I am both relieved and nervous because they say that the first year is the worst, but now I have the overarching cloud of doom following me around during second year: Step 1.
Now that I’m home, I constantly am wondering how I made it this far — in disbelief that I passed all my courses pretty well. I constantly ask myself if exams were too easy and if I’m just getting lucky. Then I remember the countless obstacles I had to overcome while living alone in medical school, and I realize that the potential of human beings is absolutely remarkable. I lost my entire world and my best friend in my first semester. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my grandmother, and I didn’t get to hear her voice one last time.
Instead, I had to pick myself somehow up and learn the complex physiology that we were lectured about that day. I took quick breaks in between to allow myself to cry and pray for her. And I continued studying. I understood that medical school would take away your social life almost entirely. But no one told me that you wouldn’t even be given the time to mourn. It hit me months later during winter break that she was gone because that’s when I had completed my first semester. So I spent my break every single day mourning and looking through pictures of her. Although it’s not the best way to spend a break, I think that’s what I really needed more than any vacation. My grandmother was a victim of inadequate health care in Lebanon. I wonder what her doctor thought of himself during medical school. Was his ultimate goal passing exams and getting that financially secure job? Or was it learning everything he possibly could in the most effective manner to use that information later on when lives were on the line?
Your patients are rating you online: How to respond. Manage your online reputation: A social media guide. Find out how.
