Nov 1997
12 days. That's what we have. And I am seething. Our senior batches had got nearly 3 weeks of study leave before their Final Univs and here I am, sitting alone in my room, surrounded by books, notes and papers, staring blankly at a calendar and a date 12 days from now that will signal the beginning of the end of my MBBS course. Pass of fail, the course will definitely be over, and right now, all I want is for these 12 days to get over and somehow,magically, read all that I simply have to.
Wise men come and give counsel. 12 days, they say, is "cool". After all, one has, or is supposed to have, studied for this exam over the past three years-in clinics, in classes, over Ward Leavings and even in Snappy sessions. One has made, or is supposed to have made, extensive notes on all the possible cases that can come, cross-referenced the countless books in Medicine, Surgery and OG, spent hours in the library and in the room studying and therefore, in theory, one is well prepared. These 12 days should be about quick revisions, final touches and a rapid integration of all that has been taught over the last 4 years.
But it doesn't work that way. The stress is on a slow burn, not yet the adrenaline fuelled panic that will soon start, but I can feel it. I keep it at bay on the first day by making a plan and organizing the Himalayan climb to come.
Medicine-Davidson, Harrison, PJ Mehta, clinics and class notes.
Surgery-Bailey, Das, notes
OG-Dutta, Shaw, Labour Room notes, class notes
This totals up to about 10000 pages and I am already depressed. This takes up 2 of the precious 12 days I have and the plan has to be revised even as it is finalised.
I feel like I'm back to square one. I have this bad habit of needing to look through everything at least once, even if it means a one second glance at a page or a set of notes. Also, many things had been read months ago and are long forgotten and need to be refreshed. Some things look downright new. There are classifications, signs, symptoms, approaches to diseases, management issues etc, and anything right from Anatomy to Pharmacology to core Medicine and Surgery is fair game. This is the culmination of 4 years of work, not just this past year, and it is now weighing on me. Sometimes, in my darkest times, I wish I had studied a bit more regularly. Not more necessarily, but just steadily. Sigh.
November here is a quiet month. All batches have exams but we, the Final Years have special status. I stick a notice outside the door-" Shut Up. Reading", or words to that effect. The room of a Final Year exam going student is hallowed ground and no one will enter unless it's another Final Year or unless it's something vital. Casual conversations, unless self initiated, are strongly discouraged and not entertained. Gossip sessions on the staircase are sometimes interrupted by loud "Shut up buggers, I'm studying". Snappy sessions are very brief and often just an excuse to get out of the room for a minute or two.
Harry, the sole Sardar in the whole MBBS course and my classmate is a few doors down and pops in, equally spooked. He however, has managed to learn fluent Tamil and although I can now manage conversant Tamil fairly well, there are still large lacunae that I hope won't suddenly pop up in the exam. That's the last thing I need. He is also reading on his board perched on his chair outside his room. Anup is locked up inside his, probably still making notes and underlining endlessly. Condom and Vinod are usually in the Library or Curie, reading with their partners in happy bliss. It's a quiet corridor and there are no distractions.
This is serious business.
Three years ago, when in 2nd year, we had had nearly a month to study for Anatomy and Physiology. At that time, I had changed my entire sleep schedule and was effectively in a Mid-Atlantic Time zone, reading at night and sleeping in the daytime. This was great but nearly got me screwed towards the end when I had to tell my body to start waking up on time as the exams approached. I was effectively very jet-lagged. I can't afford that now, not with just 10 days.
So, I start early. The plan is to read all day till about 12 or 1 at night and then re-start. The problem is knowing where to start. I should be reading a lot of Medicine, a subject I think I'm weakest in but I start with Surgery, my strong point. Human nature. I take my wooden chair outside to the corridor and put the rectangular wooden board on the arm rests. A Bailey sits on the board. A pen and a marker lie on the side. Some notes to cross reference leave little space for my elbows to rest.
The start first involves an alteration of the time table since I have invariably overestimated my reading capacity and underestimated the reading required. This is followed by a half hour thoughtful reflective self-flagellation session, usually accompanied by nicotine and tea while being perched on my chair, elbows on my reading board, and, lying untouched by my side,perched precariously on the board, the book of the moment.
The corridor of my room faces East, and in the early morning a lovely cross-ventilation breeze blows through, especially if I leave the doors open. It feels good to wake up this early without worrying about an 8 AM class. I take my time and savour the cool breeze, the greenery in front of me and the sights and sounds of the morning.
Sitting and thinking with the puff of smoke that accompanies me everywhere these days I see some guys heading for breakfast to the mess, inevitably some inedible glob except on Sundays when we all wait endlessly for the promised Masala Dosa. Some guys wait in the middle of the InterHostel road near the Iron Man who is working his magic. Bikes start up and whizz past, either towards the hospital or out of the gate, perhaps for a tea in the shacks. Lots of young doctors or Interns, in white coats and stethoscopes zooming off for work. The sound of rushing feet, chatter and shouts signalling people getting late for class or perhaps, for an exam. Shouts of "All the best" and equivalents. An hour of noise and activity from 730-830 AM.
And then it's quiet again. And I'm all alone with my books, all day, every day. I sit and mope, wonder if I will pass and generally kill precious ticking minutes before reality kicks in and then every second of the day is squeezed out- reading, getting mentally ready for reading, taking a post reading smoke/tea break, planning and making time tables, altering time tables.....rescheduling the schedule, finding notes, books and long lost papers....Snappy...
Snappy. My saviour from the drudgery, but it does not open till evening and so my source of tea and smokes are the shacks outside. Harry is not much of a tea drinker but even he needs a break, so one afternoon, three days into the study leave, he saunters in and says "LGFT"? This apparently means "Let's go for tea". There are two responses for this:
a. Get up and go
b. Say "NFO", which means NO, F Off
Mostly I get up and go. More than needing tea, it is good for the soul to get away from the books and notes. Even though I study mostly outside in the corridors, I am gripped by fleeting moments of panic where I can feel walls closing in, pulse rates rising, blood pressures spiking and a general feeling of inevitable impending doom spoiling an otherwise lovely day.
Harry and I walk down the four floors of stairs, all books left behind in all forms-physical and mental. Jokes, chatter, gossip-anything except studies and books. As we walk down, some other similarly afflicted figures meet us-Reddy-a study in concentration, nose to the books and wondering what on earth we are up to. Deepak, as usual, pacing up and down the corridor, book in hand and mumbling loudly, Condom, zooming off on his trusted Bajaj Chetak towards Curie or, on occasion, returning from there. But mostly it's just Harry and me out for some fresh air and stale tea, recharging for another assault on the books.
The shacks take 15 minutes and then we are back up, back to the books and waiting for the next break.
Harry is not my only source of welcome interruptions. There is Shom, now a 2nd year PG in ENT who has shifted out of the campus and lives with Sirisha, his wife, in one of those apartments behind the Police Grounds so popular with Jipmerites. I have spent many evenings there, mainly to kill time and chat and also to taste some home food I have been deprived of for so long. Shom has moved on from his bike to a Red Maruti and often honks from below when getting back home after work. That's a signal for tea and I never fail to oblige.
This also happens at all hours of the night when he is on call and provides more welcome breaks from the stagnation that can set in when surrounded by a mountain of Medicine.
Many evenings were spent in his house and with no means to confirm if he would be at home, I often went across only to find the house locked. In the many instances that it wasn't, time was spent in home comfort with some whisky and food and idle chatter. He cribs about the politics of his Department, Sirisha about hers and I listen patiently, just chilling and killing time, precious minutes ticking away.
One particular evening, Shom and I went for a drive in his car and found a newly opened Burger joint on the corner of the road opposite the Pondy Railway station. Burger joints were not common here, so I went and promptly ordered a couple of Chicken burgers. 45 minutes later and with no sign of the burgers, Shom asked me to go and enquire if we should come and get them the next day.
The answer was "Yes Sir, no problem".
Joy has also moved out of the hostel and is now a PG in Ophthal. He lives on the first floor of a house, situated down the road about a kilometer away. He is now married to Anju, a PG in Pharmacology whom he met when she came to write the Jipmer Entrance Exam in March. In fact, in the same Exam, Manoj also found his future wife, both Anju and she being friends of Sirisha from Delhi.
The days tick by. The pace is increasing as is the tension and stress. Our regular tea breaks in the shacks continue but are faster and quieter. My room is getting messier by the minute and many minutes are wasted in trying to find notes that I MUST read now or books that have mysteriously disappeared. Many of us zoom off to the hospital in the evenings to see cases in the wards but I don't have time. There is so much to cover that I am overwhelmed and at times, terrified at the ordeal to come.
I have been told that this is normal for a Final Year exam but it is of little solace.
Our time table is released. The exams start on a Monday. Two theory papers each in Medicine and Surgery and one in OG. Monday to Friday, from 930-1230 in Banting Hall, that pseudo-auditorium with horrendous acoustics. The clinics are after the weekend. The whole batch, all 70 or so of us have been divided into 3 batches and I am in Batch B. I will get Surgery first, followed by Medicine and then OG. Monday to Wednesday, back to back.
And that will be it. Passing and failing, by this point in time, is a secondary, incidental outcome. All I want is for these exams to finish.
Finally, after 12 days of misery and torture, 12 days of hope alternating with despair, 12 days of optimism and doom and many many teas and smokes, I start my Final set of exams tomorrow.
I have managed to read almost all of Bailey, except for some obsure Urology bits that I am sure won't come and some Ortho bits, that although very well presented, are best read from Maheshwari, the recommended Ortho book. I have gone through past papers and brushed up on the clinical cases. I have even been to the library to look up a book called Rutherford that describes the tourniquet system of examining varicose veins so wonderfully. I had missed that class and have never seen a case so I do detailed research on this topic and finally feel equipped to rock and roll, albeit with instruments that are slightly out of tune.
I have gone through Dutta and Shaw and now am quite confident with OG. Owing to the nature of the Department and it's inhabitants, I had also paid particular attention in OG Clinics and Labour Room and so a lot of OG is familiar and easy to deal with. There are the usual painful topics like DUB and the like but it's largely an OK subject.
Medicine and Paeds are a different ball game. I have made serious efforts at reading Davidson, the core book, but with less than 24 hours to go before the opening whistle, I feel like I know and remember nothing. I spend most of the Sunday before the start staring at a Davidson, my mind getting increasingly numb, nothing seeming to stay in my head and I'm feeling increasingly helpless. I am looking at Hypertension-a pretty important topic by all accounts, but now even the basics are looking like Greek and Latin. I flip pages, sometimes to Endocrine-some Adrenals perhaps?, then quickly over to Sarcoidosis-a minute there and over to arrythmias, bouncing across nephrology, strokes, epilepsy, infections......There is just too much. Nothing stays in, it's like I'm reading everything for the first time.
It's around 8 PM when the first visitors come in. Well wishers- juniors and seniors, coming to wish the gladiator before the lions come marching in. Mishra comes in and finds me in disarray-books all over the place, the sole table lamp casting depressing shadows , me hunched over with a blank expressionless face and very happy to see him, simply because it's an excuse for me to get up and chat for a while.
Mishra however, says a quick "Best of Luck Golu" and leaves. I was hoping for an extended break-anything to get away from my claustrophobic room, even an inane pointless chat about anything, anything to go in the corridor, smoke a smoke and forget about exams for ten minutes. But they won't let me. I get a constant stream of people for the next half hour and then I take matters in my own hands, thank everyone, then tell them to buzz off while I get back to my table with the lamp throwing depressing shadows around a room that feels like a refugee camp offering no refuge from the terrors in my head.
I have dinner and spend some time trying to find my Hall Ticket, well buried under some books. I locate my bike keys and hope it has enough petrol to get me to Banting Hall tomorrow. I check for some pens and keep all of this stuff on the table, ready for me to take the next morning. I go out for tea to the shacks. I have made peace with my exams and now it's all fate, or whatever one calls it when matters are out of one's hands.
I climb the 18 or steps to Osler Rooftop and spend some quiet minutes alone in the cool night breeze, staring at the night sky but at nothing in particular.
I have a headache from trying too hard, a feeling of doom that is normal under the circumstances but won't go away but at the same time a feeling of immense relief that exams are finally here.
For the doomed man, the torture is in the waiting. My wait is over.
Exams at 930 AM tomorrow.
12 days. That's what we have. And I am seething. Our senior batches had got nearly 3 weeks of study leave before their Final Univs and here I am, sitting alone in my room, surrounded by books, notes and papers, staring blankly at a calendar and a date 12 days from now that will signal the beginning of the end of my MBBS course. Pass of fail, the course will definitely be over, and right now, all I want is for these 12 days to get over and somehow,magically, read all that I simply have to.
Wise men come and give counsel. 12 days, they say, is "cool". After all, one has, or is supposed to have, studied for this exam over the past three years-in clinics, in classes, over Ward Leavings and even in Snappy sessions. One has made, or is supposed to have made, extensive notes on all the possible cases that can come, cross-referenced the countless books in Medicine, Surgery and OG, spent hours in the library and in the room studying and therefore, in theory, one is well prepared. These 12 days should be about quick revisions, final touches and a rapid integration of all that has been taught over the last 4 years.
But it doesn't work that way. The stress is on a slow burn, not yet the adrenaline fuelled panic that will soon start, but I can feel it. I keep it at bay on the first day by making a plan and organizing the Himalayan climb to come.
Medicine-Davidson, Harrison, PJ Mehta, clinics and class notes.
Surgery-Bailey, Das, notes
OG-Dutta, Shaw, Labour Room notes, class notes
This totals up to about 10000 pages and I am already depressed. This takes up 2 of the precious 12 days I have and the plan has to be revised even as it is finalised.
I feel like I'm back to square one. I have this bad habit of needing to look through everything at least once, even if it means a one second glance at a page or a set of notes. Also, many things had been read months ago and are long forgotten and need to be refreshed. Some things look downright new. There are classifications, signs, symptoms, approaches to diseases, management issues etc, and anything right from Anatomy to Pharmacology to core Medicine and Surgery is fair game. This is the culmination of 4 years of work, not just this past year, and it is now weighing on me. Sometimes, in my darkest times, I wish I had studied a bit more regularly. Not more necessarily, but just steadily. Sigh.
November here is a quiet month. All batches have exams but we, the Final Years have special status. I stick a notice outside the door-" Shut Up. Reading", or words to that effect. The room of a Final Year exam going student is hallowed ground and no one will enter unless it's another Final Year or unless it's something vital. Casual conversations, unless self initiated, are strongly discouraged and not entertained. Gossip sessions on the staircase are sometimes interrupted by loud "Shut up buggers, I'm studying". Snappy sessions are very brief and often just an excuse to get out of the room for a minute or two.
Harry, the sole Sardar in the whole MBBS course and my classmate is a few doors down and pops in, equally spooked. He however, has managed to learn fluent Tamil and although I can now manage conversant Tamil fairly well, there are still large lacunae that I hope won't suddenly pop up in the exam. That's the last thing I need. He is also reading on his board perched on his chair outside his room. Anup is locked up inside his, probably still making notes and underlining endlessly. Condom and Vinod are usually in the Library or Curie, reading with their partners in happy bliss. It's a quiet corridor and there are no distractions.
This is serious business.
Three years ago, when in 2nd year, we had had nearly a month to study for Anatomy and Physiology. At that time, I had changed my entire sleep schedule and was effectively in a Mid-Atlantic Time zone, reading at night and sleeping in the daytime. This was great but nearly got me screwed towards the end when I had to tell my body to start waking up on time as the exams approached. I was effectively very jet-lagged. I can't afford that now, not with just 10 days.
So, I start early. The plan is to read all day till about 12 or 1 at night and then re-start. The problem is knowing where to start. I should be reading a lot of Medicine, a subject I think I'm weakest in but I start with Surgery, my strong point. Human nature. I take my wooden chair outside to the corridor and put the rectangular wooden board on the arm rests. A Bailey sits on the board. A pen and a marker lie on the side. Some notes to cross reference leave little space for my elbows to rest.
The start first involves an alteration of the time table since I have invariably overestimated my reading capacity and underestimated the reading required. This is followed by a half hour thoughtful reflective self-flagellation session, usually accompanied by nicotine and tea while being perched on my chair, elbows on my reading board, and, lying untouched by my side,perched precariously on the board, the book of the moment.
The corridor of my room faces East, and in the early morning a lovely cross-ventilation breeze blows through, especially if I leave the doors open. It feels good to wake up this early without worrying about an 8 AM class. I take my time and savour the cool breeze, the greenery in front of me and the sights and sounds of the morning.
Sitting and thinking with the puff of smoke that accompanies me everywhere these days I see some guys heading for breakfast to the mess, inevitably some inedible glob except on Sundays when we all wait endlessly for the promised Masala Dosa. Some guys wait in the middle of the InterHostel road near the Iron Man who is working his magic. Bikes start up and whizz past, either towards the hospital or out of the gate, perhaps for a tea in the shacks. Lots of young doctors or Interns, in white coats and stethoscopes zooming off for work. The sound of rushing feet, chatter and shouts signalling people getting late for class or perhaps, for an exam. Shouts of "All the best" and equivalents. An hour of noise and activity from 730-830 AM.
And then it's quiet again. And I'm all alone with my books, all day, every day. I sit and mope, wonder if I will pass and generally kill precious ticking minutes before reality kicks in and then every second of the day is squeezed out- reading, getting mentally ready for reading, taking a post reading smoke/tea break, planning and making time tables, altering time tables.....rescheduling the schedule, finding notes, books and long lost papers....Snappy...
Snappy. My saviour from the drudgery, but it does not open till evening and so my source of tea and smokes are the shacks outside. Harry is not much of a tea drinker but even he needs a break, so one afternoon, three days into the study leave, he saunters in and says "LGFT"? This apparently means "Let's go for tea". There are two responses for this:
a. Get up and go
b. Say "NFO", which means NO, F Off
Mostly I get up and go. More than needing tea, it is good for the soul to get away from the books and notes. Even though I study mostly outside in the corridors, I am gripped by fleeting moments of panic where I can feel walls closing in, pulse rates rising, blood pressures spiking and a general feeling of inevitable impending doom spoiling an otherwise lovely day.
Harry and I walk down the four floors of stairs, all books left behind in all forms-physical and mental. Jokes, chatter, gossip-anything except studies and books. As we walk down, some other similarly afflicted figures meet us-Reddy-a study in concentration, nose to the books and wondering what on earth we are up to. Deepak, as usual, pacing up and down the corridor, book in hand and mumbling loudly, Condom, zooming off on his trusted Bajaj Chetak towards Curie or, on occasion, returning from there. But mostly it's just Harry and me out for some fresh air and stale tea, recharging for another assault on the books.
The shacks take 15 minutes and then we are back up, back to the books and waiting for the next break.
Harry is not my only source of welcome interruptions. There is Shom, now a 2nd year PG in ENT who has shifted out of the campus and lives with Sirisha, his wife, in one of those apartments behind the Police Grounds so popular with Jipmerites. I have spent many evenings there, mainly to kill time and chat and also to taste some home food I have been deprived of for so long. Shom has moved on from his bike to a Red Maruti and often honks from below when getting back home after work. That's a signal for tea and I never fail to oblige.
This also happens at all hours of the night when he is on call and provides more welcome breaks from the stagnation that can set in when surrounded by a mountain of Medicine.
Many evenings were spent in his house and with no means to confirm if he would be at home, I often went across only to find the house locked. In the many instances that it wasn't, time was spent in home comfort with some whisky and food and idle chatter. He cribs about the politics of his Department, Sirisha about hers and I listen patiently, just chilling and killing time, precious minutes ticking away.
One particular evening, Shom and I went for a drive in his car and found a newly opened Burger joint on the corner of the road opposite the Pondy Railway station. Burger joints were not common here, so I went and promptly ordered a couple of Chicken burgers. 45 minutes later and with no sign of the burgers, Shom asked me to go and enquire if we should come and get them the next day.
The answer was "Yes Sir, no problem".
Joy has also moved out of the hostel and is now a PG in Ophthal. He lives on the first floor of a house, situated down the road about a kilometer away. He is now married to Anju, a PG in Pharmacology whom he met when she came to write the Jipmer Entrance Exam in March. In fact, in the same Exam, Manoj also found his future wife, both Anju and she being friends of Sirisha from Delhi.
The days tick by. The pace is increasing as is the tension and stress. Our regular tea breaks in the shacks continue but are faster and quieter. My room is getting messier by the minute and many minutes are wasted in trying to find notes that I MUST read now or books that have mysteriously disappeared. Many of us zoom off to the hospital in the evenings to see cases in the wards but I don't have time. There is so much to cover that I am overwhelmed and at times, terrified at the ordeal to come.
I have been told that this is normal for a Final Year exam but it is of little solace.
Our time table is released. The exams start on a Monday. Two theory papers each in Medicine and Surgery and one in OG. Monday to Friday, from 930-1230 in Banting Hall, that pseudo-auditorium with horrendous acoustics. The clinics are after the weekend. The whole batch, all 70 or so of us have been divided into 3 batches and I am in Batch B. I will get Surgery first, followed by Medicine and then OG. Monday to Wednesday, back to back.
And that will be it. Passing and failing, by this point in time, is a secondary, incidental outcome. All I want is for these exams to finish.
Finally, after 12 days of misery and torture, 12 days of hope alternating with despair, 12 days of optimism and doom and many many teas and smokes, I start my Final set of exams tomorrow.
I have managed to read almost all of Bailey, except for some obsure Urology bits that I am sure won't come and some Ortho bits, that although very well presented, are best read from Maheshwari, the recommended Ortho book. I have gone through past papers and brushed up on the clinical cases. I have even been to the library to look up a book called Rutherford that describes the tourniquet system of examining varicose veins so wonderfully. I had missed that class and have never seen a case so I do detailed research on this topic and finally feel equipped to rock and roll, albeit with instruments that are slightly out of tune.
I have gone through Dutta and Shaw and now am quite confident with OG. Owing to the nature of the Department and it's inhabitants, I had also paid particular attention in OG Clinics and Labour Room and so a lot of OG is familiar and easy to deal with. There are the usual painful topics like DUB and the like but it's largely an OK subject.
Medicine and Paeds are a different ball game. I have made serious efforts at reading Davidson, the core book, but with less than 24 hours to go before the opening whistle, I feel like I know and remember nothing. I spend most of the Sunday before the start staring at a Davidson, my mind getting increasingly numb, nothing seeming to stay in my head and I'm feeling increasingly helpless. I am looking at Hypertension-a pretty important topic by all accounts, but now even the basics are looking like Greek and Latin. I flip pages, sometimes to Endocrine-some Adrenals perhaps?, then quickly over to Sarcoidosis-a minute there and over to arrythmias, bouncing across nephrology, strokes, epilepsy, infections......There is just too much. Nothing stays in, it's like I'm reading everything for the first time.
It's around 8 PM when the first visitors come in. Well wishers- juniors and seniors, coming to wish the gladiator before the lions come marching in. Mishra comes in and finds me in disarray-books all over the place, the sole table lamp casting depressing shadows , me hunched over with a blank expressionless face and very happy to see him, simply because it's an excuse for me to get up and chat for a while.
Mishra however, says a quick "Best of Luck Golu" and leaves. I was hoping for an extended break-anything to get away from my claustrophobic room, even an inane pointless chat about anything, anything to go in the corridor, smoke a smoke and forget about exams for ten minutes. But they won't let me. I get a constant stream of people for the next half hour and then I take matters in my own hands, thank everyone, then tell them to buzz off while I get back to my table with the lamp throwing depressing shadows around a room that feels like a refugee camp offering no refuge from the terrors in my head.
I have dinner and spend some time trying to find my Hall Ticket, well buried under some books. I locate my bike keys and hope it has enough petrol to get me to Banting Hall tomorrow. I check for some pens and keep all of this stuff on the table, ready for me to take the next morning. I go out for tea to the shacks. I have made peace with my exams and now it's all fate, or whatever one calls it when matters are out of one's hands.
I climb the 18 or steps to Osler Rooftop and spend some quiet minutes alone in the cool night breeze, staring at the night sky but at nothing in particular.
I have a headache from trying too hard, a feeling of doom that is normal under the circumstances but won't go away but at the same time a feeling of immense relief that exams are finally here.
For the doomed man, the torture is in the waiting. My wait is over.
Exams at 930 AM tomorrow.
whatever diversions you were meandering around in during those years in med school,the indisputable fact remains that this line is many everests rolled into one..so..hats off to all those who have braved it.all the best.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing wonderful post..
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