Mission impossible

Sally Morrison-Griffiths

Why are medical students treated so badly? One example of how students are derided is the “conference lunch.” A notice in the common room reads, “You are invited to attend a conference on myalgic encephalomyelitis: innovative treatments for a new millennium. Please note, students are not invited to the lunch but are welcome to the leftovers.” The cheek.

Everyone knows that after a bunch of greedy consultants have got their hands on the grub there will be only curly egg sandwiches left. You can imagine the comments, “Ah, leave those sandwiches for the students; theyve probably never tasted real egg.”

Last week, my friend and I decided to risk all in the name of free refreshments. It was a particularly thirsty day and there was a conference on in the education centre. We were left outside, like children with our noses pressed against the window of a sweet shop, tortured by the smell of croissants and coffee. I mean, if anyone is in need of a free lunch its a student.

I was going to lower my friend from the ceiling on a rope, to the soundtrack of Mission Impossible. But that idea was stupid: where were we going to get a rope? No, this problem required sharp intellect and cunning.

After discussing the options, we came up with a fiendishly clever plan. I pretended to be a real doctor by removing all traces of student: shiny stethoscope, whiter than white coat, permanently terrified expression. The flaw in the plan soon showed itself when a bearded professor approached me and asked my opinion on the merits of cognitive behavioural therapy ahead of pharmacological agents as an early intervention for myalgic encephalomyelitis. Huh? I smiled sweetly and said, “Je ne parle pas anglais,” and legged it. And without even a Danish pastry for my trouble.

And the point of this sorry tale? Secondary school French is a medical students best friend.