The remains

Well, this is what happened.

I am now triply qualified (jeez). And licensed in large swathes of the world. There are no more exams left. Zilch. Unless I am insane enough to go repeat everything someplace where they recognize only their own, that is.

This is supposed to make me feel happy, light-headed, relieved et al. But no, it leaves me restless (intellectually), strangely inert (physically) and mildy unnerved at this weird wtf state of being. No amount of weird booze works. I mean, not plonk, not Islays, not Speysides, not arak, not the ladys Limonicello and Sambuca, not mead from Glastonbury, nor cheap XXX rum. Not even toddy or my dads brandy. Watching 5 movies back to back, Almodovar box sets, Femi Kuti concerts, listening to Bill Bryson and Alain de Botton on the pod, sleeping, reading, taking a 4 week career break etc. were all deployed. Look, I tried. It did'nt bloody work.


Then the visa thing explodes. Turns out I am safe, but that is'nt just it. In fact, that makes it worse. A doctor takes his life. This gets me worried. I get involved. More wtf days follow. Some medics at the academic group I run start piling on, big time. I can understand their anxiety, but it starts getting to me. I am beginning to feel permanently pissed off. Not nice.

Since it's all getting a bit too much, I travel. End up in a pretty remote part of India, eventually. That helps, to an extent. I go looking for an old lady, the wife of a poet who was part of my childhood. Turns out she is dementing and blind. No one appears to be too keen to look after her. Even my dad says, 'there's no point going, she can't see you or recognize you'. Well. When the poet died, the State Government erected memorials and politicians made speeches. The literary mags ran commemorative issues and obits. They had'nt had kids. Now she's alone. A retired professor of mathematics at a University, unable to handle everyday money. Not nice at all. Then a nephew is located, who appears concerned. She's despatched to the nephew. Respite. Then went in search of another old lady (there's an old people fetish at work). Turns out she is severely depressed and in pseudodementia. So, I end up making phone calls, negotiating with assorted relatives I'd much rather whack, speaking to old Professors, sorting out care. Eventually, I call time, and go and meet some family and an old friend from med school. The friend has quit medicine, runs an investors club and is trading on the stockmarket. I remember that he'd made his first million rupees at 17. It all now falls into place. One week there is good. Then I hear about another old friend, this time from college; gay, former muse to a famous playwright who writes in English, now dying of AIDS. I published his first story, about a padre who falls in love with another padre. This got both of us into trouble with a lot of other padres. Including the ones who ran the college. He's untraceable. By now I am beginning to miss the Lady.

In the meantime, the visa thing gets fixed. I also get interviews wherever I apply. This, when there are masses of doctors who have'nt even got one interview. Significant feelings of guilt.

By now, I decide that my original career plans vis a vis policy and finance isnt really worth it. But the way medicine is changing, nurses and social workers and therapists and researchers and doctors and academics are rapidly being rendered irrelevant by money and managers. I am told to come up with a 'business plan' for my academic group. Wtf is that? So, now, I go to a 'Top MBA Fair', where I wonder whether an MBA will give me the skills to effect changes in healthcare at the level I am interested in. That is, rather than thru the circuitous, conventional path laid out for me, which is PhD, Lecturership, Chair and so on. I have no desire to do a PhD. Besides, I have never done anything the conventional way. So, will an MBA lead to our own thinktank ? Then the lady can become its face and me the backroom boy. Is this fantasy? But I'd sure love to kick some MBA butt at LBS;-) Just for the heck of it, hey.

With my mind drifting like this, will I blow all my interviews?

I am good, hey. C'mon, gimme my mojo for one last party.

Time to hit the books again.

But what about the Lady? She's quickly and justifiably losing patience with me and the British system, and me being in a wtf mood doesn't help. She suspects that she may have to compromise on her ambitions, but this is unthinkable. Besides, she's cleverer and far more capable than I ever will be. Which makes the option also completely unacceptable. So, now we have to stop thinking you/I, start thinking 'we' in every way, strategically plan our lives this year, the primary goal being that she returns to the fast track by the end of the year. I also need to effectively and efficiently action some support rather than merely spout it. If she walks, I'll have only myself to blame. I love her, you know. Very much. She's a superstar:)

Fingers crossed.