First semester reflections

I’ve been done with my first semester of medical school for a week. I’ve been ill, tired, achy for the past few days. This is my observation - my heart and time with the Lord vanishes at the same time I let go of waking up at a set time and having a schedule.

I was told, before starting this journey, that medicine is a cruel master. One semester in, I’m already aware that time, energy, youth are all finite resources. Medicine requires that you give your best and pour out your soul. Caring for people brings me back to why I chose this path in the first place - all people, the patients that criticize your bedside manner, the doctor that you’re trying to impress, the kidney transplant patient that you just listen to for a half an hour instead of doing a physical like you’re supposed to do, because you’re struggling and need to be reminded that your struggles are small and still within the realm of blessing. It is still a small thrill to wear a short white coat and introduce myself as a medical student.

I wanted to write an update to remind myself and you all that I’ve had a full plate this past few months. There’s nothing like the act of writing to process change. There’s been a lot of changes. I’ve moved across the country, taken a full history and physical on a standardized patient, cut open a dead body, sat through hours of lectures and studied thousands of power-point slides. I study in pants and purchased a pair of snow boots.

Transitions are hard for everyone. I’ve been transitioning from going 60 mph in the training to another 60 mph track – but the difference is like driving a Go-kart versus being on a Nascar course.

I made an appointment to talk to the official school academic advisor during the first month of school. I made a point to be professional, asking her about study strategies and resources. She found out I was an out of state student. Towards the end of our appointment, she looked at me and asked me if there was anything else I’d like to talk about - if I was homesick. I started to cry. She pushed the tissue box towards me. It was a classic shepherding sister move. I almost wanted to laugh through my tears, I was cherished. She told me something that stuck with me. “I have seen hundreds of students pass through this program. All the medical students struggle at various points to keep up with the material. Everyone has different things that they deal with. Everyone just pretends to be tough. That’s the nature of medicine – you have to be tough.” At that moment, with red, weepy eyes, I didn’t feel tough. She looked at me and could sense my insecurity. She sighed and told me “Don’t believe the front that everyone puts up. Everyone pretends to be tough because that’s what you have to do. You’re tough too. You wouldn’t have made it here if you weren’t.” I smiled, weakly.

That afternoon, before sitting down in my usual spot on the fourth floor of the Health Sciences Library, I reminded myself. I’m tough. I biked 62 miles in one day. I moved across the country by yourself. My prayer: Lord, if you got me into medical school, you need to get me through medical school.

“If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31b)