Nights. Jesus. Nights. You’d think there was a limit to the amount of Roses/ Quality Street/ Heroes/ enormous bags of Walkers that you could stuff in your mouth over the course of 12 hours. But it seems that there isn’t a limit. I feel like a human Hoover. I seem to just suck anything up with a high lard content in the immediate area and add it my ever-expanding waist line. Thank god scrubs are adjustable.

I’m aware that this 12 hour graze fest is having an effect because when I saw my mum last weekend she commented on how ‘well’ I was looking. ‘well’ being mother speak for ‘sturdy’. I’m now just waiting for the fella to tell me that there’s more of me to love and I’ll be heading straight over to the bariatric unit to put myself on the gastric band waiting list.

Right. 12 hours of examining cervixes and inserting grey cannulas start here. I will attempt to not consume my body weight in shite before morning. I don’t hold out much hope.

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