It feels like 2020 all over again. I’m not much for romanticizing mental health terminology, but this really feels like PTSD. At least, in 2020, I didn’t have much to look forward to. But this year was my year, or it was supposed to be.
So, today, I woke up at 7am to prepare Mimi and Daniel for school. E remain small, bus driver for leave pikin for my hand. Anyway, after I was done with the most challenging part of my day, I listened to the latest episode of the ISWIS podcast while cleaning the house. A whole doctor-to-be doing Nkechi work, but we move.
I texted Jola to follow up on the hot gist from yesterday, but she couldn’t talk because she was in the clinic. That’s where I started to think – maybe I should have tried a private uni when I had the chance. I mean, look at my secondary-school mates! I’m not jealous or anything o, but if not for this cursed strike, shouldn’t I be starting my clinical postings too, looking all doctor-like in scrubs?
I checked my class group to cruise with my partners-in-suffering, but these people were moving stuff yet again. The oppression made me try reading Blood Supply to the Brain, but omo, it was like the blood supply to my own brain had cut off. Maybe it’s time to find a side-hustle, because how will I ever make it to clinical school with my brain doing this 1+1= Eba?
When all failed, I tried using motivation to “hold body.” I picked up the Atomic Habits book everyone seems to be raving about, and the dose of aspire-to-perspire actually seemed to work. I went back to Neuroanatomy, and this time I remembered that the middle cerebral artery supplied the anterolateral part of the brain…
The next thing I remember was the horn of Mimi’s school bus waking me up from studying. How rude. I had to spend the rest of my day helping her and Daniel with homework. I would’ve written my Biochemistry CA3 today, preparing for my first MB. Instead, the closest I got to schoolwork was improper fractions. Talk about being underutilized.
The funny thing is, if you think I wished for this strike, you’d be wrong. I prayed for it! I wanted a break really badly!
Before now, two letters would have described what 2022 meant to me — M-B! The exam that initially seemed far away was becoming an imminent reality at an insanely fast pace. I tried “comforting” myself by saying that we hadn’t finished our course work or started our term papers, but the fact that I’d be writing a professional exam this year had me terrified. When the proposed exam date was fixed, I entered panic mode proper. Even the survival realm wouldn’t have saved me if the date had stood.
When rumours about an impending strike began to fill the air, I was here for it. I really just needed a few weeks, so I was earnestly waiting for these rumours to be true. After all, our seniors had their share of ASUU’s industrial “holidays,” so why should ours be different? Folks like my roommate wanted our set to be different, but I didn’t want that kind of exception, please. I needed the strike. I mean, it’s only four weeks, so why not?
My four weeks have now morphed into four months, and I can only imagine the look on my roommate’s face the next time she sees me. I probably should be more careful what I wish for, because with all this time, all I’ve done is become incredibly tired. Believe it or not, I haven’t found my way with many of these pathways. After sixteen whole weeks, I still can’t boldly say I’m ready to face the mighty MB. Even when I start to get confident, a knowledge gap pops up – some stuff I don’t know, a question I can’t answer.
You know what? I’ll probably never be ready, but bad as e bad, I’m still hopeful. Christabel’s set had an entire year and some months between their last preclinical classes and first MB, yet they did really well. In fact, come to think of it, almost every set has had a season like this before a major exam. 2K17 are no longer June doctors because the strike hasn’t allowed them to sit for MB4, and even 2K18 had their MB3 postponed indefinitely. What am I saying? 2k19 hasn’t even seen their last MB results! I mean, if we’re going to be miserable, at least, we’re all in good company.
Omo! I can already hear Mommy calling me to the kitchen. I just want to get my degree and leave this house before they turn me into a professional okra grater. Na doctor I wan be, no be winch.
Abeg, ASUU, thank you, but e don do. Please, let’s go back to school.
A UIMSAite on Strike.