Here's the exciting dramatisation of the day:
I'd had two hours of sleep, finally knocked off a passable essay on omalizumab in allergic asthma by 4:30 AM and dragged myself into uni to teach microbiology to the first years at too-early-for-me o'clock until oh-god-oh-god-I-need-tea past twelve.
Then it was to the lab where I expressed my lack of enthusiasm for the fact my aseptic technique had worked fine for the animal cells (yet again) and please, please could I move on to transfecting my HeLa cells - you know, my actual project. That wish being granted and much faffing around with a fluorescent microscope later and I dragged myself further to print off lecture notes and derp around the computer suites with friends and their kebabs (my stomach protested. Never. Again).
It was then I logged onto my uni e-mail and my heart sank to: 'UCAS Application Status Notification'. I just kept thinking 'yep, that's it. There goes East Anglia...'.
See as soon as I came out of my interview last January I called my Dad and just went 'it was so....fleh. It was just blah. I messed up a few questions and I did this stupid thing I shouldn't have done....'
I did this incredibly terrible thing whilst one of the interviewers - a lovely and very attractive registrar - told me about a situation he had with a patient and their non-empathic med student. I kicked my own arse for months and still cringe when I remember it. It looked something like this:
Ye gods...as soon as I went into the pose it was like 'NO! ABORT! ABORT! LEAN BACK! Ah tits he's talking! If I lean back I'll look uncomfortable and shifty. Ok, let's just style this out like I'm in control...gosh he's staring straight into my face - maybe he's trying to convey offence via morse-code blinks...why, concerned-and-listening-intently reflex? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU PICK THIS POSE NOW?!!!'
That and the horrifying answer I gave to a motivation for medicine question. I mean holy hell, post-mortem shredding to pieces and I concluded an answer would have been better constructed had one eaten alphabet spaghetti and vomited the lot semi-digested.
But apparently I'm being too mean to myself (there's such a thing?).
Skipping back to present day, I get home very late and get on the computer, dread pooling in my stomach. I have a little debate about whether I should go for a run first and then come back and see the rejection or check it now and risk destroying my mood enough to put me off running.
I resigned myself to my fate and logged in to track. And pretty much couldn't think clearly for a bit. I remember thinking 'oh they've spelled unsuccessful wrong...' - and no that isn't a joke, I kept scanning up at BSMS and Barts with the little 'unsuccessful' next to them and then dropping back down to East Anglia with an expression like this:
Long post short, I now have a conditional offer from East Anglia and I'm a quietly happy little bean about it. I wouldn't say ecstatic because it feels like a long time coming considering all the hard work and sacrifice and bitter disappointment over the last 5 years.
So I think I deserve this and apparently some people at East Anglia do too - if there's one thing I'll do it's prove that right.
Roll on Leicester!