An astounding mail in my inbox:

For all you scientists out there and for all the students who have had a hard time convincing these people regarding the truth of the Bible here’s something that illustrates God’s awesome creation and shows He is still in control.

Did you know that NASA’s space programmers are busy proving that was has been called ‘myth’ in the Bible is true? Mr. Harold Hill, President of the Curtis Engine Company in Baltimore, and a consultant in the space programmes, relates the following incident:

One of the most amazing things that God has for us today happened recently to our astronauts and space scientists at Green Belt, Maryland. They were checking out the positions of the sun, moon and planets out in space where they would be 100, and 1000 years from now. We have to know this as we do not want a satellite to collide with any of these in its orbits. We have to lay out the orbits in terms of the life of the satellite and where the planets will be so the whole project will not bog down. Computer measurements and data were run back and forth over the centuries when suddenly it came to a halt, displaying a red signal, which meant that either there was something wrong with the information fed into it or with the results as compared to the standards. They called in the service department to check it out, and the technicians asked what was wrong.

The scientists had discovered that somewhere in space in elapsed time a day was missing. Nobody seemed able to come up with a solution to the problem. Finally one of the team, a Christian, said: “You know, when I was still in Sunday School, they spoke about the sun standing still…….”

While his colleagues didn’t believe him, they did not have an answer either, so they said: “Show us.” He got a Bible and opened it at the book of Joshua where they found a pretty ridiculous statement for any one with ‘common sense’. There they read about the Lord saying to Joshua: “Fear them not, I have delivered them into thy hand; there shall not be a man of them stands before thee.” (Joshua 10:8).

Joshua was concerned because the enemy had surrounded him, and if darkness fell, they would overpower him. So Joshua asked the Lord to make the sun stand still! That’s right ­ “And the sun stood still and the moon stayed, until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies. Is this not written in the book of Ja’­sher? So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven and hastened not to go down about a whole day.” (Joshua 10:13).

The astronauts and scientists said: “There is the missing day!” They checked the computers going back into the time it was written and found it, but it was not close enough. The elapsed time that was missing back in Joshua’s day was 23 hours and 20 minutes ­ not a whole day. They read the Bible again and there it was: “about (approximately) a day.” These little words in the Bible were important, but they were still in trouble, because another 40 minutes were still unaccounted for, and this could mean trouble 1000 years from now. Forty minutes had to be found because it can be multiplied many times over in orbits.

As the Christian employee thought about it, he remembered somewhere in the Bible which said the sun went backwards. The scientists told him he was out of his mind, but once again they opened the Book and read these words in 2 Kings.

Hezekiah, on his deathbed, was visited by the prophet, Isaiah, who told him he was not going to die. Hezekiah asked for some sign as proof. Isaiah said: “Shall the sun go forward ten degrees, or go back ten degrees?” And Hezekiah answered: “It is a light thing for the shadow to go down ten degrees; nay, but let the shadow return backwards ten degrees.” And Isaiah the prophet cried unto the Lord, and He brought the shadow ten degrees backward, by which it had gone down in the dial of Ahaz.” (2 Kings 20:9 ­11).

Ten degrees is exactly 40 minutes! Twenty-three hours and twenty minutes in Joshua, plus 40 minutes in 2 Kings accounted for the missing day in the universe!

Isn’t this amazing? Our God is rubbing their noses in His Truth!

Rules for the World Cup
Extremely important advice and recommendations to be passed on to wives, girlfriends, fiancés, mothers, sisters, daughters, etc. (to all women in general) These rules are to be communicated prior to the World Cup in June/July this year…

LIST OF RULES

1. From 9 June to 9 July 2006, you should read the sports section of the newspaper so that you are aware of what is going on regarding the World Cup, and that way you will be able to join in the conversations. If you fail to do this, then you will be looked at in a bad way, or you will be totally ignored. DO NOT complain about not receiving any attention.

2. During the World Cup, the television is mine, at all times, without any exceptions. If you even take a glimpse of the remote control, you will lose it (your eye).

3. If you have to pass by in front of the TV during a game, I don’t mind, as long as you do it crawling on the floor and without distracting me. If you decide to stand nude in front of the TV, make sure you put clothes on right after because if you catch a cold, I wont have time to take you to the doctor or look after you during the World Cup month.

4. During the games I will be blind, deaf and mute, unless I require a refill of my drink or something to eat. You are out of your mind if you expect me to listen to you, open the door, answer the telephone, or pick up the baby that just fell from the second floor….it wont happen.

5. It would be a good idea for you to keep at least 2 six packs in the fridge at all times, as well as plenty of things to nibble on, and please do not make any funny faces to my friends when they come over to watch the games. In return, you will be allowed to use the TV between 12am and 6am, unless they replay a good game that I missed during the day.

6. Please, please, please!! if you see me upset because one of my teams is losing, DO NOT say “get over it, its only a game”, or “don’t worry, they’ll win next time”. If you say these things, you will only make me angrier and I will love you less. Remember, you will never ever know more about football than me and your so called “words of encouragement” will only lead to a break up or divorce.

7. You are welcome to sit with me to watch one game and you can talk to me during halftime but only when the commercials are on, and only if the halftime score is pleasing me. In addition, please note I am saying “one” game, hence do not use the World Cup as a nice cheesy excuse to “spend time together”.

8. The replays of the goals are very important. I don’t care if I have seen them or I haven’t seen them, I want to see them again. Many times.

9. Tell your friends NOT to have any babies, or any other child related parties or gatherings that requires my attendance because:
a) I will not go,
b) I will not go, and
c) I will not go.

10. But, if a friend of mine invites us to his house on a Sunday to watch a game, we will be there in a flash.

11. The daily World Cup highlights show on TV every night is just as important as the games themselves. Do not even think about saying “but you have already seen this…why don’t you change the channel to something we can all watch??”, the reply will be: “Refer to Rule #2 of this list”.

12. And finally, please save your expressions such as “Thank God the World Cup is only every 4 years”. I am immune to these words, because after this comes the Champions League, Italian League, Spanish League, Premier League, etc etc.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Regards,
Men of the World

I’m glad to be home again 3 months later. Boy, I do really miss everything about home!! The weekend is so short… in fact, too short for me to take in everything at home in one breath. It’s hard not to slow down and enjoy home and everyone, everything in it. I feel as if I’m running at top speed and not allowed to stop. At the end of the race, I find myself exhausted and very much unwilling to leave home again.

He looks much better than the last time I last saw him which was nearly a month ago. I hope I’m not hallucinating. When modern medicine and science tells you there is nothing they can do, it is actually up to you to whether to allow that to be translated into “hopelessness”. I felt helpless and hopeless alright especially during the birth of the bad news. Yet I couldn’t quite determine if he felt the same. I wouldn’t say he gave up totally. But he isn’t trying very hard either. So when the professionals tell you that you’ve come to the end of the road, the least you can do is to pave a new path to walk on even when you’re not sure if it’s safe or if it’s even leading to anywhere. What I’m sure is that I’ll definitely break if I stand there doing nothing and surrender to fate.

Not hallucination, I guess. He definitely looks better than the last time I talked to him, trying to hold back the current of tears stinging in my eyes. I told him what he can do now is to eat well, rest well, pray a lot in the hope that his strength will return. Then perhaps the doctors will consider giving it another try, another chance, another hope. He nodded each time I said that. If he’s truly trying, I pray that he’s trying his very best. There’s one thing he doesn’t know and which I haven’t told him - I want to give him a good life and that could happen by next year when I start to earn my first real cash. I need that chance. A chance of him to be around and me giving out all of my love.

In times like this, leaving home stirs a lot of guilt in me. I wish I can be around but I can’t. I wish I can slow down and go smell flowers with him but I can’t. All I can do at a distance is to pray. A miracle will be the best, but if that’s not the case I only hope that he can be happier and free.

We are expected to conduct at least 5 deliveries on our own in this posting and you can probably imagine our anxiety when we see a good opportunity come by the labour ward - a multip (a woman who had previous childbirths prior to this) whose childbirth will most probably be faster and easier, or a primip (a woman who is having her first childbirth) where an episotomy cut is quite likely during labour. Sometimes we make a 7 o’clock cut (episiotomy) at the edge of the vaginal opening to facilitate passage of the baby’s head and to prevent severe, jagged vaginal tears. This is usually performed on a primip and an episiotomy means an opportunity to give local anaesthesia, cut at the appropriate area when the baby’s head is crowning at the vaginal opening and later on an episiotomy repair - administration of local anaesthesia and suturing.

I was exhausted by the 20th hour of my labour ward on-call when a primip turned up with a cervical dilatation of 6cm indicative of impending labour. Determined to deliver her baby, I clerked the lady, performed the necessary physical examination, monitor her contractions and baby’s heartbeat via the CTG machine and closely follow vaginal examination reviews. At 7am, I mustered all the energy and passion for obstetrics that’s left in me for the delivery when her cervix dilated to 10cm.

Come on, baby… it’s time for you to come to this world and I shall receive you with my very own hands! The mother was anxious and in pain, leaving me with multiple fingernail imprints around my wrist and forearm as “souvenirs” whenever she could reached over the bed rail to grab hold of me as I check the CTG machine by her side. With approval by the house officer, I dutifully prepared myself - wore the apron, put on sterile gloves and got ready the delivery set by the bed, swabbed the labia and introitus and taught the woman how to breathe properly and when to strain. A staff nurse willingly stationed herself by the side of the woman to be “gripped” at each uterine contraction.

Soon the perineum began to bulge and the vaginal gaping enlarged. I was elated to see the baby’s hair and felt its head pushing forward. It shall be an easy delivery with a possible episiotomy, I thought. I could get my log book signed for another self-conducted delivery and go back to my room for some much needed rest - yippie!! I was still smiling to myself when the medical officer sauntered in, saw what was happening and put on gloves to check the progress of the delivery. I stepped aside to make room for her, eagerly waiting behind her to allow me continue with what I was doing.

Episiotomy. Baby. Happy mother. Episiotomy repair. Log book. Sleep. Hehe…

A few minutes passed by. She was still there. I inched forward but she didn’t acknowledge my presence. The labour was in good progress. An episiotomy was inevitable and I was told to prepare the local anaesthesia. After the episiotomy, the medical officer still refused to budge and give me a chance. The next instant, the mother gave a full effort push at the peak of her contractions and the baby’s head, shoulders and the rest of the body was delivered! Not by me, but by the medical officer who nicely came by, took over the case from an exhausted by enthusiastic medical student and enjoy the climax of the entire labour process herself!

Who clerked the patient? Who stayed awake to monitor her progress and report to the house officer in charge once every half an hour? Who got gripped once every few minutes by the patient until the hands turned red? It’s me , myself and I!! But I was denied the chance to deliver the woman’s little prince… argh…

7am. The medical officer finally acknowledged my presence and said, “MS (medical student)… please weigh the placenta, clear the mess and repair the cut.” All I could do was to nod and comply. Then she turned and left. I continued standing there trying to stay calm.

Baby. Happy mother. No self-conduct delivery. No log book signed. No sleep anytime soon.

I smiled back at the mother who thanked me profusely for god-knows-what. I was perched at the side watching the baby being delivered into the hands of another person. Well, at least there’s a baby and a happy mother.

Everything was completed by 9am long after the next on-call group came in for their duty. A 25 hour on-call. Exhaustion, no sense of accomplishment plus frustrations. Some nice feelings to start my Sunday.

Sigh… Wish me good luck for my on-call tonight: Self-conducted delivery. Baby. Happy mother. Signed log book. Sleep Ok, I can trade my sleep and rest for that.

It’s 1.30pm and I just had my lunch after my attachment with a gynaecologist in the gynae clinic. I’ve to meet the chest specialist who is handling Dad’s case in the medical clinic at 2pm and in the meantime I’m not sure where to go so I made a trip to the computer lab. Going back to my room will take me about 5mins and in about 10mins time I gotta walk all the way to the hospital again so that seemed rather time and energy consuming. Waiting at the medical clinic means me taking an extra seat at the waiting area knowing that the place would have been sardine-packed with patients on appointment by this time of the day before the afternoon consultations start. So here I am deleting the hundreds of mails in my inbox and try to compose a post… which is basically full of NOTHING by now other than explainations as to why and how I ended up here. Crap. I think I’m losing too much brain activity to my Obstetric and Gynaecology posting nowadays I don’t seem to be able to do other things right, including activities of daily living (ADL) like eating, bathing, etc.

Jel and I have been super busy lately. Our day starts at 8am and ends at 5pm during the weekdays with morning tutorials and clinics, ward rounds, faculty lectures, department lectures, etc. We’re on-call (be on duty in the labour ward or gynaecology ward) lasting from 5pm to 8am the next day once in every 3 days and if it falls on weekends or public holidays, we gotta be in the labour ward from 8am to 8am the next day delivering babies and placentas, cutting open vaginas to facilitate passage of the baby’s head and then suturing/repairing the cut at the vaginal mucosal, muscular and skin layers. To add icing to this nice gigantic cake, we’ve to submit 4 case reports and 1 cytology report by the end of this posting.

Here’s what we need: We need sleep. We need rest. We need some time to go buy groceries. Jel’s feet are hurting after standing for many hours in a pair of old, hardened leather shoes so she needs to go shop for more comfortable ones lest her feet becomes deformed by the end of this posting. We’re not sure of what’s happening around the country or the world for 2 weeks coz we’ve absolutely no time to read the papers and even if we do, our eyelids can barely hold up. We need time to study and write case summaries.

We don’t need irrational scoldings from the nurses in the ward. We don’t need more lectures and workloads. We don’t want any more postponed classes or ward rounds by the consultants. We don’t need anyone to lecture us about “not trying hard enough”. We don’t need patients who look down on us and refuse to cooperate during history taking and physical examination as soon as they learned that we’re medical students. We don’t need patients’ relatives and friends to crowd around us, watching us like hawks and generating anxiety in us poor souls when we’re taking blood from the constricted blood vessels of a cancer patient who just underwent chemotherapy.

Final year is lovely. This whole lot of stuff that I’m learning and experiencing now are priceless and they truly make me feel blessed and lucky. Lots to see and learn. Many more to come. I can live with it. At least I’m willing to. I can trade my leisure time, sleep and mealtimes for medicine, patients and their concerned relatives. But we need more time. And we need chances.

God be with us

(Gambate Jel!)

Yes, the needle is a sharp object. Poke one into your flesh and some of you will squirm, some will merely utter an “ouch”, some grimace, some scream, others take it like just another harmless pinch at the arm.

I was taught to give intramuscular injections for vacccination against tetanus to a number of Form 3 students in a local secondary school this morning. Before that the nurses gave short anti-smoking speeches to class after class of young brats and oh boy, they sure had a difficult time keeping those monkeys seated on their chairs just to pay attention! Not only did they refuse to listen like they have ears, they shot nonsensical questions which made your blood boil. When the nurse gave them a grave look, they giggled and rejoiced in their victory. The next instant, they were hatching more cheeky questions and pranks to attack the medical staff. I stood at the back of the class and watched the entire drama. I’m sorry for feeling relieved not being the person in front giving that speech and facing these youths. I seriously don’t know whether to laugh or to be mad. How did students these days become like that? Or have they been this way for centuries?

When the students are ushered to the injection stations set up in the school hall, the “tough” and “cheeky” ones began to show their true fear. It was an amusing sight. Most were avoiding the needle, cooking up various tales and excuses to be exempted from the prick. Some were in pure denial - walking around the hall, subconsciously rubbing their left arm just to stall time. A few became expert researchers… moving from station to station interviewing their classmates before, during and after the prick trying to decide which nurse/medical student gives the least painful injection. Some had to be coaxed. Other had to be forced or shouted at.

So much drama for just one simple anti-tetanus injection which is for their own good. Truly, the smart-aleck and the big bully may not be the bravest!

The next time you are irritated by a naughty student like that, look them in the eye and say, “Shut up. Here comes the needle.”

This is our third day of our posting in the Kuala Langat District Hospital in Banting. Every night Jel and I ask each other the reason we are posted here for. We could not provide the question a satisfactory answer. Each morning we drag ourselves out of bed and wonder if we are nearing the weekends so we can return to PJ - to our own cozy rooms in 6th college, to a less haunted place, to home.

“What day is today?” Jel muttered at the second snooze of the Crazy Frog tune of her cell phone alarm. It usually rings when I’m washing up in the bathroom and never failed to make me laugh with my mouth full of toothpaste.

“It’s only Wednesday.” Another thousand light years from Friday, I thought to myself. Looking at the mirror in front of me I allowed my imagination to run wild a little. Maybe there’s a non-Jellio` figure floating just behind me. One with long black hair, perhaps entangled due to lack of daily combing. A red eye globe almost popping out of its socket. Skinny and ash-white hands sticking out of a white robe and reaching out for Jel me the door.

“When is Friday gonna come?” Jel mumbled from her pillows. The long-haired figure in my imagination vanished and instantly replaced by the March calander. Soon, I hope?

Our friends from another room brought old newspapers and scotch tape to cover up the tall mirror and another on top of the sink, both facing the beds - for fear of “paranormal sightings”. Another friend was imagining noises since our first day here while a male coursemate refused to stay in the room alone when the roommate is on night duty in the hospital. They tried with all their might to shut away any possibility that may invite “unwanted guests” into their rooms.

Even before we set foot on this place, we’ve heard numerous ghost stories and personal experiences from coursemates and seniors. It sounded like this hostel houses a large population of lost souls who failed to gain entrance to Heaven, Hell or Purgatory - like a temporary Ghost Camp on earth. Two weeks ago, Jel and I were joking about bringing crucifixes and crosses the size of our heads, Holy Water, etc to “bless” the room and keep away spirits. Yet we travelled to Banting on the past Sunday packed with Tommy and Azeroth (our laptops), speakers, loads of food and some books - anything but huge crosses and the Holy Water.

Upon arrival, there were Jel and I in our twin sharing room. 24 hours later, there’s still only us. And perhaps a mosquito or two. Finally, we decided that this hostel is not as creepy as we thought it would be. No floating robes, female weeping sounds, flickering lights, etc. Perhaps I watched too many horror movies my threshold for spooky stuff is rather high. But the ceiling fan certainly spins at an amazing speed no matter it’s switched to any level from 3 to 5. The spinning blades gradually grow loud in movement and the air in the room will turn so fast it seems like there’s a mini hurricane brewing in the room. For fear of it suddenly comes crashing down on me, disfiguring me or chopping Jel into chunks of flesh and bones I’d always get up to slow it down to 2. Then there’s this long extension cord Jel bought to plug our laptops, lamps and handphone chargers to the socket so inappropriately located at the other end of the room far from the tables which we always trip over. We agreed that one fine day one of us will really trip and fall horribly with a fatal trauma to the skull and brain. Then we’ll haunt the room and the hostel will live up to its spooky legend.

“Eh, bangun la!” I said when I emerged from the bathroom only to find Jel still nicely tucked under her covers.

I’m not sure what she said. Guess it must had been some sort of a grunt, moan or groan. We’re 5 minutes late. And it’s only Wednesday.

I have the priviledge to perform the Mantoux’s test on a patient fellow medical student today! Yay!

Mantoux’s test is an intradermal injection of tuberculin, a clear solution containing protein derivatives of the bacteria causing tuberculosis (TB)or commonly known as Mycobacterium tuberculosis. It is done on patients suspected to have contracted TB. However, it is not a diagnostic test as it only confirms the presence of immunity against TB bacteria. The patient may find an enlarged, slightly raised or even reddened patch at the site of injection. Fear not, as this is the common skin reaction to Mantoux’s test. The patient has to return three days later to have the skin induration measured by a doctor or an experienced nurse. If the diameter measures more than 10mm it means that the person has immunity against M. tuberculosis. The activated defense system against TB may be due to a past infection, an on-going infection or immunity as a result of vaccination against TB i.e. the BCG (Bacille Calmette -Guerin) injection we receive at birth. A induration size of 15mm or more is likely to suggest an on-going infection with an active defense system battling against the bacteria in the body. Nevertheless, it is important to bear in mind that TB is not diagnosed via Mantoux’s test but by sputum examination for acid-fast bacilli (AFB). Usually there are also positive lung markings in chest X-ray.

I injected my coursemate with the tuberculin and vice versa. It hurts just a little. I think a red-ant bite is more painful than a needle prick. It was pretty easy but the nurse commented that both of us had injected a little too deep into the skin. This might affect the readings. We weren’t able to produce the nice, raised, circular formation of orange-peel appearance on the injection area once the tuberculin was pushed in. Anyway, I’m looking forward to measure my induration (if there’s any at all) three days later. Hah…

This afternoon I shall get my hands on the kids :p If I’m lucky I might get a chance to immunise babies or toddlers! Too bad the diabetic clinic was not opened today or I’d get to self-inject insulin on my own abdomen, as what insulin-dependent diabetic patients are supposed to do. Of course, the insulin will be substituted with normal saline instead to prevent inducing hypoglycaemia (a state of low blood sugar level) in me.

It’s not that I love getting pricked. But I thought it’ll be interesting and meaningful to really put myself into patients’ shoes and feel the pain. Not a sickening hobby… just for experience’s sake

Lesson of the day:

Work for the government. Reason? Your medical expenses are well taken care of. Now and until the day you meet your Maker.

Not so much of patriotism, really. You’ll either die of old age (this is getting rare nowadays as a result of our hectic lifestyle, bad social habits, improper diet, sedentary living and city pollutions) or sickness/injury one day and as we all know, medical expenses are on the increase following the improvement of modern medical management in terms of drugs, equipment, etc. Unless you’re born with a silver diamond spoon in your mouth, a key to the latest BMW in your hands and a family fortune that will last you for more than a lifetime, then you may need to sell of your every possession, mortgage your property or appear in local news to make a plea for financial aid to the public in order to settle your medical bills if you were to be inflicted with diseases like cancer. *TOUCHWOOD*

Think about it, it can be really difficult for someone out there just to stay alive. Nowadays, the poor can’t even afford to be ill. Yet the rich are spending their money in a ridiculous way just to satisfy their wants, upgrade their social status or to keep up with the Joneses. Who says the world is fair?

But then again, for those who agree with me - fear not… for there are angels around this world. I’ve seen some. God will find you.

I’m most ashamed of myself today. Absolutely.

Home nursing trips this morning were truly depressing. We followed a home nursing nurse to houses of dependent patients, most being bedridden patients as a result of stroke and spinal cord diseases or injuries. Besides pain and suffering, I see desolation and hopelessness in their eyes. They were no longer embarrassed to have their private parts exposed in the presence of strangers during urinary catheterization procedures - be them doctors, nurses, medical attendants, medical students or relatives.

The first patient left the strongest impression in me. She was a 40-year-old stroke lady confined to bed following bilateral middle cerebral artery infarcts (stroke) with a nasogastric tube sticking out of her left nostril for feeding purposes and a urinary catheter draining urine into a plastic bag attached to the bed side. Her lips were parched and she had a large gaping pressure sore at her lower back. Her eyes teared when the nurse inserted a new nasogastric tube into her. She winced in pain. She would have used all her strength to push us away but she couldn’t move a muscle. She was paralysed from the neck downwards. She would have screamed at us yet she couldn’t even utter a word of protest throughout the agonising procedure. Her elderly mother stood by the door and looked on. There were 5 young children playing by themselves on the floor beside the bed. I looked around and thought if things could have been worse… the small house stank, the floor certainly needed some hard scrubbing, the wooden walls seemed to be eaten away by termites, ventilation and lighting were poor. Suddenly there’s a lot to be done for the patient and her family yet it just didnt seem to be enough. Depression, coping abilities, financial difficulties, responsibility of care for the young and dependent, the poor health of the caregiver, etc began clouding my head. I thought I was fainting. Then I saw the patient looking at my direction. For once I didn’t know what to say. I just smiled. And she continued to look on. After the necessary work was done, we left with heavy hearts. I felt so helpless.

The next patient was an old lady who was also bedridden as a result of a stroke attack several years ago. I was instructed to insert the urinary catheter into her. After cleaning her genitalia and preparing the necessary equipment, I was ready for action. I separated the labia and thrusted the lubricated tube into what I thought was the urethral opening. It wouldn’t go in. I asked aloud for help, “I’m inserting this into the correct orrifice right? This is the urethral opening right?”.

A male coursemate said from my side, “Yeah, that’s the right one.” It must be. The clitoris hood was over it. The “vaginal opening” was right down - huge and looking like what it is - a vaginal opening. When I was about to give up, the nurse finally came nearer and peered. “That’s the clitoris, my dear”. That instant I was… horrified. Yes, horrified. What?! That’s the clitoris? Can a clitoris actually be that huge it almost look like a hole?! My coursemate who was equally horrified couldn’t control himself and blurted, “Oh my god, that’s the clitoris?!”

Yeah, I tried inserting a urinary catheter into a clitoris, mistakening it for the urethral opening.

I looked up to the patient’s face and apologised frantically, changed position and finally eased the tube into her vaginal opening urethra just beneath the clitoris. And the nurse was grinning, “Better brush up your anatomy”.

Yes, I’m truly, honestly ashamed of myself. Will go read my anatomy books right away lest I get confused again with the many openings at a female’s genitalia which don’t look the same at all in every patient. A lesson learnt the unusual way. Enough for today.