Fat Medical Volunteers. An exercise (haha) in futility. So, I've got my clinical skills exam coming up, and the faculty's arranged for some patients to come down to the clinic to give the students  some much needed practice. And man, do we need it.  Anyway, we're doing fine - mostly sweet old ladies, and gruff older gents who are so kind and understanding that you're almost too scared to poke and prod them like you're supposed to. The pool of volunteers operates on rotation, and our patient patients get swapped out every half hour or so.  The whistle blows, and our grandmother and grandfather pair leave, and allows the next rotation to come in. So in plods this butch looking hambeast. She's not quite a tumblrist but she's got the look down pat. Neon red highlights on her graying hair, problem glasses, checkered shirt that doesn't fit and I shit you not, a fucking mustache. We all know that hormone imbalance is rampant in hamplanets, but that combined with menopause seems to have done a number on this eatbeast.  Already, the room goes quiet. But of course, the worst is yet to come.  The old cow is hitched. She announces that her husband will be late because he " Is having a tummy upset. "  Which translates to, as I would soon find out, explosive diarrhea.  Turns out the pair ate their way through the refreshments laid out for the volunteers.  And needless to say, we didn't have fun. The husband plods in eventually, and surprisingly, he's smaller than his cow. Small squashed face, red bulbous nose - alcohol (with a wife like this, who wouldn't), pot belly and milquetoast like you wouldn't believe. It was obvious who wore the pants int he relationship. So he walks over meekly to his cow, and we introduce ourselves to each other.  The supervisor pokes her head into the room and tells us she wants us to do a cardiology examination for the two.  This means, we'll need to get the shirts off the two. Not good thoughts.  They grumble about it, but they eventually oblige; and damn, that was the stuff of nightmares.  Tumblrcow had lingerie on a, black, lacy, frilly bra that would have looked sexy on a lady 30 years younger and 100kg lighter. The damn thing sagged all the way to her belt line, and when she walked, they sort of flopped around despondently, like a depressed pair of hippos. I had to lift one of them up to get a stethoscope to the mitral valve, and it had the consistency of unrisen bread dough.   Her husband, was about fucking same. Manboobs down to the navel, covered in coarse, sweaty hair - some of which got stuck to my precious stethoscope.  So we poked them for twenty minutes, and these two couldn't keep still. Listen for murmurs is hard enough in a healthy patient, let alone fidgeting fatties whose every breath wobbled 20kg of fat, and all four students tried, and failed. The supervisor came into give it a go, and she couldn't get them so sit and breath deeply without making gurgling sounds like deflating puffer fish.  Then they get huffy, because the supervisor offered to get some other volunteers in for our practice because these two are so bad that even she, a fully licensed GP, can't make heads or tails of both their heart's tortured screams.  All in all, nothing learned.  Went for bathroom break after. Bathroom had only one stall. Came out traumatized. Thanks, you fucking Ham. You deserve to be married to your hamcow.