iCook: (5) Flourless oatmeal cookies.


Original recipe is from foodnetwork.com. I improvised a lighter version; this makes around 70 cookies, 60 calories per each.

Capture

Copyrights: The accidental Blog. 2014.

Ingredients:

- 450 grams oat flakes.
– 2 large eggs.
– 175 grams unsalted butter.
– Around 1/4 cup flaxseed oil. (I think you may omit this one to save calories).
– 1/2 cup sugar (better be brown).
– 2 scoops whey protein.
– Skim milk to soften the dough (because I used half the butter in the original recipe).
– 1 tsp baking powder.
– 2 tsp vanilla extract.
– 1 tsp ground cinnamon.
– 1/8 tsp salt.

Directions:

1. Spread the oats in a baking tray and roast in the oven until golden.

2. Grind about 3/4 the oats together with the baking powder, salt and cinnamon.

3. In a bowl, mix the butter and oil with sugar and whey until smooth in consistency.

4. In another bowl whip the eggs and vanilla.

5. Add the eggs to the butter mixture and mix until smooth.

6. Gradually add the ground oats and mix until smooth.

7. Add the 1/4 of oats you didn’t grind and mix.

8. You will see the dough is getting tough, add few drops of skim milk until you get the right consistency.

9. Shape the dough into medium-sized cookies, and align them on an oven tray or whatever and bake in 200°C for about 12 minutes or until they become golden.

10. Enjoy the yumminess! ;)

iRead: (10) Great Expectations.


N oSource: Google images.

I’m happy that my first encounter with this book was years after high school, for most of the teens I know seem to have tossed the book away, unaware of the literary treasures lying in underneath its words.

Although its narrative, by shallow inspection, isn’t the most engaging, the plot structure is probably one of the richest and the deepest I have ever explored. I can never say the story was boring, because I often was driven to consider different possibilities. And though some twists were solemnly based on mere coincidences, Dickens succeeded in keeping me guessing until the very end.

The themes are timeless; you don’t need to live in the Victorian era to conclude that everybody has a little Pip lingering inside them in varying degrees, longing for a more fortunate life and seeking affection, and a better social class. When it comes to symbols, I find using the “misty marshes” and the “Satis House” very brilliant. You can easily find that each character, symbolized something crucial as well.

Worthy to mention, I felt at many points how pathetic Pip’s fondness of Estella was, for instance when he says:

“Whatever her tone with me happened to be, I could put no trust in it, and build no hope on it; and yet I went on against trust and against hope.”
Also:
“Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation, I associate you only with the good; and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!”
 ***
And finally, as a personal criterion of how touching a story is, I spent the last four chapters weeping. Yes, this is how I know a book deserves 5 stars.
 888
Please join the book discussion on The Bookaholic Nation.

Attention, book lovers!


Earlier this year, I created a book club group on Facebook.  However, only my friends joined and we all were too busy to commit. Now using my cousin’s help, we have revived and expanded our deserted book club into a full, running blog.
Please help us grow by following  and sharing!
:)

Click this photo to open the blog.

Untitled-2

Happy trinniversary!


image

Three years have passed since the most fortunate accident in my writing life. I’m so grateful for all the time you took to browse the rubbish I throw up in here. :) :D

White-coated ramblings: (7) Death happens.


Source: Google images.

Ever since my first shift at Internal Medicine rotation, I’ve accustomed myself to the fact that people die all the time; Internal Medicine  wards are the terminal station for the chronically ill, and I came to believe that Death lives in there. But I have always dreaded the moment I would witness someone die. It happened today.

In an Egyptian governmental hospital, It’s always the same scenario; relatives insanely knock your door asking you to come see the patient because he had “fallen silent”. He was an 80-something man with multi-system issues, and his pulse had gone unpalpable. My heart sank. My shift had almost ended, and I was there, on my own. He was on a wheelchair. Some worker should move him to a trolly so we rush him to the ER while I start CPR, but nobody was there. There’s only one working elevator at the floor that serves doctors, patients, and their relatives, so when arrests happen, you have to run to that one elevator and knock heavily shouting “arrest!” in order to get it as fast as possible. Meanwhile, the patient was still on the wheelchair, pulseless.

He got to the ER on the wheelchair, and CPR was started only when we moved him to a bed at the arrest room. I was afraid perhaps he would die because I was too slow, but then after all, I was on my own, and I did all it took to rush him there. Things get easier at the ER, at least there are residents with more experience than a lonely house officer.

“It’s too late, let him die in peace.” The resident said after multiple cycles of resuscitation.I froze.

“Wait, there’s pulse, he came back!” Said the nurse. He did come back, and I wanted to hug him for that. I think I was the only one in the room who was very thankful. To be honest, a part of me didn’t want him to die in my shift.

Then he had gone once again, we resuscitated. He came back again, but then he had gone for good.

And there I stood, facing a dead man in a room full of people who bore no emotion for him. I don’t know why I held his hand for a moment, but I kept staring at him, a part of me hoping for another comeback, and the other part relieved it was finally over. An eerie feeling. But then, this is life, and death happens.

Dumb Ways to Die!


This is hilariously sick, and somehow cute!

iRead: (9) On writing.


Source: Goodreads.

“Some of this book—perhaps too much—has been about how I learned to do it. Much of it has been about how you can do it better. The rest of it—and perhaps the best of it—is a permission slip: you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.” – Stephen King.

This book is a winning deal! Very handy and concise. Not only does it outline very crucial tips on writing, but also help you apply them. I couldn’t stop highlighting!

What I loved most was Stephen King’s personal touch; before discussing the essentials of writing, he had to tell us what he went through on his way as a best seller, and how it made him who he now is. He received tens of rejections (if not hundreds), he had drinking problems (actually was an alcoholic and cocaine addict), and experienced a near-death tragedy. Also, most importantly, he acknowledged his wife’s support!

I’m in no need to say that each and every tip in this book is an extract of years of hard work and is worth following. After all, I do trust the King! ;)

White-coated ramblings: (6) The devil wears a white gown!


Previously in “white-coated ramblings”:

“Let’s just state the fact that crying kids are my least favorite creatures. Sick-screaming kids, on the other hand, are my personal imagination of an alien master plot to dominate earth.”

Okay, now it turns out sick kids are the sweetest creatures ever existed, because when it comes to women in labor, well… that’s what I believe is the core of all villainy!

You think I’m exaggerating? No sir! Try having a 12-hour shift at a room with a minimum of 6 women, each one screams her guts out, each one begs and pleads “I can’t!”, “Stop it!”, “Oh God!” or “I need an analgesic!”, and each one is being yelled at to shut the hell up! I have no idea how they manage to synchronize their screams! And you’re supposed, amid  all this chaos, to think and function. You have to measure their blood pressure, pulse, and temperature every hour (by the time you’re done, the next hour has already begun), you have to obtain blood samples, insert cannulae in these demons, and you have to watch how every uterine contraction is transmitted into a complex facial expression of severe agony!

And then comes the “PUSH” phase. Oh, did I mention how giving birth is painfully disgusting??

It’s been a month, and I’ve taken shifts almost everyday. My circadian rhythm is doomed for good, and my caffeine dependence has turned into addiction. So can’t we  just accept that women in white gowns are devils in disguise?!

Source: Google images.

White-coated ramblings: (5) It pays off, doesn’t it?!


Breaking news: I got my first ever salary today!

But do you know how much an Egyptian fresh-graduate doctor makes monthly?

257 Egyptian pounds; that makes 36.11 dollars! Yes, I’m a doctor, but our maid makes triple my salary!

But it was never about the money, was it? *Sighs*

That’s for 2 months!

White-coated ramblings: (4) I just need to whine..


image

Oh how I hate this place!

You can be an ***hole, and you can be an Ob/Gyn resident, but I repeat myself!

Well, everybody hates Ob/Gyn rounds. It’s not just the heavy work and floods of patients, it’s also just about everything else you can imagine. I’ve been only 2 weeks through and I’ve never been so miserable!

For starters, you have like 20 twelve-hour shifts per month. Although ERs are closed until further notice (nobody knows why, probably for political reasons), the lack of patients’ flow doesn’t exempt you from being there. You just have to show up everyday to do some lame tasks and bear with all the crap and nonsense your residents come up with. You’re not allowed to leave until the last minute of your shift, why? Because residents say so! You have to put up with their vulgarity and rudeness, because there is no other way.

The only achievement I can count is crossing “scrub in” off my bucket list. Yet, surprisingly, I haven’t found any thrill in surgeries; it’s too boring! I have to say I haven’t learnt a thing so far, and I dread the moment I go home because it means tomorrow’s coming and I’ll have to go back again. Yes, I’m that miserable!

Source: Google images.