Saturday, 6 December 2014
Monday, 8 September 2014
Monday, 7 April 2014
Monday, 31 March 2014
Alone
Pale as a ghost, in cold sweats, shivering, kicking the bathroom floor from the pain....I passed out.
Amidst the excitement of generating new data for the manuscript I'm preparing, I decided to work this weekend (something that I'm no stranger to). Started day one of my four Western blots on Saturday and naturally came back on Sunday to develop the blots. You can imagine labs on a Sunday, there's not a whole lot going on really. Occasionally, a person would come in to change media for their cells and leave.
I started to feel cramps in my pelvis but thought that it was normal. The intensity of the pain went from "Well, that's uncomfortable" to "HOLY @^%$, MAKE IT STOP, I'M DYING". In the women's washroom, for the fourth time in 15 minutes, I felt that my uterus was going to fall off. Horrible contractions, excruciating pain...I could hardly breathe. I started clapping to count and regulate my breathing, and to distract myself from the pain...didn't work. I started punching the stall's walls and squirming...my legs were weak and my mouth was dry. I was sobbing uncontrollably.
Luckily, someone came into the bathroom and I yelled "EXCUSE ME, DO YOU HAVE ANY PAINKILLERS??" It turned out to be a coworker from the lab next to mine... I told her that I was in pain and I was lucky enough that her helping hands passed me a small bottle of Tylenol from underneath the stall. She also told me that I could call her if I needed help, which I thought was very kind.
The problem lied in that I couldn't move...I couldn't carry myself out of the stall to even take the pills. After several attempts to distract myself from the stabbing in my pelvis, I left the stall and struggled to open the Tylenol bottle, took 2 and managed to get a drink of bathroom tap water to push them down. I left to go to my desk in the office next to the bathroom. I couldn't sit down so I lay down on the floor and started rolling and kicking...there was no position that was comfortable, just stabbing pain and legs going more numb, shivering and sweating. I had to pull myself up and go back to the bathroom. I could not stay in the office by myself...I needed help...and did I mention that I didn't have a phone on me?
I went back to the stall, started wailing again. At this point, there was nothing I could do. The contractions were getting worse and no merciful breaks were allowed in between. I pulled myself up and went to the sink...my legs couldn't carry me anymore. I don't know how long I had been there on the floow, but when I started regaining consciousness, I found myself in the arms of my tiny Chinese friend whom I'm twice the size and thrice the weight. She was cradling me and almost crying herself. She ran and got me warm water, helped me drink, held and comforted me. I started sobbing. You see my friends, I've never felt more alone and helpless before and my occasional fear of something bad happening while I was completely alone with nobody to ask for help or care materialized that day. I felt very sorry for myself.
My Chinese friend helped me up and somehow half-carried me to the office again. She stayed with me till this whole nightmare was over, I regained feeling in my legs and colour in my face.The contractions subsided and she made sure I got home safely.
Being a transplanted citizen comes with its challenges and heightened feelings of estrangement and loneliness. I'm reminded by this feeling every time I need to fill a form and it stares at me and asks "Emergency contact?". Oh, the agony.
You see, a story like this I cannot tell my family who live on the other side of the pond about. They'll just get worried out of their mind and will not be able to do anything to help anyway. It's sort of like this incident being entrapped inside your body. It's not a story you can talk about with friends casually, it will make everybody uncomfortable. I just have to do what I do everyday, put on my happy face and everything-is-gonna-be-OK attitude as if nothing happened. Knowing that mom doesn't read my blog, I decided to share this with you, maybe somebody will find this of use.
My loneliness can be discussed some other time, but the lessons I've learned from this ordeal are:
1- I'm never working in the lab alone again.
2- I was very lucky to run into 2 guardian angels, without whom who knows what could have happened to me. That I will not forget and will remain grateful for.
3- I have to surround myself with people as much as I can, so that when something like this happens, somebody can call an ambulance. If it happens at night, so be it, what can I do?!
4- Maybe, have a functioning phone at hand at all times despite my deep hatred towards the invasiveness of mobile phones?
Don't work in the lab by yourself!
Amidst the excitement of generating new data for the manuscript I'm preparing, I decided to work this weekend (something that I'm no stranger to). Started day one of my four Western blots on Saturday and naturally came back on Sunday to develop the blots. You can imagine labs on a Sunday, there's not a whole lot going on really. Occasionally, a person would come in to change media for their cells and leave.
I started to feel cramps in my pelvis but thought that it was normal. The intensity of the pain went from "Well, that's uncomfortable" to "HOLY @^%$, MAKE IT STOP, I'M DYING". In the women's washroom, for the fourth time in 15 minutes, I felt that my uterus was going to fall off. Horrible contractions, excruciating pain...I could hardly breathe. I started clapping to count and regulate my breathing, and to distract myself from the pain...didn't work. I started punching the stall's walls and squirming...my legs were weak and my mouth was dry. I was sobbing uncontrollably.
Luckily, someone came into the bathroom and I yelled "EXCUSE ME, DO YOU HAVE ANY PAINKILLERS??" It turned out to be a coworker from the lab next to mine... I told her that I was in pain and I was lucky enough that her helping hands passed me a small bottle of Tylenol from underneath the stall. She also told me that I could call her if I needed help, which I thought was very kind.
The problem lied in that I couldn't move...I couldn't carry myself out of the stall to even take the pills. After several attempts to distract myself from the stabbing in my pelvis, I left the stall and struggled to open the Tylenol bottle, took 2 and managed to get a drink of bathroom tap water to push them down. I left to go to my desk in the office next to the bathroom. I couldn't sit down so I lay down on the floor and started rolling and kicking...there was no position that was comfortable, just stabbing pain and legs going more numb, shivering and sweating. I had to pull myself up and go back to the bathroom. I could not stay in the office by myself...I needed help...and did I mention that I didn't have a phone on me?
I went back to the stall, started wailing again. At this point, there was nothing I could do. The contractions were getting worse and no merciful breaks were allowed in between. I pulled myself up and went to the sink...my legs couldn't carry me anymore. I don't know how long I had been there on the floow, but when I started regaining consciousness, I found myself in the arms of my tiny Chinese friend whom I'm twice the size and thrice the weight. She was cradling me and almost crying herself. She ran and got me warm water, helped me drink, held and comforted me. I started sobbing. You see my friends, I've never felt more alone and helpless before and my occasional fear of something bad happening while I was completely alone with nobody to ask for help or care materialized that day. I felt very sorry for myself.
My Chinese friend helped me up and somehow half-carried me to the office again. She stayed with me till this whole nightmare was over, I regained feeling in my legs and colour in my face.The contractions subsided and she made sure I got home safely.
Being a transplanted citizen comes with its challenges and heightened feelings of estrangement and loneliness. I'm reminded by this feeling every time I need to fill a form and it stares at me and asks "Emergency contact?". Oh, the agony.
You see, a story like this I cannot tell my family who live on the other side of the pond about. They'll just get worried out of their mind and will not be able to do anything to help anyway. It's sort of like this incident being entrapped inside your body. It's not a story you can talk about with friends casually, it will make everybody uncomfortable. I just have to do what I do everyday, put on my happy face and everything-is-gonna-be-OK attitude as if nothing happened. Knowing that mom doesn't read my blog, I decided to share this with you, maybe somebody will find this of use.
My loneliness can be discussed some other time, but the lessons I've learned from this ordeal are:
1- I'm never working in the lab alone again.
2- I was very lucky to run into 2 guardian angels, without whom who knows what could have happened to me. That I will not forget and will remain grateful for.
3- I have to surround myself with people as much as I can, so that when something like this happens, somebody can call an ambulance. If it happens at night, so be it, what can I do?!
4- Maybe, have a functioning phone at hand at all times despite my deep hatred towards the invasiveness of mobile phones?
Don't work in the lab by yourself!
Sunday, 15 December 2013
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
Friday, 9 August 2013
Thursday, 8 August 2013
Saturday, 8 June 2013
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
Thursday, 14 February 2013
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Thursday, 17 January 2013
Saturday, 12 January 2013
The grass is always greener on the other side
Hi fellow grad school victims,
I came across this article about alternative careers to the PhD: http://alternativephd.com/thinking-of-quitting/
Since we all know that the grass is always greener on the other side, I have the following question for you : If you were to quit grad school (Don't lie to me, I know you've thought about this before and already have your papers and your alibi in check.), what would you do? Who do you want to be?
I came across this article about alternative careers to the PhD: http://alternativephd.com/thinking-of-quitting/
Since we all know that the grass is always greener on the other side, I have the following question for you : If you were to quit grad school (Don't lie to me, I know you've thought about this before and already have your papers and your alibi in check.), what would you do? Who do you want to be?
Tuesday, 25 December 2012
Friday, 2 November 2012
Saturday, 20 October 2012
The follow-up of course....
Take one: Crash...Boom...Bang
Wow, those past two months were really something. From the moment that I learnt that my candidacy exam was materializing, I started to feel stressed. I was encouraged by several people and advised not to worry about it. "It will be fine!", "If I can pass, you can definitely pass"...sweet words, but apparently, you are not me.
I had a great idea that I was very passionate about for the grant proposal. Put it on paper, and you know, I'm not the messiest of writers really. Wrote it down, filled in the spaces...looked decent. After review, I was advised to take out a few parts from the introduction, and put more details in the methodology. Cut and paste, cut and paste, snip snip snip....it's deadline eve....@#%($&@#$%_^(&
What the heck am I doing? It seemed disjointed and lacked flow. If there's anything I hate to read is something that lacks flow, because it seems as confusing as I am.
Anyway, tick tock, I had to submit. Send...message sent...to all my committee members.
I knew I blew it!
I knew there were loads of mistakes, yet, a deadline is a deadline, right?
@$%^($&^(@_$%(^&*%(_#_
I was told, they won't even read it until the night before...well, guys, even though maybe some won't read it until the night before, they have to read something good, not something that I personally would frown upon reading, right?
Anyway, the last 2 days before my actual exam where I had to present in front of my committee were hell. I was way too stressed, because I knew the writing was bad.
Come the day of the exam, when I had barely slept the night before, I was all nerves. I haven't seen myself that nervous in a loooooooooooooooooooooong time. Usually, I'm comfortable presenting in front of people, this time, no. I was way too nervous, the pointer slipped out of my hand while presenting, it was obvious to me and to them that something was wrong.
The questions started and once the first person pointed out some mistakes in the grant, I completely lost it. I didn't cry or anything, my nerves took over and they were on autopilot. I just couldn't think anymore. As in all I could answer was a fraction of what I actually knew and my logic just went ethereal.
I passed conditionally (you'll say, at least they didn't fail you, technically, both are the same for me). I have to re-write my grant, which on the plus side, is what I wanted to do anyway. Then submit it again for them to read, after which they will pick a date to discuss it with me again, without me having to present.
After 3 days of uncontrolled visceral weeping, things don't look so bad. I met up with my supervisor who was very sweet and understanding. Started replying to some text messages and emails, picking up the phone (which I don't normally, I hate phones).
I guess I'm lucky to have a second chance to show what I really can do sans nerves (no, drugs and drinking are not an option....though I did consider them at one point....what? Did I just say that? No, ignore the last sentence).
Everyone told me that I'll get through this and that I'm a tough person. Maybe. I stopped myself from jumping on the first plane to Egypt, although there's nothing I wanted more that to be in my room among family and friends. I was embarrassed to see anybody, but you know what...that won't help. I'll have to deal with people sooner or later and I chose to do it sooner, let's get this sulkiness and mopiness over with. I screwed up and I know it. It happens. I have my ups and downs like everyone. If sports have taught me anything, it's that you after an injury, give yourself time to heal and you jump back on the horse. A hard lesson I learnt from the beautiful horse "Banafseg" who threw me twice off him on the rocky platform, I was lucky I didn't break my back and get paralysed then, but after healing I showed "Banafseg" who was boss.
I believe in second chances.
Take 2 will be better.
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