One Week.

The moment came today. I was walking to the market, a truck drove by and cast a cloud of dust and grime into my face. I coughed and pulled out a cloth to wipe my glasses. Then it happened. My perspective shifted. Medical school ceased being a vague, holy-cow-not-really-happening-to-me, intangible ambition and suddenly became real.

The financial aid is in my bank account. Orientation comes next week and I pick up my books tomorrow. Tuesday is the ppd screen and respirator fitting.

I am so completely terrified.

I walked past the market, continuing on aimlessly. Thinking. I ended up in a little rundown park by the river in an iffy neighborhood and sat, staring at the garbage bobbing in the murky water.

Am I making the right choice?

I remember telling the doctor-uncle of an old flame that I was thinking about becoming a doctor. I was 21 at the time, fresh out of working in the national parks and hadn't even started college. I had no idea then how challenging just getting accepted would be. He wasn't encouraging, a sentiment echoed by the soon-to-be ex.  Life became dramatic and I left that dream on a musty closet shelf of an old apartment.

The years passed and I continued to ramble aimlessly across the country.  I found myself 26, living in Seattle with lots of disposable income. What to do? What to do? Hey! I'll take a couple of community college classes!

And so it began. That first day, my chemistry professor told us that half the class would drop before the term's over. Humph. I'd show him. And I did. I ended up with the highest grade in the class and friends with a premed aspirant. She reminded me of the idea I had had once and, soon, I found myself on the road to medicine.

It quickly became apparent how competitive the premed curriculum and the med school application process were.  My ambitions were not very well received on the family front and my college mentor adamantly wanted me to go into a graduate chemistry program rather than medicine. Having striations of a strong Irish-Scot stubbornness, my "I'll show them" attitude came on gusting. Somehow, the determination to succeed, to beat the challenge by getting an acceptance got tangled up with my purer reasons for wanting medicine. Those reasons I had had before I knew that the challenge, the doubt, existed.

Today, in my terror, I tried to unwind them. Am I starting this insane, exigent path for the right reasons? Now, having shewed them, is this what I really want?

Or is my fear that I'm not good enough, that I won't, can't succeed, murking up the waters, like the garbage floating in front of me, causing me to question my own motivation?

I don't know. 

I'm reading my journal from work, remembering my favorite patients and how the medicine and the dynamics of medical care intrigued me. It's helping a little.

School needs to start. I'm hoping that once I'm on the rat wheel, I won't have time for these self-defeating doubts. Oh, I hope.

Thursday Interview

My first (and thus far, only) medical school interview is this Thursday. I had hoped that I would have heard from another school by now. I'm incredibly stressed that this may be my one and only chance.

I decided to splurge and spend $30 more on a hotel room within walking distance to the campus.

My aunt- the crazy (in a fun way) one who took me on my first trip abroad (Turkey) wants to go with me. My youngest uncle lives nearby in an institution for developmentally disabled and she wants to visit him while I'm on campus.

I'm torn. It'll be nice to have someone there afterwards to talk about the experience but I'm afraid that she'll be critical of my weirdness beforehand (you know- waking up 4 hours early to obsess over my hair, clothes, review possible questions/answers etc). Besides, she doesn't really sleep. I learned that early during our Turkish adventure. I'm working the night shift all this week and will probably want to rest most of the day before the interview.

One of my favorite patients died yesterday. I found out through the hospital grapevine that he had been readmitted at the other hospital in our system for pneumonia and quickly crashed. He had been a quadriplegic who just conquered all obstacles. He ran his own business, drove and just celebrated life. It breaks my heart that someone so strong and inspirational is gone. RIP Dwayne. You'll be missed.

Rejected and Dejected.

I received my first rejection today and to my first choice. It had been a shoot-for-the-moon dream but it still stings. I haven't heard anything positive yet. I'm trying very hard not to be pessimistic.

Juggling Thoughts

We have a nurse on our unit. John* is incredible with the patients and acutely intuitive about their well-being. He's saved several lives by noticing that a patient is 'off' and calling the appropriate people to take care of it.

He sucks at multitasking though. His medicines are always administered late and he can't give a decent concise report during shift change. We all, nurses and aides alike, dread following his group. There's always information missing and tons of catch-up to do before we can start our own assignments.

I recently read Dr. Ofri's Lancet contribution and thought about John and then about my own future as a physician. My experience thus far has been relatively painless. There's a certain triage that people use when they multitask. Providing orange juice for a glucose reading of 56 trumps the coffee for a visitor in room 654. Occasionally, When I'm juggling 10-15 requests, I'll sometimes overlook one.

It scares me that I may forget something vital when I'm a physician. Will I remember to order a CBC on a patient with a GI bleed? How can I be smart enough to manage the care of so many patients when I can forget to bring someone a ginger ale?

Dr. Ofri's editorial has relived my mind (somewhat) in that I won't be the only doctor with these fears.