Or,
Whether tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous med school, or to take up arms against a sea of troubles and, by dropping out, end them.
Last night, a trio of med students was gathered in a study room, attempting to scale the precipitous slopes of Mount Pharmacology. Frustrated by his lack of progress up the sheer face of that peak, S--- turned to his friend K--- and asked if she ever wondered if med school was worth it. K--- replied that she often wondered if med school is worth it on a global level--whether doctors, as a group, really need to go through this demeaning process in order to become skilled physicians. I think she's got a point, but trying to reimagine the entire medical education and training system is well beyond the scope of this blog. S--- clarified that he meant it in a more personal way. Did she ever wonder if it was worth it for her? K--- said something that I've thought many times: I really look forward to being a doctor, and I think I'll be a good one, but med school sucks. S---, apparently, has more doubts about whether this whole ordeal is worth it. He often wonders whether he will actually reap rewards as great as the magnitude of our current suffering.
Med school is a massive investment--financially, emotionally, time-wise. In the American system, it requires students to give up $200,000+ and four years during the prime of our lives. Med school means a whole lot of dreams get deferred and all your gratification is majorly delayed. We probably won't know for another 20+ years whether our investment paid off. But we still need to be able to reassure ourselves in our dark moments that it is worth it. If there's a possibility that our effort's won't pay off, then maybe shouldn't we be thinking about dropping out to pursue a different dream?
Sometimes, I think about how easy it would be to get some dayjob for which I am ridiculously overqualified. I could earn enough to pay the rent, to pay for food, to pay for a life in which I'm unburdened of the med school stress-albatross. I could have a real social life, have hobbies, could enjoy the cheap, normal things which I love but don't have time for: cooking, reading, writing, art projects. I could work retail, or get some office job. I was a hell of a lot happier being the copy-and-file bitch who hung out with her friends after work and wasn't rich but had no problem paying the bills, than I am being stressed, broke, and lonely.
See? It's easy to start spinning out these alternate scenarios in which life is simpler, easier, happier. But then I remember that I'm already massively in debt. No way could I afford that life anymore, not while also paying off my loans. Not in this economy. So, I stick around. Because I have no other choice.
It sounds a little fatalistic to suggest that anyone should become a doctor out of lack of other options. But it is also true, in a bigger way than might be immediately evident. I thought about all this before I was in prohibitively deep debt. I had a few weeks of mini-crisis before first year started during which I questioned my decision to attend medical school. I wasn't positive this was the right thing for me to do, and I felt it was my last chance to make a clean break--to get out before I got in over my head. I made an active choice then (or was it actually passive? Who knows.) that the MD thing was my only option.
Like many other people out there, I've long had fantasies of becoming a rockstar. True, I'm not a very good singer; I was never going to be the next Kelly Clarkson, or Matthew Bellamy, or even Julian Casablancas. But I am a musician. If I had felt compelled to pursue music in any sort of serious way, I could have. I love music, I love playing, I love performing. My parents would have supported me (I actually think my mom's a little disappointed that I didn't become a profesisonal musician). I've got a bit of talent; certainly enough to make some kind of career in music if I had any real determination. But I wasn't determined. I never joined a band or started one, I never tried to write a single song. I never let myself try because the prospect of failure overpowered my minimal ambition.
It's the same with writing. I love to write, and I have made it a major focus of my academic and personal life. Yet I never wrote for the school paper or did any other resume-building activities. I went out on a limb for my writing a little more often than I did for my music: I entered contests here and there (I never won). I cared enough to risk rejection every once in a while, but I never went the extra mile. I never made a real go of it, never put my theoretical desire to be a Writer to the test.
I am arguably better-suited to being a musician or essayist than I am to being a doctor. I am definitely a better performer and writer than I am a med student. I have some natural talent in music and letters, and I enjoy them a whole lot. On the other hand, I am an organizational disaster with no study skills who gets zero pleasure out of the academic rat race. And yet, I've chosen to attend med school.
Despite the fact that it is, in the short term, so much more challenging, and less rewarding, I have decided to sink huge sums of (borrowed) money and years of my life into the pursuit of an MD. The threat of failure looms large, and the consequences if I fail are gigantic. The simple fact that I persevere in the face of all that must mean that this is what I really want. During those panicky weeks leading up to the start of first year, I had the option to not go to medical school and instead pursue some other career. My parents would have been totally cool with that. I did not get a retail job, though. I did not start taking guitar lessons (my primary instrument, the flute, is not very rock 'n roll), I did not apply for jobs at magazines, or try to get my foot in the door at a publishing house. Instead, I took the path of most resistance. I must have done so because medicine is my truest, strongest ambition. I must have chosen med school because deep down I know that it is worth it.
Right?
Either that, or I'm a masochist.
Still, you can't but help but occasionally get sidetracked down a path of wishful thinking, dreaming of what could have been. In the words of the immortal Skee-Lo, "I wish I was a little bit taller. I wish I was a baller. I wish I had a girl who looked good; I would call her. I wish I had a rabbit in a hat with a bat and a '64 Impala."
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
From Forth the Fatal Loins of These Two PhD's
or, Blame It On Your P-p-p-p-p-pa-a-rents.
Some of our professors like to pander to the humanities-oriented students in the class by offering "culture dollars" to students who can answer questions about cultural correlates to the medical topics we're studying. We recently covered ethanol (a.k.a "alcohol," "spirits," "booze," "crunk juice") in Pharmacology class. By way of introducing the effects of ETOH, our professor offered a dollar to the first person who could identify the source of the following speech. He began to read:
"Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things..."
I threw up my hand into the air, having immediately recognized the "great equivocator" speech by the porter in Macbeth. The professor continued,
"Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes
the desire, but it takes away the performance..."
At this point, I had both my hands in the air. So true, what he says about provoking the desire and taking away the performance--take note, boys. The professor continued, undistracted by my antics,
"There-
I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to stretch my hand higher. I was jumping up and down in my seat like Hermione. I was going red in the face and my classmates were starting to crack up at the spectacle of me.
Finally, the professor looked up from the page and, seeing as I was bright red and jumping around like someone in the throws of a generalized tonic-clonic seizure, had no choice but to call on me. I verily shouted out the answer with glee. MACBETH! I was acting like an ass, and I knew it, but I didn't care. I'm generally pretty acclimated to the feeling of acting a damn fool, and of course $1 is a nontrivial amount of cash monays for a med student. But that wasn't why I was so excited. I was psyched because I knew something! I knew it faster than anyone else, and I was positive that had the right answer. What a strange and lovely feeling-- feeling knowledgeable, confident, like I really had something to contribute to a classroom conversation.
I know that speech so well because my mother, who teaches English, has taught Macbeth every year for the past foreverandahalf. Every spring, she immerses herself--and by extension our whole household--in that world of witches' prophecies and murderous soliloquies and thanes descending upon Dunsinane. When she's not spouting direct quotes, she's speaking in inadvertent iambic pentameter.
In my family, when you're trying to make plans the question is, "When shall we three meet again? (In thunder, lightning or in rain?)" When you are really stinky after a workout, you might proclaim that "all the perfumes of arabia" could not wash the smell of BO out of your pits. Shooing the dog out the door, you might yell, "Out, out, damn Spot!" I can't count how many times someone's joked about "all my little chickens in one swell foop." Get it? It's funny cause it's a Shakesperian spoonerism! Yeah, it's not really funny to anybody else. Le sigh.
But what I'm trying to get at is this: I know Macbeth inside and out not because I was an English major (though I was) but because I grew up immersed in it. It is a major part of how my family communicates. If my parents had been doctors instead of teachers would I have that same kind of intimacy with the language of medicine? Do physiology and pharmacology feel as familiar to doctors' kids as the comedies and tragedies do to me? I've never read Henry V, but I know that sending tennis balls to the king of England is a major dis (Tennis balls, my liege?! Oh, snap.). I've never read Richard III but I can tell you which son of York it was who turned the winter of our discontent into glorious summer.
Nepotism is rampant around here. A quick survey of my colleagues' genealogies shows that MDs beget MDs. I find myself resenting my classmates whose parents are physicians. When mommy and daddy are both succesful surgeons, you sure as hell don't have to worry about taking out loans or sticking to an ascetic budget. And there might be more pressure for those kids to pursue a career in medicine, but I bet there is also a lot more understanding of what that pursuit entails. Setting all that aside, though, I wonder if there's another advantage to being doctor-spawn that I haven't previously considered. I mean, these kids essentially began their medical education at birth--how can that not put them ten steps ahead of my word-nerd ass?
Growing up in my house, there was a strong emphasis put on being well-read and well-spoken. It was important to my parents that I got a superb education, especially in language and literature. We cannot discount the influence of that environment not only on my choice of English as my college major but also on my ability to easily excel in that course of study. In ways both subtle and explicit I was raised to be a reader, a writer, a repository of quotations and trivia. I subsequently breezed through my college English classes feeling confident and competent. My teachers agreed; I was a natural, and I was usually at the top of the class, even as a freshwoman. Meanwhile, I was struggling in my science courses. I knew how to be a great English student, I knew how to speak the language of literary criticism, but I felt awkward and stupid in Chemistry. I always felt like I was missing something, like I couldn't put it all together into a coherent understand of Science. I didn't have a built-in context for biochem the way I did for, say, the development of the short story. I knew how to skim a too-long novel, and how to write a paper on a book that I hadn't finished. I didn't have any tricks or shortcuts through Chemistry, however. I had to start at the beginning, and slog through to the very end without really knowing where I was going.
I wonder how much easier pre-med classes might have been had I been raised by scientists rather than a pair of bookworms.
This is not to criticize my parents in the least. They're pretty fab, in my opinion. But I have found it really easy to fall into holes of endless self-criticism and self-doubt as I face the challenges of med school. I feel stupid and lazy and inadequate a lot of the time even though I was heretofore a very intellectually confident student. I ask myself, Why can't I seem to do this? What's wrong with me? Why does it seem to be so much harder for me to get the hang of all this? Have I just been getting steadily dumber since I left high school? Did all that college partying really kill my brain cells? And maybe part of the answer to those self-flagellating questions lie in the multitude of subtle but important ways that growing up in a family of medical professionals prepares you for medical school.
I think it's worth taking a look at the ways that each student's background affects her as she approaches medical education. It's a lot more than just your SES and college major that defines how you've been prepared to face this academic behemoth.
Some of our professors like to pander to the humanities-oriented students in the class by offering "culture dollars" to students who can answer questions about cultural correlates to the medical topics we're studying. We recently covered ethanol (a.k.a "alcohol," "spirits," "booze," "crunk juice") in Pharmacology class. By way of introducing the effects of ETOH, our professor offered a dollar to the first person who could identify the source of the following speech. He began to read:
"Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things..."
I threw up my hand into the air, having immediately recognized the "great equivocator" speech by the porter in Macbeth. The professor continued,
"Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes
the desire, but it takes away the performance..."
At this point, I had both my hands in the air. So true, what he says about provoking the desire and taking away the performance--take note, boys. The professor continued, undistracted by my antics,
"There-
I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to stretch my hand higher. I was jumping up and down in my seat like Hermione. I was going red in the face and my classmates were starting to crack up at the spectacle of me.
Finally, the professor looked up from the page and, seeing as I was bright red and jumping around like someone in the throws of a generalized tonic-clonic seizure, had no choice but to call on me. I verily shouted out the answer with glee. MACBETH! I was acting like an ass, and I knew it, but I didn't care. I'm generally pretty acclimated to the feeling of acting a damn fool, and of course $1 is a nontrivial amount of cash monays for a med student. But that wasn't why I was so excited. I was psyched because I knew something! I knew it faster than anyone else, and I was positive that had the right answer. What a strange and lovely feeling-- feeling knowledgeable, confident, like I really had something to contribute to a classroom conversation.
I know that speech so well because my mother, who teaches English, has taught Macbeth every year for the past foreverandahalf. Every spring, she immerses herself--and by extension our whole household--in that world of witches' prophecies and murderous soliloquies and thanes descending upon Dunsinane. When she's not spouting direct quotes, she's speaking in inadvertent iambic pentameter.
In my family, when you're trying to make plans the question is, "When shall we three meet again? (In thunder, lightning or in rain?)" When you are really stinky after a workout, you might proclaim that "all the perfumes of arabia" could not wash the smell of BO out of your pits. Shooing the dog out the door, you might yell, "Out, out, damn Spot!" I can't count how many times someone's joked about "all my little chickens in one swell foop." Get it? It's funny cause it's a Shakesperian spoonerism! Yeah, it's not really funny to anybody else. Le sigh.
But what I'm trying to get at is this: I know Macbeth inside and out not because I was an English major (though I was) but because I grew up immersed in it. It is a major part of how my family communicates. If my parents had been doctors instead of teachers would I have that same kind of intimacy with the language of medicine? Do physiology and pharmacology feel as familiar to doctors' kids as the comedies and tragedies do to me? I've never read Henry V, but I know that sending tennis balls to the king of England is a major dis (Tennis balls, my liege?! Oh, snap.). I've never read Richard III but I can tell you which son of York it was who turned the winter of our discontent into glorious summer.
Nepotism is rampant around here. A quick survey of my colleagues' genealogies shows that MDs beget MDs. I find myself resenting my classmates whose parents are physicians. When mommy and daddy are both succesful surgeons, you sure as hell don't have to worry about taking out loans or sticking to an ascetic budget. And there might be more pressure for those kids to pursue a career in medicine, but I bet there is also a lot more understanding of what that pursuit entails. Setting all that aside, though, I wonder if there's another advantage to being doctor-spawn that I haven't previously considered. I mean, these kids essentially began their medical education at birth--how can that not put them ten steps ahead of my word-nerd ass?
Growing up in my house, there was a strong emphasis put on being well-read and well-spoken. It was important to my parents that I got a superb education, especially in language and literature. We cannot discount the influence of that environment not only on my choice of English as my college major but also on my ability to easily excel in that course of study. In ways both subtle and explicit I was raised to be a reader, a writer, a repository of quotations and trivia. I subsequently breezed through my college English classes feeling confident and competent. My teachers agreed; I was a natural, and I was usually at the top of the class, even as a freshwoman. Meanwhile, I was struggling in my science courses. I knew how to be a great English student, I knew how to speak the language of literary criticism, but I felt awkward and stupid in Chemistry. I always felt like I was missing something, like I couldn't put it all together into a coherent understand of Science. I didn't have a built-in context for biochem the way I did for, say, the development of the short story. I knew how to skim a too-long novel, and how to write a paper on a book that I hadn't finished. I didn't have any tricks or shortcuts through Chemistry, however. I had to start at the beginning, and slog through to the very end without really knowing where I was going.
I wonder how much easier pre-med classes might have been had I been raised by scientists rather than a pair of bookworms.
This is not to criticize my parents in the least. They're pretty fab, in my opinion. But I have found it really easy to fall into holes of endless self-criticism and self-doubt as I face the challenges of med school. I feel stupid and lazy and inadequate a lot of the time even though I was heretofore a very intellectually confident student. I ask myself, Why can't I seem to do this? What's wrong with me? Why does it seem to be so much harder for me to get the hang of all this? Have I just been getting steadily dumber since I left high school? Did all that college partying really kill my brain cells? And maybe part of the answer to those self-flagellating questions lie in the multitude of subtle but important ways that growing up in a family of medical professionals prepares you for medical school.
I think it's worth taking a look at the ways that each student's background affects her as she approaches medical education. It's a lot more than just your SES and college major that defines how you've been prepared to face this academic behemoth.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Pass/Fail
When deciding which medical school you might want to go to, consider each school's grading system. Most schools have some kind of "Pass/Fail" system. At many schools, this means that they've replaced letter grades A, B, C, and D with Honors, High Pass, Pass, Fail. Which is like relabeling lard as "all-natural organic butter alternative!"
At some schools, students enjoy a true Pass/Fail system, which means your final grade in each course is either a P or a(n) F. Nowhere on your transcript does it say what your final exam score was, whether it was above or below the mean. It doesn't matter whether you barely passed or got the highest score in the class, all that anyone sees is a "P." Or, you know, an F. :/
P/F reduces stress and makes life more manageable. A,B,C,D and its many variations mean that there will be constant pressure to stay on your toes, to never fall behind, and to compete with your classmates as well as your own inertia.
Here's a scenario: You have two exams in the next 10 days. In Class A, you're maintaining an average in the low 90's, you find the material relatively easy, and you've been doing well on all the problem sets. In Class B, you barely passed the last midterm, and you're pretty sure your professor thinks that you're mildly retarded. With a pass/fail system, you can feel good about putting all of your efforts into making sure that you pass both your classes. You do what you have to do, which in this case probably means you spend 9 days poring over Class B's material until your eyes bleed, and skimming Class A's the night before the test. Of course, you want to learn as much as you can, and you'll need to learn it all for the boards later and for medical practice, blah blah blah. Whatever. Failing sucks, and a pass is a pass. Ideally, we'd all learn everything and be able to ace every exam. In reality, some stuff will always fall through the cracks. You can keep your transcript pristine and full of P's by budgeting your time and efforts to make sure that your grades are always good enough. You do the best you can, you learn as much as possible, and then you move on. As we like to say, P = MD.
P/F means that getting the flu a week before the final so you're too sick to study but not so sick that they'll let you postpone your test date doesn't mean you have to make excuses for your low grade when you're applying to residency three years later. It means that your transcript doesn't have to reflect those two weeks after you got dumped when you skipped class to eat Haagen-Dazs and watch all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I'm a big proponent of P/F for the first two years of med school. It just makes life better. When you're comparing schools, you should definitely look into what kind of grading system they employ and think about how it will affect your day-to-day life as a student.
P = MD. Learn it, live it, love it.
At some schools, students enjoy a true Pass/Fail system, which means your final grade in each course is either a P or a(n) F. Nowhere on your transcript does it say what your final exam score was, whether it was above or below the mean. It doesn't matter whether you barely passed or got the highest score in the class, all that anyone sees is a "P." Or, you know, an F. :/
P/F reduces stress and makes life more manageable. A,B,C,D and its many variations mean that there will be constant pressure to stay on your toes, to never fall behind, and to compete with your classmates as well as your own inertia.
Here's a scenario: You have two exams in the next 10 days. In Class A, you're maintaining an average in the low 90's, you find the material relatively easy, and you've been doing well on all the problem sets. In Class B, you barely passed the last midterm, and you're pretty sure your professor thinks that you're mildly retarded. With a pass/fail system, you can feel good about putting all of your efforts into making sure that you pass both your classes. You do what you have to do, which in this case probably means you spend 9 days poring over Class B's material until your eyes bleed, and skimming Class A's the night before the test. Of course, you want to learn as much as you can, and you'll need to learn it all for the boards later and for medical practice, blah blah blah. Whatever. Failing sucks, and a pass is a pass. Ideally, we'd all learn everything and be able to ace every exam. In reality, some stuff will always fall through the cracks. You can keep your transcript pristine and full of P's by budgeting your time and efforts to make sure that your grades are always good enough. You do the best you can, you learn as much as possible, and then you move on. As we like to say, P = MD.
P/F means that getting the flu a week before the final so you're too sick to study but not so sick that they'll let you postpone your test date doesn't mean you have to make excuses for your low grade when you're applying to residency three years later. It means that your transcript doesn't have to reflect those two weeks after you got dumped when you skipped class to eat Haagen-Dazs and watch all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I'm a big proponent of P/F for the first two years of med school. It just makes life better. When you're comparing schools, you should definitely look into what kind of grading system they employ and think about how it will affect your day-to-day life as a student.
P = MD. Learn it, live it, love it.
How do you like it?
It's a seemingly innocuous conversation starter: "So, I hear you're in med school now. How do you like it?" People ask me this all the freaking time. I try to come up with a different clever deflection every time, because there's no real answer to that question--at least not a good one.
How do I like it? I don't like it at all today. Yesterday, it didn't really interfere with my life, so I guess I liked it just fine. But let's get one thing straight: med school isn't something you like. It is not an inherently pleasurable experience. You're not supposed to like it. Med school is something you do because of the places it can take you. It is important, educational, challenging; it'll force you to grow and change in lots of way, it'll open doors, allow you brave new insights into the human condition, give you huge privileges and responsibilities, but it certainly isn't fun most of the time.
The school-student relationship is a complicated one. I have many mixed feelings about school-- and feelings about those feelings, and feelings about how much time I waste having FEELINGS when really I should be studying. The best way I can describe it is like this: Going to med school is like having a really hot girlfriend who is batshit insane.
She doesn't let you hang out with your friends, and they all complain about how every since you two got together they never see you anymore and even when they do see you you're just not as much fun as you used to be. You need time away from your needy, high-maintenance girl, but whenever you're apart from her you're constantly stressing; you know she'll punish you for these precious moments of alone time. She can be vindictive when you don't pay her enough attention. You stay with her because she's really hot, and because you're kind of in over your head. The idea of breaking up with her makes you break out in a cold sweat--that could go so wrong in so many awful ways. But at some point you realize that she's kind of mean to you most of the time, and yeah, okay, she's really hot but she doesn't even put out very often. You ask yourself, "Self, why the fuck am I still with this crazy bitch?!" But then you buy flowers on the way home cause you feel bad for even thinking bad thoughts about her. She's your girlfriend. You love her. Even if she doesn't love you back.
Of course, that metaphor falls apart because you graduate from medical school with a degree that empowers you to become a doctor: a useful, well-respected, well-paid, productive member of society. Theoretically, that's what makes the mild atrocities of med school worth it. In my humble opinion, being dead sexy does not make a emotionally abusive girlfriend 'worth it.' Break up with that ho; you can do better.
Some days, I dream of breaking up with med school. But most of the time I know that this will all be worth it some day. And frankly, I can't do better. This is the only career I want to marry. (Well, ok, if I could sing like Kelly Clarkson I would say "Fuck med school!" and become a rockstar at the first opportunity. But I'm not going to die a spinster waiting for Brad to dump Angelina and I'm not going to wait tables while I wait for my singing voice to magically stop sounding like Carrot Top's imitation of a drowning cat.)
You know who really understood the med school-med student relationship? The Offspring.
"...Now I know I'm being used
But that's okay man cause I like the abuse
I know she's playing with me
But that's okay cause I've got no self esteem
...
When she's saying, oh that she wants only me
Then I wonder why she sleeps with my friends
When she saying, oh that I'm like a disease
Then I wonder how much more I can stand
Well I guess, I should stick up for myself
But I really think it's better this way
The more you suffer
The more it shows you really care
Right? Yeah!"
How do I like it? I don't like it at all today. Yesterday, it didn't really interfere with my life, so I guess I liked it just fine. But let's get one thing straight: med school isn't something you like. It is not an inherently pleasurable experience. You're not supposed to like it. Med school is something you do because of the places it can take you. It is important, educational, challenging; it'll force you to grow and change in lots of way, it'll open doors, allow you brave new insights into the human condition, give you huge privileges and responsibilities, but it certainly isn't fun most of the time.
The school-student relationship is a complicated one. I have many mixed feelings about school-- and feelings about those feelings, and feelings about how much time I waste having FEELINGS when really I should be studying. The best way I can describe it is like this: Going to med school is like having a really hot girlfriend who is batshit insane.
She doesn't let you hang out with your friends, and they all complain about how every since you two got together they never see you anymore and even when they do see you you're just not as much fun as you used to be. You need time away from your needy, high-maintenance girl, but whenever you're apart from her you're constantly stressing; you know she'll punish you for these precious moments of alone time. She can be vindictive when you don't pay her enough attention. You stay with her because she's really hot, and because you're kind of in over your head. The idea of breaking up with her makes you break out in a cold sweat--that could go so wrong in so many awful ways. But at some point you realize that she's kind of mean to you most of the time, and yeah, okay, she's really hot but she doesn't even put out very often. You ask yourself, "Self, why the fuck am I still with this crazy bitch?!" But then you buy flowers on the way home cause you feel bad for even thinking bad thoughts about her. She's your girlfriend. You love her. Even if she doesn't love you back.
Of course, that metaphor falls apart because you graduate from medical school with a degree that empowers you to become a doctor: a useful, well-respected, well-paid, productive member of society. Theoretically, that's what makes the mild atrocities of med school worth it. In my humble opinion, being dead sexy does not make a emotionally abusive girlfriend 'worth it.' Break up with that ho; you can do better.
Some days, I dream of breaking up with med school. But most of the time I know that this will all be worth it some day. And frankly, I can't do better. This is the only career I want to marry. (Well, ok, if I could sing like Kelly Clarkson I would say "Fuck med school!" and become a rockstar at the first opportunity. But I'm not going to die a spinster waiting for Brad to dump Angelina and I'm not going to wait tables while I wait for my singing voice to magically stop sounding like Carrot Top's imitation of a drowning cat.)
You know who really understood the med school-med student relationship? The Offspring.
"...Now I know I'm being used
But that's okay man cause I like the abuse
I know she's playing with me
But that's okay cause I've got no self esteem
...
When she's saying, oh that she wants only me
Then I wonder why she sleeps with my friends
When she saying, oh that I'm like a disease
Then I wonder how much more I can stand
Well I guess, I should stick up for myself
But I really think it's better this way
The more you suffer
The more it shows you really care
Right? Yeah!"
While You Still Can: 5 things to do before med school
Here is a list of 5 things (in no particular order) that I think every med student should try to do before they arrive on campus for orientation.
- Take time off between college and medical school.
This is hard for a lot of people to do because it can be financially cumbersome. Also because some parents would rather their child lost an appendage than take a step off the preordained path to becoming a Nice [insert religion/ethnicity/overbearing familial expectation] Doctor. But if there's any way for you to do it, please take some time off before starting med school. Grow the fuck up. Be something other than a student for the first time in your life. Go someplace foreign to you, meet people you've never met before, put yourself in uncomfortable situations. Get a job, deal with a boss and coworkers. Pay rent. Think long and hard about why you want to be a doctor, and what kind of doctor you want to be. Get older. Don't worry, med school will still be there when you're ready.* - Learn how to study.
Turns out, I never really did. I'm very smart, learn quickly, and have a mother who micromanaged the first 18 years of my life; this means that I never figured out how to self-motivate or organize my time. I also never really figured out how I learn. Visually, aurally, or kinetically? In the morning, or at night? By myself, or in groups? Ahead of time or under pressure? I never had to figure out to how learn something that really challenged me intellectually because though my high school and college were top-notch I was never truly pushed to the edge of my academic ability. In college, I mostly took classes in subject areas that were familiar and fascinating to me, classes in which I had the requisite skills not only to pass, but to excel. No matter who you are, medical school and medical training will test the boundaries of your intellect and push you past the limits of you academic abilities. In my time here, I have acquired an incredible new understanding of myself and how my brain works. But I often feel it's too little too late--ack! I'm already so behind! Why didn't I learn how to study in college? When did everyone else figure out how to be a good student? Where was I on that day? If you're someone who already knows how to structure your day, is good at estimating when you need to start reviewing in order to be prepared for the final exam, knows how to get motivated and stay focused... that's awesome. I'm jealous and I hate you. Med school will probably make you, too, feel inadequate at times and force you to improve. But you're already well-equipped for success and all your study skills give you a head start on slackers like me. - Acquire a hobby, preferably a sport.
Once in med school, many students find it hard to maintain a life outside of school. And you are at high risk for a homicidal rampage if you don't spend some regular QT with people other than your classmates. If you can go out and join a community orchestra, sewing circle, political activist group, or softball league when you arrive at medical school, it'll provide you with a much-needed escape. If that outlet also provides an opportunity to exercise and release some aggression, all the better. I highly recommend violent sports like football, rugby, boxing, or roller derby. Ever since I saw Whip It, I've really wanted to play roller derby. Those bitches are totally badass. - Get experience in a clinical setting.
Boring advice, but probably the most important on this list because every single med school applicant should have clinical experience before she even creates an AMCAS account. Shadow a doctor (everybody knows at least one doctor and most MD's are eager to mentor the next generation), volunteer in a hospital or clinic, injure yourself repeatedly so you can really get a feel for how the Emergency Rooms works. OK, maybe not that last one. But if you think you might want to be a doctor, it makes sense to gain as much exposure as possible to the various settings in which medicine is practiced. It'll help you decide your level of interest in medicine, it'll give you a taste of one or more specialties, and it looks really good on applications. Cause, really, what does it mean if you say, "I want to be a surgeon!" when you've never crossed the threshold of an OR? - Take classes that have absolutely nothing to do with medicine.
That's awesome that you've known since you were 2 years old that you want to be a dermatologist. But even when you are a dermatologist, you're also going to be a lot of other things: maybe a spouse and/or parent, hopefully a friend, perhaps a champion amateur bowler. Take off your blinders, and let yourself get distracted by the world outside of medicine. Explore other interests and passions. Take a class in a subject area that's totally alien to you. Push your boundaries, step outside your comfort zone. It looks good on applications to have a little breadth to augment the o-chem, p-chem, biochem depth of your transcript. You know why? Because admissions committees know that doctors are people, not robots, and people cannot be satisfied by fulfilling requirements alone. Allow yourself to be quirky, imperfect, and more than just a pre-med. While you're diversifying your class schedule, go ahead and read books that are not about doctoring, take trips that are not medical missions, try participating in wholly unrelated extracurricular activities.
Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome
I'm in med school. At the moment, I'm a second-year. I frequently talk to people who are applying to medical school, considering medical school, or dead-set on becoming doctors and desperate for any little piece of information about how to get in, how to succeed, what it's "really" like.
Well, I can't tell you how to get in. Sorry! You're going to have to work that out on your own. I also can't tell you how to succeed. I can give you some advice that I hope will be helpful, but the best piece of advice I can give you when it comes to medical school (indeed, life) is this:
Take every piece of advice with a grain of salt.
I've noticed people loooove to give advice. They're just dying to counsel you on what to do, what not to do, how to do or not do it, how to think and feel and talk and which way to scratch your ass for maximal itch relief. Usually, what they tell you has much more to do with the advisor and her personal experience then it has anything to do with you. Usually, it's off-the-mark and not applicable to you. Sometimes it's straight-up counterproductive. Here's what I recommend when someone offers you advice:
Where was I? Oh, right. How do you get into med school? I have no idea. What do you need to do in order to succeed? Wouldn't even know where to start trying to advise you on that one. What's it really like? Well, that's what this blog is for. I hope to write about what it's really like for me. Of course, that might bear no resemblance to what it's really like for the person sitting next to me in class, and definitely is different from what it's really like for students at other schools. But I'm going to go ahead and avoid studying by typing away in this blog. And if you find what I write to be remotely interesting, amusing, or informative, well that's just dandy. Keep on coming back for more. I'll probably dispense a lot of advice, but I certainly don't expect you to take any of it.
Well, I can't tell you how to get in. Sorry! You're going to have to work that out on your own. I also can't tell you how to succeed. I can give you some advice that I hope will be helpful, but the best piece of advice I can give you when it comes to medical school (indeed, life) is this:
Take every piece of advice with a grain of salt.
I've noticed people loooove to give advice. They're just dying to counsel you on what to do, what not to do, how to do or not do it, how to think and feel and talk and which way to scratch your ass for maximal itch relief. Usually, what they tell you has much more to do with the advisor and her personal experience then it has anything to do with you. Usually, it's off-the-mark and not applicable to you. Sometimes it's straight-up counterproductive. Here's what I recommend when someone offers you advice:
- Assess who it is who's trying to advise you. Is this someone you like and/or respect? Is this someone who knows you and your situation at all? If yes, proceed to Step 2. If no, plaster a vacant smile across your face and wait until their lips stop moving to politely excuse yourself from the conversation.
- Listen to what they have to say. Who knows, maybe there'll be an iota of good counsel in there.
- Consider whether the advice relates to your situation and whether it sounds like it fits you. Ask yourself what the advisor's motivation might have been in sharing their wisdom with you, and where they were coming from. If someone tells you to stop worrying about your Physio exam, it's probably because he gave himself a bald spot pulling his hair out during the three weeks he spent forgoing sleep to study Physio instead. His hairlessness has nothing to do with you; when he's saying,"Chill out," he's really talking to himself.
- If you discover that, miracle of miracles, someone gave you some real, honest, useful advice that speaks directly to your situation, state of mind, and particular problem, then give it a try!
Where was I? Oh, right. How do you get into med school? I have no idea. What do you need to do in order to succeed? Wouldn't even know where to start trying to advise you on that one. What's it really like? Well, that's what this blog is for. I hope to write about what it's really like for me. Of course, that might bear no resemblance to what it's really like for the person sitting next to me in class, and definitely is different from what it's really like for students at other schools. But I'm going to go ahead and avoid studying by typing away in this blog. And if you find what I write to be remotely interesting, amusing, or informative, well that's just dandy. Keep on coming back for more. I'll probably dispense a lot of advice, but I certainly don't expect you to take any of it.
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