, you just never know There he was last night, holding your hands, Looking into your eyes with passion beyond expression, And then; here he was this morning, telling a sad tale of never! Who knew love could become so tasteless overnight? It had seemed over in less than a flash; So much for the deep love you shared. Where it all ends, you just never know! Memories of baby’s not so far away childhood, Flickered before her eyes like a dimly lit flame Was it not just last summer she had started crawling? And in what appeared to be less than 24hours, She had walked, jumped and taken sandwiches to school And now, she fit smugly into a graduation gown, cape and all, Her baby was now a grown woman And those memories were all she had left! He stroked her tapered fingers lovingly as he wept by her beds...
Post a Comment
Read more

GOD; will you help?

Isa 66:9 Do I open the womb and not deliver the baby? Picture this: A woman is wheeled into the operating theatre (if you haven’t been in one before, you must have seen one in movies). She has been informed that a caesarian section would be performed on her, for which she has given written consent. And so the obstetrician is poised for surgery. Subsequently, he makes an incision on her abdomen. Cuts through layers of skin, fat, fascia and muscles. Finally, he locates and opens up the uterus. Pause. He says he cannot go on. He is tired of the surgery.  Just too tired to go on. He wants to rest. He removes his gloves and gown, walks out of the suite with the woman still on the table, a breached uterus with a nearly non-viable child, whose rapidly declining heart rate screams in horror, still within. Does this make even the minutest amount of sense? I hope not. Because it doesn’t. Isa 66:9 Do I open the womb and not deliver the baby? Sometimes,...
Post a Comment
Read more