Dr Catherine Bull MBChB

A man went to his doctor complaining of aches and pains all over his body. 
"Doctor, my whole body hurts," he moaned. 
The doctor asked him to show him exactly where the pain was.
The man touched his shoulder - "Ouch."
The man touched his knee - "Ouch."
The man touched his nose - "Ouch."

"You've got a broken finger."

My boyfriend told me this joke a few days ago. It's relevant for two reasons:
1. My index finger currently resembles a sausage.
2. I'm now an actual doctor.

This blog post is a few weeks overdue actually, because my graduation ceremony was back in July. For once though it's not because I'm completely rubbish at finding time to blog. I've opened this page several times over the last few weeks, but it's been really difficult to put my feelings from that day into words. I have passed some of the time by searching for pictures of sausage fingers online. I didn't find any, but I did find this:

I have a sausage finger AND I graduated.

It appears that I have sunk to new lows in the name of procrastination. 

The truth is I don't think I'll ever be able to put into words how I felt that day, because there are no words in existence that would do it justice. My only solution is to describe to you my journey over the last eight years and let you imagine for yourself. I realise that this involves a bit of effort on your part, but I did just provide you with a picture of a sausage wearing a mortar board so I think it's only fair.

It's fair to say that most, if not all, people doubted whether I'd ever be able to make it as a doctor. It's not that people thought I wasn't capable but, let's face it, how many doctors do you know that have RA? Medicine is hard enough without all the pain, immobility, fatigue, and hospital stays that the disease brings. Careers advisors at college strongly advised me to consider another degree. Medical students on my course gossipped behind my back asking each other, "How is she going to be a doctor if she's got RA?" Even my parents, though they didn't admit it to me until recently and have always supported me, were horrified when I first told them I wanted to be a doctor. But, as regular readers of this blog will know, I'm not one to shy away from a challenge. And a challenge it definitely was...

May 2005 I become ill just at the time I am about to sit my AS level exams. 

August 2005 I don't get the grades I need to apply for medicine. 

October 2005 I apply anyway. I don't get in.

October 2006 I reapply for medicine and take a gap year to resit my exams. 

March 2007 I get accepted to the University of Leeds. 

April 2007 I get told by my rheumatologist that I need my hip replaced. The operation is scheduled for the first day of university. I cancel it. 

September 2007 I hobble around for a term, sleep for around 15 hours a day, don't make it to many lectures, with the end result being I fail my first exam. 

December 2007 I finally get a new hip. 

March 2008 I am allowed back to university at last, having missed most of the second term and two more exams. 

July 2008 Whilst everyone else is enjoying their summer holidays, I spend mine sitting every single first year exam in the space of one week. I pass. 

January 2009 My first of many gastritis-related hospital stays and my first of many endoscopies. 

January 2010 Another gastritis-related hospital stay. Another endoscopy. 

May 2010 The tonsillitis I have developed gets out of hand as my immune system cannot cope. I end up in hospital for a week following a collapse in A&E. 

July 2010 I fail an exam, mainly due to being ill (again) but also in part due to my poor knowledge of the female anatomy ("Considering you're a woman, Cat, you have surprisingly poor knowledge of the anatomy of the female genitalia." - Dr Pat McConnell, Anatomy Lecturer, University of Leeds). I am told I have to resit third year.

March 2011 The treatment I am on suddenly stops working, I visit my GP so many times in one week that I'm surprised they don't take out a restraining order against me. I miss several weeks of placement through illness. 

January 2012 Another hospital stay and another endoscopy means I miss my psychiatry placement and have to rearrange it for the summer holidays. 

September 2012 I am admitted to hospital after the ear infection I have developed gets out of hand because apparently my immune system doesn't do ear infections. 

November 2012 Hospital stay, endoscopy, yada yada. 

May 2013 I PASS MY EXAMS. 

July 2013 I am finally able to put two fingers up to every single person who ever told me I wouldn't be able to become a doctor and, most importantly, to RA. 

But you drink so much milk!

Things that happen when your flatmate leaves you on your own on a Saturday night:

- You sing the theme tune to The Big Bang Theory, out loud, to yourself, including "WE BUILT THE PYRAMIDS" in an overly enthusiastic voice. 

- You download Taylor Swift's latest 'hit'.

- You sing along to YouTube videos of Les Miserables. On repeat. 

- You vote for Rylan.

- You update your blog.

Guess what I've been up to again recently. I'll give you a clue:

Yep, as you can see my 'hospital free year' has not exactly gone to plan so far. For the second time in six weeks I've found myself on a hospital trolley in A&E, although this time in a hospital back home in Surrey so at least I'm doing the decent thing and sharing out my problems between trusts. You're welcome, National Health Service. 

With my ear infection slash compressed facial nerve slash asymmetrical brain issues well and truly behind me my attention was now turned to a pain in my stomach. To illustrate just how much pain I was in, allow me to present exhibit A:

Exhibit A

These are the burn marks on my back from a hot water bottle. This hot water bottle had to be so hot to make the slightest bit of difference to my pain that it BURNED me and yet this was still the preferred option to putting up with the pain without it. 

To cut a long six day story (involving numerous syringes of morphine, a lack of underwear, yet another camera down the throat and a crazy lady called Elizabeth) short, it turns out the entire lining of my stomach was inflamed in the worst case of gastritis I have suffered to date. "BUT YOU DRINK SO MUCH MILK", I hear you cry (OK I don't, but if you saw how much milk I drink in a day things would be different). Although the anti-inflammatory drugs I take do wonders for my RA pain they can, rather inconveniently, cause damage to other parts of my body in the process. In this case it's my stomach that has fallen victim again.  Anyway I'm now out of hospital and on the mend and getting myself as fit as possible before RA has yet another go at inconveniencing my life. 

Oh and by the way, just in case you ever find yourself home alone on a Saturday night in the future I highly recommend singing along to this.

Day 216: Just one of those things

Even I am getting a bit fed up of hospitals now. Over the last few weeks I’ve been gradually making my way around every hospital in Leeds. I’m an actual hospital whore. Two days after my joint juice infusion I found myself in the A&E department of Leeds General Infirmary. On a hospital trolley. On all fours. AGAIN. By this point I had had enough of the pain in my stomach and had had next to no sleep the night before (as did the poor boyfriend who stayed up until 4AM keeping me company until I fell asleep).  Plus, having to look on helplessly whilst my friends ate their pizzas in Pizza Express whilst I struggled with my plate of dough balls quite frankly tipped me over the edge.

I’ll be honest, I can think of better ways to be spending my Friday night than in A&E.

I was admitted and transferred to the gastro unit at St James’ Hospital, which meant I got to ride in the back of an ambulance. This might have been fun had I not felt like vomiting so much. In fact I only just made it to the ward before I vommed my stomach contents up into a cardboard bowl. And by stomach contents I obviously mean about a ml of water.

I was convinced it was gastritis. The doctors were convinced it was gastritis. All that was needed to confirm the diagnosis was an endoscopy. As I’ve mentioned before I’ve had two of these in the past, and I swore after the last time that I would never have one done again. I would genuinely rather have a camera up my bum than ever have to have one down my throat again. Unfortunately no one has bothered to invent a kinder way of looking at the lining of one’s stomach so I had very little choice. At least I’d have a diagnosis at the end of the ordeal though, right? Wrong. There was nothing wrong with my stomach lining. On hearing this news I burst into tears. The staff all looked at me like I was an absolute nutter; “you do realise that’s a GOOD thing, right?” Well no, actually, because the thing that everyone thought was causing me so much pain is in actual fact not, and now I have no freaking idea what’s wrong with me. And what’s worse, the DOCTORS have no freaking idea what’s wrong with me. Anyway, to cut a really long story short, six days, one x-ray, one endoscopy, one ultrasound scan, countless blood tests and several syringes of liquid morphine later I was diagnosed with... “just one of those things.” I bet House could have diagnosed me. 

But on the plus side I got to go home and not so much as look at another hospital for a whole five days... until today. Yep, as I write this I’m back on ward 8 at Chapel Allerton Hospital again, because today is my second and final infusion of this joint juice cycle. And my appetite is slowly coming back, too. I even said yes to a biscuit with my cup of tea today. I’ll be having those three sides with my Nando’s burger again in no time.