A “trainee-spotting” poem by manick
choose PRs and scrotal exams,
choose being bleeped when you’re taking a shit,
choose bare below the elbows,
choose a book,
choose being so hungry you enjoy hospital food,
choose never seeing your friends again,
choose not washing your hands for a change,
choose dehydration, a f***ing big cannula, Quality Street over Roses, MRSA.
Choose scrubs (watching it or wearing them).
Choose cyclizine the morning after the mess party,
choose Adele the Australian physio.
Choose sitting in the mess watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth praying that you’re bleep won’t go off.
Choose MI over PE because someone’s got to make a diagnosis.
Choose bd, tds, qds, those f***ing T’s with the dots on them.
Don’t choose life, choose medicine.