So guess who’s decided to drop in.

Well, well, well.

We meet again.

we meet agai

While I feel like I’ve lost my interest in blogging, I dare to still write this post. Brave, eh? It might just be a really long bout of writer’s block that I’m experiencing or it might be that I fail to find the excitement in sharing what med school is all about anymore, since it’s all become more of a norm to me now. Whatever it is, it needs to stop.

So here’s to an official re-attempt at keeping this blog alive! 


In retrospect to the motivation to keep this blog going, it’s just a few more days to the start of exams and I’ve yet to actually complete a single chapter of studying.

Now don’t get it all wrong. It’s not that I’m up to my ever-so-usual procrastinating ways again, but rather, I CAN’T seem to finish a chapter of work. I’ve started multiple chapters, full of energy and drive to get it done and dusted. But alas, when I reach the middle of the chapter, I get bored and start a new one.


Where oh where is the sense in my ways?

All the while, I’ve also had to prepare for our practical exams, the first of which took place today. CAN I JUST RANT ABOUT HOW FREAKED OUT I WAS?

Okay, so get this. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been first on the class list. Which means, first for orals, first for phys ed, first for everything. And today was no different.

First for our isiXhosa consultation prac exam.  (Please bear in mind that while I am very very proudly South African, I cannot Xhosa.)

So added to my already mangled nerves of forgetting what to say, or asking the wrong questions, was the added stress of going first. You’d think I’d be over it by now.

But no.

No no no no no.



I mean come on, how backwards is my life? In a class of 30 I can understand that my surname would make the top of the list, but really? At uni too?  In a class of 300, might I add?

Aaaah life.

I spoke to a 3rd year med student a while back and she was very reassuring, telling me to take it easy, and I was like “Yeah, you’re right. It’ll get easier anyway, I guess.”

That’s when she stopped reassuring me. “Actually, it keeps getting worse… but we’ll survive.”


I’m afraid to describe the very little confidence she had in her voice as it still scares the living daylights out of me.

I think that’s my biggest fear at the moment. Not surviving this. Failure. Disappointment.

And heck, it’s a whole 6 years I’ve got to screw up. Better pray that something greater will get me through this.

Something greater has gotten me this far, hasn’t it?

*inserts message about how important faith is.*

(No, really. It is.)



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