There’s this cool thing we get to know in medical school, and it goes by different names, but for the purpose of this post, it’s going to be called : “clinical training”.
Summer break, rather than laze around or hang out with friends (though you can be certain we find tine for that), we spend managed hours in the hospital, assigned in various departments to different doctors, hopefully acquiring practical skills/knowledge and brushing up on what we had learned so far.
The system may vary from school to school, but because medicine is medicine, the formula stays fairly the same.
However, for the first time, I would be practicing at home, in Nigeria.
The second week of my summer practise was….something. In the sense that nothing more really happened, and recall last week’s events here . Maybe I had been expecting too much excitement, (imagine a scene from any Grey’s Anatomy episode).. I had been expecting just a little bit of that, which would have been fine, but nope.
I just finished my third year of medical school, which meant a lot to me, but especially these two things :
I’d written (and passed, thank God) five of the most grueling exams I’ve ever taken on, and
I get to begin summer practice (as we’re 3rd/4th year students, it’s basically nursing training)
The practicals consist of two “parts” : surgery and propaedeutics, with each taking two weeks. My group and I started off with Surgery, and luckily we were all assigned to the same hospital.
W e got zero time to recover from exam fever, and having been sent two pdf files detailing instructions concerning addresses and such of our practise in Russian language, and having to decode the whole thing, which really wasn’t a bother, but it did give a sense of foreboding to the coming events..