welcome to biomed
Table of contents
welcome to biomed.
biomed-baɪoʊmedɪkəl(english?): of, relating to, or involving biological, medical, and physical science (english)Disclaimer: if you choose to study biomed, you might get a nickname like ‘peptide’ or ‘vitamin k.’ it might be the best day of your life or the worst day of your life.
Week One
We’re in the lift. Going up to the seventh floor. I’m sweating through this baggy cotton shirt that my mother probably thought I’d grew into. Instead, I’m growing into the real world. The real world of university and its Plymouth first year.
First steps into the flat and I look right. A shopping trolley is parked against the wall. That shopping trolley would also spend the year with us in Flat 703 – rent included. Bags dumped. ‘Would you like us to stay,’ the mother asks. ‘Nah, I can sort through this,’ I replied. And within seconds, that handover moment of letting your first born go off to live at university was over. I knew what I wanted. They knew what I wanted. Let’s make it happen.
Monday morning arrives and we’re into a 9am. Conveniently our induction talks are taking place literally across from the street from us. Would like to say I planned this with expert precision. A frantic hunt for halls accommodation as a student through clearing has fortunately placed us with some prime location property. Property that would be dutifully maintained – as promised to the mother.
Into the day one workshop and I park myself near the front. A row of seemingly quite experienced men and women were before me. Looks like we’re being allocated tutors. After scanning through them all, I noticed one had a lanyard, arms folded and a seemingly strong air of confidence. I hoped that would be my guy. Turns out it was and he was Head of School.
After being allocated to our tutors, we were all scurried off in our tutor groups for a meeting. A glass office with modern panels of light grey with views of suburban Plymouth housed twelve biomedical science students. ‘So what would you like to do after this degree?’ he opens with. I scan the faces and sense a mixture of nervousness and apprehension. ‘Well, study medicine,’ I reply to cut the tension. ‘Many of our students go on to do that but not all of you will – certainly not the first time. One student took to the age of 27 before they got in. So how many you want to study medicine?’ A full house of twelve students raise their hands. This is day one of biomedical science.
Later that evening, faculty drinks for some of my flatmates are taking place on Plymouth Hoe. I have nothing else really planned so I tag along hoping to smuggle myself in. After spotting some students from my secondary school, we meet a couple of course representatives. One of them is actually a final year biomedical science student (also non-supposedly to be at this faculty evening!). Fresh out of two disappointing academic years at school, any advice on nailing academic life at university was my first concern. ‘A 2:1 isn’t too demanding, turn up to lectures and complete the coursework. A first class requires a lot more.’ Sounds simple. But how truthful that would end up becoming. This student ended up graduating with the President’s Prize – awarded to the Biomedical Science student with the highest degree mark.
Week Two
Turns out Plymouth University has a fortnightly ‘freshers week,’ and I still haven’t introduced my first year flatmates. Two of my flatmates are keen to ‘go the distance’ by going out every night. One of them would end up failing the year. The other somehow passed degree within three years – the occasion scream of ‘40% get in!’ really summed up our collective disbelief when he did pass. Amongst, the rest of the other four flatmates, only one managed to pass their degree as scheduled with the others taking years out or straight out failing them. Seems a lot of students like to have fun. There’s just no way, I could stick my way through fourteen straight nights of alcohol.
4am in 703A. I’ve been woken up – probably just usual commotion of people giggling. This time I hear my door lock getting rattled and then subsequently hear a key go in, my heart sinks. One of the fourteen day veterans armed with toothpaste charges in and doses it all over my bed linen - ‘Let’s go out mate!’ he chants. ‘No chance, I’m off,’ I reply and throw the duvet back over me. After collecting my key, locking the door and tucking myself in seconds, I hear a massive thud and suddenly my room shakes. Can’t be an earthquake or a tremor – surely not. It happens again. I can’t believe what I’ve just experienced. Turns out my room is next to the kitchen and they’ve somehow acquired a football and are slamming it into the side of my room. Welcome to uni.
Week Twelve
Close to the end of the first term and one of my flatmates asks to borrow my printer as he can’t figure out how to use the ones at the university library. Not a problem. Although, it has just dawned on me, I still haven’t been to the library. A bit of a badge of honour not to have attended the library.
Now would be a good time actually as I have an essay due tomorrow on ‘What is personalised medicine,’ – to be assessed by our tutor directly - who is also head of school. The only problem. Its tomorrow. An all-nighter it is.
End of First Term
A lot of our lectures are actually held in a converted church. Sounds more glamorous than it actually is - but its cosy enough that you’ll nearly always spot your mates in the assembly. The days of every seat filled are long gone (pre the days of lecture recordings). Anyway, as we all say our goodbyes to each other and head off - a mate shouts ‘see you later Vitamin K.’ I knew some shit nickname was brewing. Much rather that than ‘peptide,’ to be fair.