There are also a few questions about how you'll support yourself financially, and what kind of emotional and socialvsupport you've got. I get the feeling that this is a pretty cursory question for most candidates, but make sure you have a quick think about it.

For this section, the best advice I have is to think about each question and write down a few words that summarises how you feel. Don't memorise anything, but just have the answers in the forefront of your mind.

Regarding the QLD Health question, it pays to have a look at your state's website, as most have 'areas of concern' pages, in addition to reading the papers/web. On that point, generally being in touch with current ethical issues (such as Swine 'flu!) or whatever else may indeed give you a good step up.

The second section was about talking and listeining. The first bit was a 'radio interview'. The challenge is to explain a scientific concept in layman's terms. They give you two lists, the first contains usually biological words and the second a public health kind of list. You explain one from each list. The key here is to think about what you're going to say, then say it. And, if you can, use a simple analogy. For example, the myelin sheath around a nerve cell is like the insulation around wire - it makes the transmission more effective. There are other examples in the link below.

The other aspect of this section is listening to a short paragraph, and then answering questions about it. The first few questions are just remembering what was said, and then the interviewers will ask you to interpret the actions or events in the story to derive some meaning or to consider the character's thoughts. They're making sure that you can listen objectively and empathise.

The third section was an ethical 'debate'. You're given a list of five topics and asked to discuss a one side of the argument. Topics for me included Stem cell research, taxes and private schooling, the death penalty, compulsory immunisation and one other. So, make a considered argument for one side, then listen to the interviewers' points when they play Devil's Advocate, acknowledge them and then make at least one more point in favour of your argument. Don't back down, simply acknowledge what they're saying as valid points, and if you can, counterpoint them.

An important aside here is that you should NOT, under any circumstances, go near the Death Penalty question. I've heard at least two horror stories about people who jumped through all the hoops and argued that the Death Penalty should be reenacted in Australia. It's just not a good look for someone signing up to save lives, y'know?

The last question, and not really in 'a section', was "What's one thing about yourself that you'd like to change?" It seems that most people say things like 'I'm a perfectionist', but I think the key here is to be honest but not stupid. I made a comment about the ongoing challenges of 'work-life' balance, but prior to the interview I'd written down a list (I love lists) of good and bad things. This was mainly to answer the questions in the first section, but it also gave me a chance to work out what not to say. Let's face it, everyone has flaws and most are aware of them. It's just about the light in which you put that flaw and how you handle it. Think of a positive spin!

And then go and read the paper.

An open letter to my preceptor in SQuIRT;

Dear Dr Granite,

Thanks for having me; I really enjoyed being the 460th member of SQuIRT for six weeks. I hugely enjoyed the chance to talk with a colleague and mentor more than daily. Your hospitality was amazing, your generosity phenomenal. I definately owe you a beer on The Coast.

The rural way of life is certainly challenging; I'm frankly in awe of the constant 24-hour 'on calls', in addition to the stanard fifteen hour days you work. I know it's not easy. The loss of sleep, the endless responsibility, it's a hard way of life, and certainly not all roses. I know it's not easy to escape, that the bureaucracy don't make holidays easy for you.

Clinically, I see that the Bush is all about fundamentals, and using your noggin to make clear, rational decisions. That 'just' sending someone for a scan also involves several hours of driving. That emphatic health promotion and patient education will always be your strongest armory against the health problems endemic to the Bush (and the rest of Australia). I learned the skill of watchful waiting, the knowledge of when to refer, and how to do so both clinically and cordially.

It was interesting to see that the vagaries of small business are in effect the world over. I certainly have a new-found respect for their universal nature, and that every situation has its finer points. Still, the key challenges such as staff management present in many forms. I guess the part of it all that doesn't change is that no one cares as much as the boss. And in gigs such as small general practice or pharmacy on dentistry, that it's always the boss who has the most to lose.

My time in SQuIRT has also given me a new found frustration with health politics and 'the system'. I know it's what we've got at the moment, but too often the emphasis is on bureaucracy and apathy frequently trumps proper patient care. It's not like you can walk down the corridor and have a face-to-face with the physician. And likewise, it's mesmerising how quickly and unthinkingly elderly patients are turfed the two-hundred kilometres back to SQuIRT from Tertiary Hospital, providing they're (barely) medically stable.

It's not surprising that the term 'practising in isolation' is so prevalent in the language of Rural Medicine. I understand what you said on day one; "If you're not going to come back Rural, at least be a friendly ear at 2am when someone's trying to send you a patient from god knows where."

Thankyou for showing me the life of a Rural Doctor. And what makes a good one; Someone who will 'go into bat' for their patients. A doctor who takes the time and effort to advocate for his patients. We talked about how 'No one should care more about your health than you', but, gee, it makes it easier when your doc is opening all the doors for you.

My time in the bush was a mixture of many things; vital clinical lessons, long hours, genuine relaxation, challenges to my confidence, patients both delightful and truly infuriating, circumstances inviting pessimism gently tempered by genuine optimism and faith that, in the end, everything will be alright.

But, Dr Granite, most of all, I had the chance to work closely with a fine doctor, a genuinely caring person and a top bloke.

Thankyou.

It seems that the aims of the Third Year rotations are, in general, structured to teach you about more than clinical practice;

In Internal Medicine, we learned that medicine is hard work. We learned that there is a lot to know. That you need structure. That someone will always know more than you. That everyone has a story, and what's important to them, isn't always important to you as a treating clinician. Medicine teaches you that you can't ever know everything, but if you approach it in a systematic and thorough way, you'll pick up on most problems. And the more you know, the more likely you are to be a keen diagnostician. There is always more to know.

Rural Medicine is about dealing with isolation. Medicine is isolating by it's nature. Most people attempt to maintain 'N-Mends' (non-med friends), but as Med school heats up it's more challenging to make time. Rural medicine places you away from friends, away from peers, and in many cases, in a situation where it's challenging to make new friends. Sure, you integrate into a town by virtue of your role, but, at some point, you need to be able to relax. To take off the 'Doctor Hat', and just be. Rural medicine, I think, teaches you that you never stop being a doctor. To live with yourself. Just yourself. To cultivate and value relationships without face-to-face contact. To learn how to spend time alone, whether in the middle of the bush, or in the middle of the city, and how to truly reach out.

Psychiatry is about seeing the really intense, crazy stuff, and learning how to deal with it. Big, shocking events in other people's live that, if you were them, could shake you to your core. It teaches you how to raise your measure of 'crazy', so that you can survive a night in Emergency Medicine during Fourth year as well as the rest of your career.

Surgery teaches you that it's a boy's club. Medicine is an old-school profession, and, in many places, it's the hoops you jump through and the slurping you do that helps you climb the tree. It teaches you that no one ever knows enough anatomy. And that, if you let it, medicine can consume every waking hour of your life. Or, more positively, that good, diligent, hard work will make you better at your job. Especially if you do it for long, long hours.

General Practice teaches you to be a conductor. That to micromanage all your patients leads to poor health outcomes. It teaches you that you need to know when to ask, and that really, your number one dialogue will always be with the patient. It teaches you that medicine is a business, and no matter what the idealistic medical school teaches you, it's impossible to offer perfect, flawless patient care to a bazillion patients a day and still make both a living and have a life. It teaches you that to truly care for complex patients, a symphony will be far more successful than a one-man band.

I've made it back to The Coast after a long and relatively painful week in Australia's Beef Capital.

The company was most enjoyable, however some of the 'learning' which was undertaken was, quite frankly, a joke. Think Asthma Management videos from 2000 and CPR/Coronary Care from 2002; the best quote 'Those in the know call these events N-STEMIs.' Not helpful.

So anyway, I quite like long drives. It's a chance to listen to great music and have a good think. When it comes to 'Road Trips', they're an opportunity to share the driving, have absurd conversations and even take photos.

Driving, like anything else that requires concentration for hours at a go, is exhausting stuff. It always surprises me how wrecked I am the day after four hours behind the wheel.

Last year, I had a job 120 km away. I would arrive out there before 8am and return after 10pm; by the time I got how I would be exhausted, and would inevitably sleep in the next day. Most nights, I'd have a break. Run around the car. Drink too much water, turn the air/con to 15C.

I notice the crosses. There are many, but two always stick out. I used to speed past them, but one day, a Christmas day actually, traffic was thick and I ambled past. I read the name; Robbie. A few minutes up the road the next; Deano.

I could talk about how dangerous driving is, about how we shouldn't speed. And how driving tired costs lives. I could use lines like "Only a fool breaks the to-second rule", or "Keep Motorcycles in sight." I've been lucky on the roads, thus far. Others, not so much. Some crash. Some get back pain. Others, broken legs.

Some become crosses.

It's my last week in SQuIRT, and I've really enjoyed my time here. As I expected, it's dredged up a wee bit of the cynicism that is so ingrained in health care, especially regarding people's ability to disregard their own health. I remain optimistic that, with time and education, all people can care for themselves. It's certainly given me a new found respect for the distances people will travel to get good quality medical care, be it generalist or specialist. I think it's also helped me understand some of the pertinent issues within Australian Race Relations.

I'm not sure if I'll work rural as a JMO; it's not super-high on my list of career possibilities. There is, however, a rural relieving programme at some hospitals, and I'd relish the chance to work in this environment again, short term. The 'single doctor' town has some interesting strengths and weaknesses, but the opportunity to take full responsibility for patients, and the whole 'you or bust thing' certainly has a somewhat intimidating allure, for a brief time, anyway.

SQuIRT Airfield

Sky Scratchers, Queensland

Warning Light, SQuIRT Airfield

Ant Hill, Queensland

Shade at the Junk yard, SQuIRT

Ground Control

I'm over the swine 'flu. Not that I had it, of course, but it's been soaking up a little too much media time. I long for a good headline debate about indigenous health or the new MOD White Paper. Clearly I'm somewhat delusional in my expectations from the Traditional Media. Meantime, though, I'm going to weigh in with my own little swine 'flu scenario;

Over the weekend, UQMS held the annual May Ball. It's quite the even with over 1,600 Med Students and partners invited to attend. Of course, an event that size would be well impossible to hold. Luckily, there are enough students on far-distant placements and intra-med couples to hammer the numbers down. Balls aren't everyone's cup of tea, but still, it's a big event.

Within the Med School, there are quite a few students who work as lab scientists; Batman's one. I mentioned a few days ago that Batman was running the swine 'flu tests. A few others in the SOM work in the same or similar labs in the S.E Qld area. And, they're all testing for H1N1. Or is that H!N! - I forget. I got to thinking what could really happen...

It might turn out that all the panic is justified and the swine 'flu just melts through all the acres of PPE and other equipment surrounding it. It infects a few lab workers. Whatever.

But those workers are Med Students, and they go to the May Ball with a thousand other Med Students. They have good conversations, they work the room, shaking hands, kissing cheeks. And they infect everyone.

Unwittingly, the infected students head back to their rotations, some to rural hospitals, others to geriatrics wards, to EDs, paeds, the ORs... and ZAP!

Overnight, every hospital in Queensland has an outbreak of swine 'flu. People are dropping like flies, coughing and spluttering. The sum total of fevers actually contributes to global warming, and all the while the Public Health Docs are busting their chops to discover the origin of the outbreak.

Now that would be newsworthy.

So at some point over the last few weeks, SQuIRT has had their annual Show. For those non-antipodean among you, the Show is a County Fair. In addition to cattle and livestock shows, it's usually accompanied by riding competitions, a Show Ball and, if your town is really lucky, a sideshow alley.

SQuIRT doesn't get a sideshow alley, but it does have a ball. The main purpose of the event is to announce the Belle of the Ball, a.k.a Miss Showgirl. You might be somewhat skeptical about a Shire of only twelve hundred people holding a beauty pageant, and you'd be right.

The event had been well planned, and the large shed in which it was held was nicely decorated. All the blokes had their dinner suits out, except for the ten or so chaps in black jeans. It was obvious the town had made an effort. The announcer was a genial chap, typically red faced and well suited up, complete with a spotless Akubra. He stood on the dance floor, mic in hand and welcomed us to the premier event of the evening.

To enter the Miss Showgirl pageant, the entrant must be female, between the ages of eighteen and thirty, not and never married and can't have had any children. The requirments ruled out the vast majority of the Shire. And so, there were three entrants.

The first entrant worked at the local shop. She stepped nervously onto the dance floor and, from behind looked quite normal. She nodded to the announcer and turned to face the crowd. She was obviously a victim to both Queensland's poor record of water fluoridation, as well as her horse's hooves. Aside from her horrendous dental hygeine, she was quite presentable. She smiled. Everyone winced.

The announcer called the name of the second entrant. The stood up, and was immensely short. Her dress was not dissimilar to Deb's in Napoleon Dynamite, only a bit more eighties. The contestant waddled onto the dance floor. Man, she was short. And she had quite broad shoulders for her height, and quite a large head. Whilst grunting in response to the emcee's questions, she turned to face the audience. The person sitting next to me, also from out of town whispers what I was thinking... "Oh god... she's a dwarf."

The final contestant was warmly introduced. She had only recently moved to the Shire from country Victoria. I spotted her sitting, with her back to the dance floor, head turned towards the announcer. She had a nice blue fascinator, very Victorian Racing in style. She also had a strange shaped neck. It seemed to be quite, well, webbed. The announcer asked her to come onto stage, and it was clear that she was, well, listing to her right, from the hips up. The other Med Student present asks, in a harsh whisper "Is that Turner's syndrome?" The next town's doc says, gently, warmly, "No, no. She has Noonan Syndrome."

It's really nice that in a rural community, phenotypic mutations limit nobody.

Of course, the girl with the undamaged chromosomes won.

It seems that sometimes in the hectic world we need to find relaxation when we can. Sometimes that relaxation comes at the strangest times or in odd places.

A few weeks ago during pre-SQuIRT disOrientation, I had a most enjoyable lunch. Sitting on the grass, a cool breeze rustling the eucalyptus and dissuading the baking heat. It was out the front of a hospital, on lawn that doubles as a large a roundabout for patient drop-off. It was, summarily, serene.

The same kind of serenity seems to attach itself to early morning drives to the hospital. There's a sugar-cane plain between my digs and Coastal Hospital and, just as the sun rises behind me and the dew melts away, the road ticks along awindingly, and my music plays something fresh to start the day.

One of the strangest places I've had that relaxed feeling was at the Hanoi Maternity Hospital. I'd been across the road at the surgical hospital for a few weeks and was well into the swing of things. I'd transferred to the Maternity Hospital for a week to see what it was like. I'd shown up and been quickly befriended by the anesthetist, who was showing me around. I'd been in scrubs for about 30sec. We turned a corner, and the guy does a wee jump and says "Follow me. A baby soon." And we're inside the OR. The mother on the table is quiet, her abdomen stretched wide. She's the only one in the room who's not speaking. The surgeon is digging doggedly into her distended abdomen. There's blood on the drapes. And the floor. And the surgeon. The nurses are toey. One is holding the cloths for the newborn. She's hopping from foot to foot. We stand in the corner of the room. It is a hive, nurses rushing around, surgeon speaking calmly but firmly. Suction going. Some more liquid oozes out. The mother gasps. The nurses eyes bug out of their heads, and "POP!", the baby emerges, suspended upside down from the surgeon's gloves.

Everyone waits for what seems an eternity.

The baby cries. The baby screams. The nurse reaches forward with the swaddle. the surgeon leans back on his heels and breathes deep. The mother is shown her baby. "Let's go." says the anesthetist quickly and quietly, and we step outside. Under my mask, I can't stop smiling.