Do you know Rihanna?

So, it’s a fact; I’m rubbish at writing about my life on a regular basis. Last time I put pen to paper (or key to keypad) my good news was that I’d scraped through semester 1. Since then I’ve even passed semester 2! There were a few more tests involved, and an essay which I allegedly plagiarised 43% of. It’s fine though, loads of people write things about cancer so it was bound to be a bit like other stuff out there. It was a massive relief to find out that I wouldn’t need to spend my entire August revising due to the fact that my degree’s actually turned out to be somewhat like hard work.

The main occurrence in my recent past, though, has been going to Tanzania for a month. After over a year of planning, concerts, Irish dancing, and endless plastic bags awkwardly packed in Morrisons in order to raise money, it was actually happening. I spent my days on the paediatric ward of a small hospital, where my total inability to speak Swahili shone through. Fortunately the staff all spoke English, and we had an amazing time seeing things that we’d never get to see in the UK, while spending time with the most welcoming people imaginable. No-one ever complained, all the patients spoke to each other as if they were best friends, and the mothers on the paediatric ward even did all the cleaning!

Popular for my hair

After we’d finished at the hospital, we headed down to the nearby primary school to teach maths in the evening. It was another huge eye-opener with classes of 50 kids who are happy enough just to listen to you speak, and occasionally shout mzungu (white man) at you while stroking your hair. This was another thing that isn’t exactly a frequent occurrence in England - although I’m not sure how comfortable I am with strangers stroking my head, arms and legs on a regular basis. I do miss being waved at by random people in the street, though. The long days (sunrise at 6.30 every morning) generally finished with a walk up to the secondary school where we’d take sports equipment and play with the students there (mainly boys) and feel much, much uncooler than them. Contrary to popular opinion, though, we don’t know Rihanna just because we’re white. And no, we can’t get you her number…

Mount Kilimanjaro

The weekends were equally amazing, as we went up to the base camp of Kilimanjaro on one weekend, and on safari the next! Mainly though, Saturdays were spent venturing into town to be followed by hagglers as we struggled to wade our way to the internet café (only to find out that the power cuts that happened about 500 times a day meant that usually, the internet café wasn’t even ‘on’.) It’s hard to sum up our experience to Tanzania in brief. We went with the aim of changing attitudes in various different respects: the attitude of Tanzanians to English people, the attitude of English people to Tanzanians, and the way that we all see the world around us. Fortunately, my brother Dave ensured that the lads in his English class were well equipped for life ahead during his discussion, in which he had to answer a few awkward questions: “No, class, excessive masturbation does not cause AIDS”. Glad we cleared that one up.

I’ve barely given an insight into even a fraction of the time I spent there, but, as I can tell I’m probably boring you already, so if you want to read a bit more, check out: http://thornleightanzania.blogspot.com/2011_07_01_archive.html. Different posts are by different people, starting with ‘the night before’, by Dave.

Me and my kids

I’m in my second year of uni now, and for most people that means getting a house. The upside of this is that your drug-taking/terribly messy/massively socially awkward flatmates have been gotten rid of forever. The downside is that I’m obviously well old, with my own house. Although I’ve absolutely loved it, it’s not been without its problems (gas leak, carbon monoxide scare, plug socket failure, wonky toilet and broken locks). A constant problem, though, is the flies in the kitchen. To combat this, we decided to buy a venus fly-trap, which I am sad to say hasn’t quite done the trick, and is now dying. The 5cm big ‘Dominator’, as it was affectionately named by my housemates, has failed. Can’t complain though, even with the unbelievable amount of work, I’m still really enjoying uni, and I have succeeded in fathering 12 kids! (In this instance, that means I’m a mentor to 12 first-years, rather than an actual parent to actual children, much to the relief of my parents, I’m sure)

Having come back from Tanzania with nothing else in the pipeline, I felt the need to do something useful with my life. Somehow, me and my housemate Josh came to the conclusion that we wanted to run a marathon, and after a week of searching for a place, our application to run the London Marathon was accepted. As you probably know, I’ve got a hearing impairment, and so we’ve decided to run the marathon for a charity called Sense, which supports people who are deaf and blind – a top cause, as it gives people some of the many chances that I’ve had in my life that they wouldn’t otherwise have. And for the privilege of running 26.2 miles whilst being overtaken by people dressed as Spongebob Squarepants? I have to raise £1,500. Clearly I've gone mad. If you fancy sparing your change or just finding what's possessed me to commit to such a task, have a read: http://www.justgiving.com/Joseph-McFarlane

Cheers!

A first time for everything?

So it’s been ages since I’ve done one of these. The most important thing that’s happened in that time? Probably that I passed Semester 1. The most interesting? Almost definitely that I dressed as a woman.

Practice fire alarms are definitely the most annoying part of a Monday morning in halls. Fortunately, they always provide some entertainment. When the real thing happened, it took two fire engines, 12 firemen and an hour of waiting before being told we could go back inside. Turns out it was all for a fairly small oven fire. Having a flatmate that often comes out with no trousers (“I’m wearing pants….”) and apparently has a coat with pockets full of emergency supplies - cigarettes, boxers (worrying) and socks (which were put on 40 minutes and a whole newspaper later) means time flies by.

Apparently Uni is the time to try something new, so when someone suggested all the lads go to the next party dressed as schoolgirls, it was met with a strange enthusiasm that definitely wouldn’t have happened in Bolton. Turns out it’s actually quite hard being a girl: you can’t sit with your legs open, there’s nowhere to put your wallet, and using the urinal is particularly difficult in a skirt. After constant reminder that my legs were open, I eventually got the idea and ended up looking a little more female that I might have originally hoped.

Being in the medicine bubble continues to be interesting. I could (or should) now be able to perform basic life support on an unconscious person. On the downside, my anatomy instructor – trained in advanced life support – told us it was less than 10% effective, and he’d saved 2 people in 50 or 60 tries. Truth be told, this doesn’t fill me with massive optimism. There’s also been an excessive amount of blood pressure being taken, and it’s likely I’ll ask if I can take yours over Easter – all the while slowly depressing many of the arms of Bolton of their regular blood supply.

In some sort of attempt to get fit, me and the flatmates decided to go to some classes at the gym. Upon arrival we realised we were the only lads there, and found out it was a very strong woman shouting at you to “DO 4 MORE” for a particularly painful hour. Fortunately it’s a good laugh, and the instructor – Andrea – tells us all to think of our bikini bodies; the only reason we go. Less fortunate was the slightly embarrassing moment that I tried to get into the gym only to be repeatedly rejected by the barriers. Andrea was on hand to help me out, only to tell me that the reason I couldn’t get in was that I was using my Tesco Clubcard rather than the more commonly used gym card. Not cool.

It’s almost Easter now, and even north England’s sunny. I hope whatever you gave up for Lent was better than what I gave up (wearing my pyjamas in public) and you have a good break.

The Ladyboys of Manchester

One out of ten complete

So Semester One has finished: the first of many that I’ll have the joys of experiencing. So far it’s so good! Maybe I shouldn’t get ahead of myself - I’ve still got the dreaded January exams yet, and there’s a ridiculous amount to do before then. Before coming to uni, I'd hoped the content of semester one would be learning (a maximum of) seven muscles and perhaps knowing the general principles of the Hippocratic Oath. Unfortunately this is not the case. I haven’t even heard the words ‘Hippocratic’ or ‘Oath’ since making the long journey to Manchester. On the other hand, I have heard of more muscles than I can remember - which isn't good, as I do, in fact, need to remember them. Nothing that some revision won't fix.

No need to complain though, I wouldn't change a thing. I've managed to survive a whole semester of cooking my own food (without getting food poisoning even once), enjoyed numerous snow-ball fights that involved being vastly outnumbered by a bunch of beefy 4th years, and worn fancy dress more times in the last three months that I had previously done all my lifetime. I love my accommodation as well, which is obviously a plus. They fully live up to the university preconception with their organisation of many nights out, including a toga pub crawl on what turned out to be one of the coldest nights of the year, and a Christmas party that involved lots of mistletoe and a Santa hat full of free condoms. They even took us to see Harry Potter at the cinema for £3.50, what a bargain! (and this included a bag of sweets) I quite like the people too. Random exclamations of ‘GECKO’, ‘JAM’ and ‘SPATULA’ mean there’s not much time for dull moments. Well, I like everyone except whoever it was that played MC Hammers ‘Can’t Touch This’ when I was ill, so loud that I could feel it going through me. That wasn’t a barrel of laugh, I’ll be honest. 

Fortunately, being in the presence of a few Southerners hasn’t had too much of a bad effect on my accent. Having spent a lot of time with someone who pronounces a popular layered pasta and meat dish as “la-zaaaarn-yarr”, I was a bit worried that my Northern tones might’ve deserted me. Fear not, though, the Bolton way (lu-zan-yuh) will stay with me forever.

Last but not least, Christmas has come and gone. It's now Boxing Day, which is the day in between Christmas and my birthday. That's right, I reach the ripe old age of 19 tomorrow. Unfortunately, it doesn't have any particular significance, nineteen. In fact, the only change is a negative one: "You are no longer entitled to free full-time education", which is obviously a shame. Could be worse though; at least I'm not paying £9,000 a year (unlucky, younger siblings & co.)

Hope you had a very merry Christmas, and have a great New Year!

Missing pregnant women and broken hands

It’s very rarely good news when you pick up the phone and the first thing you hear is “can you direct me to A&E?” Last time I wrote, I said my friends had made just the one trip to Manchester’s beloved accident and emergency department. Unfortunately, 2 days after that, another one was in after breaking his hand. On the phone he made it sound like a bad sprain, and refused to let me leave the SU to accompany him. I felt sort of bad when I received a text at midnight which can be summarised: “bone coming through skin, gonna have to stay overnight and have surgery tomorrow. Oh, and will miss lectures” Painful.

So we’re in November now, which only really means one thing – the next month is December, which really only means two things – Christmas and my birthday. All I seem to see on Facebook these days is “omg just seen the Coca Cola advert” This is obviously the pivotal moment at which you really know Christmas is coming (no sarcasm intended) and I haven’t even seen it yet! I can’t help but feel that University is crippling my potential Christmas spirit. Fortunately the Christmas markets are in Manchester on Friday, which should begin to make up for it.

Another week brought another medicine related visit, this time to the GP. The general opinion of the GP is that it’s full of old people and all you do is send them somewhere else. Even though there was no playing around on wheelchairs involved this time, my visit was actually really interesting (and fun, despite the lack of wheelchair activity). We were meant to be interviewing a pregnant woman, but for reasons unknown, she didn’t turn up. Instead, we got to go into reception, the pharmacy and some appointments with the doctor. We ended up seeing a ridiculously interesting case. I’m not allowed to say what happened (something to do with confidentiality...?), but if you imagine an episode of Scrubs that you don’t think would ever actually happen, it was sort of like that.

For now, I’m going to try and stop watching the squirrel that’s playing in the tree outside my window, and learn the mechanism of the adaptive immune system – student life at its finest?

P.S. its breakfast, dinner and tea, not breakfast, lunch, dinner. And there’s nothing wrong with a bit of toast for supper, either.

The life of Wally

Since writing my first blog, it feels like I’ve spent most of my time either looking at medical textbooks or dressed as Wally. Sometimes both. Credit where it’s due to Primark for providing the perfect set of clothes for the fancy dress job, even though I ended up wearing a womens top and leggings.

It’s been a pretty productive, and eventful, few weeks. The work’s building up, as is the amount of things to do in Manchester. Bonfire Night at Platt Fields was impressive - the music accompanying the fireworks, though, was very questionable. Top tip: don’t go to a muddy wet field in pumps that have a hole in the back of them. I definitely should’ve brought my wellies to Manchester. Elsewhere, there’s been just the one visit to A&E for my friends, as a result of some overly enthusiastic piggybacking and a very hard pavement. Both piggybacker and piggybackee are fine now though, so all is well.

Fortunately, since last writing, we’ve moved on from the pelvic girdle (to do the male and female reproductive system). Unfortunately, both those topics meant that we had to go back over the pelvic girdle all over again, so much so that soon enough I should know it like the back of my hand. Slightly more interesting is that I got to dissect an arm this week, and not one person fainted in the Dissection Room this week! (apparently someone did last week, and I somehow missed it) 

In other medicine-related issues, I had my first hospital visit on Friday. It was a quarter past 6 get-up to begin the long journey from Manchester to Salford that included a stop off at the McDonalds drive through. When we got there we interviewed patients about their time in hospital, and pushed each other around in wheelchairs (which we’d been told to as part of a task). Other people in the hospital obviously didn’t know this, though, and so when we hopped out of the chairs, clearly able to walk, we got some very disapproving looks.

I’ve been told that my blogs aren’t often enough, so next time I’ll try and make it shorter - i.e. less boring - and more frequent. 
In the meantime, Where’s Wally?

The start of the rest of my life

After my refusal to add my mum on Facebook, and starting my 5 years at uni, I figured now would be a good time to start writing a blog. Having done 3 hours of anatomy revision today (and accidentally falling asleep for 3 hours in the middle of that time) I thought I should write something that didn’t involve the 19 different sections of the human pelvic girdle. How such a small piece of the body has so much detail is beyond me, but apparently it’s all relative.

 I’m really enjoying uni so far. I’ve ended up in decent accommodation with some good people, and somehow made friends that will cook a Sunday roast for £2.20 (as well as being really nice, that is), so I’m definitely doing something right. My friends do have the weirdest laughs ever though, including snorting, making the same noise as a seal, and laughing like a little girl. It gets a lot of strange looks, as you'd expect.  Flat 7 does have a fairly severe wasp infestation at the moment, but I shouldn’t complain too much about halls because Manchester Uni gave me a free shower without any questions asked after my last one only gave out cold water.

Medicine’s turned out to be a bit like hard work. Obviously I didn’t think it’d be a walk in the park, but it feels like I’m learning the contents of an A-level in a month. We also get to do dissection on a cadaver, which is really interesting, but I’m not looking forward to the day that I go into the dissection room (which has a bit of an odd smell) with a proper hangover. I must admit I was quite worried the first time I went in there; I picked apart a model of the brain and it took me a good five minutes to put it back together. In my defence, it was a pretty complicated model, but still, it didn’t inspire me with confidence. I reckon the most interesting lecture so far was the one titled ‘Normal Birth’, part of which was a video of a woman giving birth. Our lecturer went on to say “and as you can see, it’s a bit of a tight fit”. I didn’t quite agree with her choice of words after seeing something the size of a watermelon pop out of the poor woman.

Manchester’s been a good night out so far, with the pyjama pub crawl in a onesy and the curry night that nearly descended into a pretty messy food fight being my favourites so far, as well as seeing Nick Grimshaw’s DJ set. The benefits of being a student are most obvious when you can go downstairs to your halls bar and buy a pint for a pound. It’s fair to say that the nights out are usually much cheaper than Bolton.

I reckon my mum will probably be the only one who’s still reading to this point, and I’m about to go to the bar and try and improve my table football skills so we can somehow, eventually, beat the duty tutors, who are absolutely amazing at it. On that note, I’m going to finish up. Hope it’s been a vaguely interesting read.