Editors’ Letter 2016 No. 3 – Metamorphosis

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For years the caterpillars toiled and toiled. By morning, they were faces on the Ward Round to inflate consultants’ egos. By afternoon they were slaves to the SHO. This was no easy slog for the caterpillars. They struggled, at times, to juggle all of the different timetables their iPads were subscribed to. They cried, at times, when things weren’t going their way. They laughed, at times, when they accidentally walked into a door in front of their boss.

Eventually the caterpillars had finished firms. February’s final frosty days brought about a great change – into their pods the caterpillars would go. For many days they lay dormant in the clinical chrysalis, undergoing great change.

It’s strange, the mixture of joy and fear that results day brings. In the back of your mind you know that you’ve done enough but front and centre, illuminated under the theatre spotlights, all you can think about is complete and utter failure. Last week though I was finally and triumphantly able to call myself a doctor. I admit that I did indulge in an overenthusiastic fist pump. I also admit that I did imbibe generously a whole bottle of fizzy wine.

And then the Facebook statuses arrived in great waves as people awoke in various time zones throughout electiveland to open the email. I, as a new age medical school social media weirdo, went for a tweet first before caving to the Facebook flood. So much joy being effused with the addition of letters to the end of a name has seldom been seen since an immature little twelve year old wrote smells after his classmates’ names on the register. I was so proud.

After several days, the excitement and pride has dwindled somewhat and an anxiety, a fear, has arisen in its place. How badly will I be shafted by the contract? Am I ready? The same fears that had been floating around before have resurfaced from the gloomy depths. The answer is, for now, I do not know. Come July and August I’ll have a much better idea as to where I fit in the strange little world of the NHS but in the meantime we must still keep the public onside in our fight to protect the NHS, its patients and its staff against the Government and the dishonourable Jeremy Hunt MP.

And so as my time at medical school draws to a close, so too does my time at TMS. I don’t want to leave. It has been a pleasure and a delight to write for the paper over the past five years and it is something that I’ll cling to dearly throughout my career. Also, for those who are fearing for their sanity without me, I’ll still be writing over the next few months in the form of updates from my elective over in Vancouver. There is nothing to fear!

Our News Editor, Navindi, will take over in due course and I’m sure will lead TMS to greater heights, to even more medical schools and out into the world. I, for one, am excited to see what TMS’s future holds.

For now though we enjoy watching the caterpillars emerge, a metamorphosis of a titular magnitude. Beautiful butterflies, the lot of them, free to fly from medical school at last.


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