Pain Tolerance Level: Asian

Why yes that IS Justin Bieber crying in the middle of a Scrubs meme. Sue me.

I see this elderly Asian farmer on the ward who has his foot covered by a cloth.

Me: Hello sir, I'm told you have necrotising fasciitis (flesh-eating bacteria). Would you mind if I took a look?

Patient: No, go ahead. It's nothing great though.

Me (uncovering the leg): Oh, I've only seen NF cases in the UK. They're just red rashes mostly.

Patient: Yeah, this one is nothing much either.

I uncover his leg - AND THE ENTIRE FOOT'S SKIN IS GONE. Seriously, it looks like a dissection model.

Me: ...holy crap. Why did you wait so long to come to hospital?!

Patient: Oh, it was starting to itch a little in the field, so I thought I'd get a doctor to check it out.

Stuff They Don't Teach You In Medical School: Inflight Emergencies

This is part of a series on medical school advice. To see the previous entry, click here.

Okay, so you don't really follow CPR guidelines, but what does he know? He's just some dumb kid.
(What's that you say? Not as dumb as the guy who Photoshopped this in the first place? SHADDAP.)

A few posts ago I wrote about how I single-handedly saved a beautiful woman from her heart exploding aboard a plane before making wild love to her and being dragged upstairs to the crew bedroom by about ten air stewardesses. Wait what? That didn't happen? Damn. I knew drinking coffee before bed would give me crazy dreams. Anyway,what I DID do was help a senior doctor resuscitate and take care of this elderly lady who had fainted after feeling dizzy on a long-haul flight. She had drunk more wine than she was used to before going to sleep.

I was woken up by the doctor's wife telling me that this lady was nearly unconscious. Halfway through rubbing my eyes, I remembered that I was a doctor and my brain started screaming the resus mnemonic at me. The air stewardess passed by, and I called her over and told her urgently "Get me a cup of water please".

"No, not water." Came the authoritative voice of Dr Baldy (not me, the other senior doctor. Imagine the rapper Pitbull except as a doctor. Wait, actually, that would make him Dr Evil. Never mind. --Editor).

I stopped. Both me and the stewardess looked at him.

"Bring her a cup of 7-Up instead. Just a small one," he said, and the stewardess nodded.

As she ran off, I asked Dr Baldy what type of doctor he was. "Oh, I'm a GP," he said. "What's with the 7-Up?" I followed. He proceeded to explain to me that in his experience as a GP, when people were feeling nauseous (like they're going to vomit), giving them plain water would often make them vomit, whereas a small quantity of a sugary carbonated drink actually helped fight the feeling and calmed them down somewhat. "7-Up seems to work the best, in my experience," he added. "I don't know why, but a lot of being a GP is working from experience".

He was right. The lady felt better and less thirsty, and she didn't throw up.

Later after the flight landed, I thanked him for the tip. "Any other last tips?" I asked him.

"Just one. Don't work in the NHS." He winked, put his arm around his wife, and headed for his connecting flight.

I started giggling like a schoolgirl going "ZOMG I WANT TO BE JUST LIKE HIM" over and over again picked up my bags and also left. Who knew 7-Up could be so useful?

So kids, the next time you feel sick from catching a virus/eating bad food/reading this blog, remember - SIP SOME 7-UP, NOT WATER. See? Who said reading my blog wasn't educational?

If you liked this post, please consider liking our Facebook page. If you didn't like the post, go like my Facebook page anyway. I love you long time.

Why I Am A Chelsea Fan

In case you missed last night's Chelsea-Barcelona match, here's what it looked like from my mind. (Warning: my mind is not representative of a normal sane mind):

I was going to apologise for this being a non-medical-related post, but then I realised this is football. Football fits into ANY blog, yo.

It's tough being a Chelsea fan, especially if you don't live in London. You're always surrounded by Manchester United fans, your team changes managers faster than Kim Kardashian changes husbands, and when you go to the pub with your friends to watch a match, you spend half the time in the toilet whilst your friends shout at you to drag your cowardly ass out and take Torres's excuses like a man.

So you may ask, if I know it's a sad life of torture and chugging antidepressants half the time, why did I even become a Chelsea fan? (Besides the fact that I enjoy pain and suffering, of course. I DID study medicine, you know. --Editor) Well, after last night's amazing match , I would like to say I became a Chelsea fan because I was inspired by the way they play and saw the potential in them to go far, and always had faith that they would shine when it mattered.

I would like to say that. That, of course, is a lie. I became a Chelsea fan much by accident.

When I moved to London, I found a lovely flat in Fulham Broadway to live. On my first day I rang the doorbell and a large Irish lady came out and introduced herself as the landlady. She very kindly showed me in, and after a short chat, she asked me the question.

"So, which football team do you support?"

At that time I didn't really follow football, and was going to tell her that. But something about the way she was looking at me warned me that she wasn't just making polite conversation.

That's when I noticed the blue scarf she was wearing.

And the blue welcome mat I was standing on.

And the ENTIRE FREAKING KITCHEN painted in blue. All covered with one logo.

"Chelsea," I said with the widest Honest Doctor smile I had learnt in communication skills classes.

She relaxed, then put down the rolling pin she'd been hiding behind her back the whole time*.

"Good. You better be a Chelsea fan round here, 'cos if you're not, you're likely to get beaten up!" She joked with a friendly smile. But the look in her eyes burned straight into my soul, and I knew she wasn't joking.

These days when I think about switching teams to Arsenal, or maybe even cheering for Man U at a match with my friends, I close my eyes--

--and I see my landlady staring at me with those eyes.

Chelsea. I'm Chelsea till I die. Yep.

*Okay I was kidding about the rolling pin. I think. 

SHAMELESS PLUG: If you thought this post was good/bad/made you throw up through at least three orifices, would you consider liking our Facebook page? I would love you forever and be eternally grateful and give all your kids free healthcare**. Thanks! 

**free healthcare may not be free. Or healthcare either, for that matter.

Blog Housekeeping and Maintenance, a.k.a. I Wish I Had A Latino Maid

You gotta do everything yourself these days. Sheesh.
(If you don't get the joke, it's a Family Guy character. Also, why don't you watch Family Guy?! Are you ill?)

Those of you who read this blog regularly (all three of you) may have noticed some changes in the sidebar and upon scrolling down posts. This can only mean one thing: The Angry Medic has been messing about with HTML and templates and other stuff too complicated for his tiny brain to understand (You're only half right. My brain is not tiny; it's just largely empty. --Editor). But because I'm such a nice guy (and because my inbox is overflowing with hate mail already --Ed.) I'd like to get your feedback on these changes. So let me just tell you about some new stuff around the site:

-- Despite my deep hatred of Twitter (more on that in the following post), I have finally succumbed and joined Twitter. You can follow me using the button on the right, and see my latest tweets in the box on the lower right in the sidebar. Please be my friend on Twitter. I promise to keep you entertained with the latest news from my miserable life. You'll feel better about yourself, because your life doesn't suck so much. Cough.

Here's a cute bird. Doesn't that deserve following me on Twitter? LOOKIT HIS BIG CUTE EYES. HE'S SHO CUTE AIN'T HE? Oh god, I think I need to vomit now.

-- Because a lot of my readers are new and haven't seen my earlier (even more vomit-inducing) but totally awesome and not at all mental-illness-causing posts, I've installed the Slide-Out Recommended Post application. If you scroll down a post (not the main page), a recommended post should slide out of the bottom right screen corner. It's only supposed to do this at the end of a post, but it's so excited to see you, it can't help but come sooner than expected. (A problem many of my friends face. For the last time guys, no I will not help you steal Viagra from the hospital. Get some therapy. --Ed.)

--  I also finally have a Facebook page! You can get my tweets, blog posts, and crappy status updates all in one place! If you're on Facebook, do a poor starving ridiculously handsome medic a favour and 'Like' my Facebook page. You won't regret it, I promise*.

But all this depends on whether you, the reader, likes it, or thinks this makes reading my blog even MORE annoying than it already is. So if you don't like it, please let me know, either in the comments or by emailing me at angrymedic [at] gmail [dot] com. Especially the slide-out thing. I already have enough people sending me flame letters and hate mail every day, thankyouverymuch (no, my lecturers haven't forgiven me yet for raising their blood pressure permanently over the course of six years. I HATE YOU GUYS TOO. --Ed.)

*Oh, who am I kidding. I crossed my fingers whilst typing that. How did I type with crossed fingers? I, uh, have very talented fingers. Just ask my rectal exam patients!

Why The Power Rangers Never Needed To Pee: A Meme

If you don't remember the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, you either had no childhood,

or you're too young for this blog. Go here instead. Friendship is Magic!

A little break from the usual medical posts. I suddenly had a blast from the past and decided to come up with this. Back to the usual posts soon.

(Yes, I have too much free time. I need to let off steam too okay! What do you people want from me?! --Editor)

Emergency at 35,000 Feet

 This is only a slight exaggeration of what actually happened. No, really.

Every doctor dreams about it - the emergency aboard an airplane, the life-or-death scenario where medical attention is not available and a stranger's life literally rests in your hands. Some doctors fear the responsibility; others wish it would happen to them. Older doctors are the best suited for the job; they stay calm under pressure and softly call out orders to the flight crew, so much so that other passengers don't realise anything is wrong at all. But younger doctors (like a certain ridiculously handsome blogger we all know COUGHCOUGH --Editor) immediately hear the theme song from E.R. blaring in their minds, pull their shirts open to reveal Superman costumes underneath and start shouting out orders to air stewardesses who are busy trying not to fall in love with them.

Okay, so that didn't actually happen.

I boarded a Malaysia Airlines flight out of Heathrow last week. I was really tired and after kicking a little old lady out of my seat (she mistook seat number 56 for 59. Somebody was a naughty girl when she was young. AHAHA geddit geddit?* --Editor) I said hello to the people sitting next to me. My neighbour was a sweet old Scottish lady (let's call her Mrs McHaggis**) and next to her were a British Asian couple (the gentleman was also bald. Such a sexy man. You hear that ladies? BALD IS SEXAY. --Ed.) whose female half kept chatting away to Mrs McHaggis. Shortly afterwards the flight took off and the air stewardess came over to ask for my number give us our headphones, and I fell asleep.

I was woken up in the middle of the night by someone shaking my shoulder. It was dark in the cabin, everyone was asleep, and only the ghostly glow of the nighttime cabin lights illuminated the plane. Everyone was asleep. Then I heard the Asian wife say, "This lady's not well." I turned to see Mrs McHaggis lying limp in her chair, her mouth hanging open and her eyes rolling.

I immediately snapped to attention. My mind was filled with heroic images of me calming Mrs McHaggis down, calling the flight attendant, ordering the Asian couple to vacate their seats and place pillows underneath Mrs McHaggis's feet to elevate her legs, then receiving thunderous applause as Mrs McHaggis came back to life and several starstruck air stewardesses dragged me to their crew bedroom upstairs to reward me.

Then the bald guy sitting to my right brushed past me and did exactly everything in the above paragraph.

I blinked. Wait, this was supposed to be my fantasy! But the bald dude hadn't got the memo. He called the air stewardess (who was REALLY cool under pressure and had already brought an oxygen mask and canister), laid Mrs McHaggis down across all three seats, and asked ME to raise her legs.

I asked him if he was a doctor. He said yes, and that his wife was a first aider. I blinked again.

What were the odds of sitting between TWO doctors AND a first aider on a plane - and then having a medical emergency??

And as if that wasn't enough - the airplane hit turbulence.

Life hates me.

Once again the stewardess came to our rescue and found us seats on the double. Mrs McHaggis's pulse was 40 and she managed to stammer that she was on propranalol and thyroxine. Dr Baldy (the other guy, not me) and I took turns staying with her and giving her oxygen, and we learnt that she had a history of fainting and dizziness - this, coupled with the cabin's unusually warm temperature and Mrs McHaggis's many glasses of wine, probably caused her dizziness.

Two hours later, she was feeling better but was still groggy. I heard her mumble something and decided it was time to wake her. I leaned forward, signaled the air stewardess, and spoke softly in Mrs McHaggis's ear, "Hello madam, don't wor--"

With a nice loud clap that echoed throughout the cabin, her arm whipped around and slapped me straight off the seat.

Seriously. What is it with women and slapping me?!

When I looked up, I saw the air stewardess standing above me, furiously trying to hide a smile. SHE actually helped ME up, almost carrying me at one point. Seriously not macho.

When Mrs McHaggis regained consciousness, she had no idea she had given me an Epic Backhand (and I sure as hell wasn't about to tell her). She thanked me and Dr Baldy profusely, and the flight purser came over to give us first class packages as tokens of appreciation. After the flight landed, the flight crew had all learned my name and thanked us personally as we left. Some of them even applauded (even though I really didn't do as much as Dr Baldy).

And that, kids, is how I met your mo-- uh, how I had my first airplane emergency. Not nearly as heroic as I thought it would be, but when you're a freshly-graduated junior doctor, you're rather glad to have a senior doctor around to run the show. And the Malaysia Airlines air crew was professional, calm, and well-trained. Oh and Mrs McHaggis? We exchanged emails, and even promised to meet up. Hey, maybe Mister McHaggis will turn out to be some rich lord or something. I can dream, can't I?

*She mistook 6 for 9. AHAHA geddit? No? For Pete's sake, ask a teenager. You're slower than I am! (or less perverted)
**Obviously not her real name. Though it would be EFFING AWESOME if it was.

I'll Be Right Back

So this place has turned into a bit of a graveyard since I went abroad, but I'm back and sleeping off my jet lag like the lazy ass I am finishing my next few blog entries. I've got quite a few stories to tell (which only means I've been through a lot of misery and want to share it with you guys like the generous giver that I am --Editor) including views on the British National Health Service, my aunt's cat (no, seriously) and how on my flight home I got slapped by an old lady.

Again.

Sigh...it's a long story. Bear with me folks, I'll be right back.