I’m Agnus Walters. I’m a medical student but I’m yet to make up my mind if it’s fortunate or unfortunate. I’ve decided to consider it my unavoidable fate.
I’m really young right now. I’ve been telling this to myself ever since I set foot into this dark dark black hole that they call “the field of health science”. Alas! I was a little child with the gift of innocence and oblivion and here I am, overburdened with information to look after my body, your body, your grandfather’s body and oh wait! It doesn’t end there, medicine went ahead and taught me how to handle your dead uncle’s body too! I was clumsy at first but I passed anatomy. I think I can handle some balls.
Next time you need a place to bury some dead person, let me know, I learnt about biomedical waste management too. I can promise you a colourful burial. What, with the yellow bags we like to carefully store away the remains in. I offer Starbucks style burial too. Write your name on the bag and scream it when your order (I mean parcel) is ready.
We people of the medical field like to do things with colour codes. I don’t mean your skin colour. That would be rude.. And racist. We wouldn’t. We might give you some fashion tips though, we know our colour combinations well. We saw the ishihara charts. We know the disgusting colour combinations. So those can be ruled out.
Also, when you come to the hospital with your husband and your belly (because how dare you! It has it’s own identity too!) we wouldn’t say that you’re pregnant right away. We make a list of things you could be or could have, like obesity, regional abdominal lipoma (that’s not a thing, so that’s ruled out), and maybe pregnancy. And then, we say “inky pinky ponky” and diagnose. Just kidding, we say, “please god, let this be right.”
Anyway, so as I was saying, my epiphyses are yet to fuse and that means there’s still hope. I can touch the sky some day. May be not today but I like to be optimistic. I’m a mobile machine that gives out waves of positivity. You can tap in sometime, I don’t drain. Did you just think, in your head, that I could be a short statured person? HOW DARE YOU THAT’S NOT EVEN wrong.
People ask me where I’m from. Excellent question. It’s my favourite question. I know where I’m from but parting with that kind of information just takes away the element of suspense and who knows, you might be FBI, we all know where you take your prisoners and torture them, I don’t want to go there. Yes, I’m sure of that. Although, this isn’t me saying that I HAVE done something criminal. Mostly, I wouldn’t have. I can’t remember. YOU CAN’T CHARGE ME FOR THINGS I DON’T REMEMBER DOING, OFFICER!
So, when I’m asked about my native place, I say I that I was born in Utah, breast fed in Germany, clothed in China, and the rest is history, meaning, I lost track.
Disclaimer: For any discrepancies in the timeline and distances between countries, my sincere apologies. I’m bad at geography and not that great at lying either. I get by.
The reason why I do this is because people can’t blame me for not knowing a certain language or rituals of a particular culture or the president of Utah. I don’t even know if it’s a country at all. I was a kid! Just out of someone’s pelvis! I don’t come with a political map inbuilt in my brain, do I? Be reasonable.
Good riddance to general knowledge. I do know that a particularly artificial haired trumpet rules over the USA right now. He’s so ridiculous even I caught wind of it.
I think that’s enough introduction for today. We’ll catch up with the “history of presenting illness” some other day. It could be between 8th and 24th. We doctors don’t give precise values you see. We believe in ranges. I wouldn’t say you’re dead. You could be from blissfully asleep to morbidly dead. Not JUST dead. We also believe in adding big words to everything we say.