Reflection and Anticipation

They actually let me in! It meant moving across the country from Michigan where I lived with my grandmother and had just graduated from Wayne State University. It meant moving into an apartment that I rented over the phone, sight unseen. It meant doing something very big, all alone.

School started and I waited for them to tell me my acceptance was a mistake. They never did. In fact, they reassured me that I really was supposed to be there. I struggled through classes, no longer the smartest one. I didn't get the A's I was so accustomed to. My boyfriend left me.

My ego was shattered as I received the lowest score on the Biochemistry test. But things eventually got better. I managed to stay afloat. Now, towards the end of my second year of med school, I actually have some confidence back.

I compare my interactions with patients from my first quarter to now. I have learned a lot. A whole lot. And I know that I will learn so much more in the upcoming clinical years. Eventually, I will emerge a doctor.

When anybody asks me what med school is like, I compare it to boot camp. I have never been in the Army, so my analogy is pure speculation. I tell them that med school admits people they think will make good soldiers. Then they break you down so they can build you up into a doctor.

Instead of six weeks of basic training, however, med school lasts for four years. I like to think I am nearing the end of the breaking-down period and entering the building-up, but I can only hope. I do have my surgery rotation first.

gtobalina@ucdavis.edu