Ever since I was young, I excelled in school. And it seemed
that the more I was praised for being “above average,” the better I got. As and Bs were great in middle school, but by
the end of 8th grade, only A+’s would do. In high school, I studied and somehow ended
up as the valedictorian of my class of over 600 students. I never really meant to do that. I just worked hard. I enjoyed school. And it worked out.
In college, I had the same sort of ride. I wasn’t the kid who never studied and
breezed through every subject, but when I worked hard and put my mind to
something, I ended up doing well. And
somewhere along the line, it became part of my identity.
I don’t know if it was when friends started asking me for
help explaining a difficult concept. Maybe
it was when my parents stopped freaking out when I got straight A’s because it
became a sort of “normal” for me. And I
liked doing well. But as it became more
of a WHO I am, not just WHAT I do, it went from a happy outcome of hard work
and a love of learning to a real need to do well. And not just because I wanted to do well, but
because I knew it was what people expected.
This fear of letting down the world, in the form of my
friends and my family, started to plague me throughout college. I lived in constant fear of when THE MOMENT
would come…the one where my luck ran out and my hard work just wouldn’t cut
it. I kept waiting, expecting, fearing…but
I kept doing well.
I graduated with a 4.0 GPA in a Bachelors of Science in
Biology from college. I did well on my
MCAT and was accepted on my first application attempt into medical school. I
even received a small annual scholarship, which was a huge honor. During my first year of medical school, I
received Honors in nearly all subjects on my exams. I was elected to a leadership position in student
government, and I started to think that maybe THE MOMENT was just a dark cloud
in my head. Maybe that ominous time
would never come.
And then…
The second year of medical school arrived.
No matter how much I worked, how many hours I put in, how
much I cared and lived and breathed what I was learning, I couldn’t make it
make sense. It never “clicked” like
everything always had before. I was
learning in leaps and bounds, sure. But it wasn’t enough. My grades started
falling. I did not make honors on a
single exam my entire second year of medical school.
And I was devastated.
I struggled with depression. I
lost touch with numerous friends, as my husband changed jobs and we acquired a
new dog, a rescue, on top of all of my anxiety about how to juggle all of the
knowledge I was meant to acquire in my second year of medical school.
I was not re-elected to the leadership position I had during
my first year of school. However, I was
chosen as the Secretary/Treasurer for an interest group, kind of like a surgery
club, for the college of medicine. I
tried to appreciate these minor victories, to be proud of what I was accomplishing with my hard work in
class, and to cherish the other positives I had in my life, like my family and
my friends and my home. But the heavens
had opened up, and my life was in the middle of a crazy storm of doubt,
confusion, and total frustration with THE MOMENT.
I felt like a fraud.
I went to one of the deans of the College of Medicine to ask for advice
on how to prepare for boards, and despite all positive signs during my
studying, I missed my goal score for USMLE Step 1 by 16 points. Again,
devastation. Again, trying to keep my
head above the flood of emotion because all was finally revealed…I am not that
special, not that smart, not that capable.
I am not even quite average in
this world of high-achieving, career-minded individuals that is Medical School.
WHO AM I NOW?
This is a question that I continue to struggle with as I am
entering my clinical years of medical school.
I am no longer the top of my class.
I am not the leader of the pack.
I am adequate.
The doubts that have taken serious root in my soul from my
second year of medical school and my acceptable, but not stellar, performance
on Step 1 of my medical boards creep up on me whenever I knock on the door to
go in and see a patient. They sneak into
the back of my mind while I am studying cases or reading a medical article. They question whether I am fit to be A PHYSICIAN…the
person that people depend on at their weakest, at their lowest points in life,
the person that makes the life and death decisions, that yields their knowledge
and their skill in order to make the world a better, healthier, safer place.
And somewhere deep within me, the voice of my soul screams
out…YES. It is what I was made to
do. It is in my heartbeat. It is in the tears that well up when I talk
to a patient about their fears and struggles and desires for a better
life. It is in the steady hand when I go
to administer a shot or remove stitches from a healing wound. It is in the smile that lights up my face
when I look back on a day spent caring for others, for their bodies, but also
for their minds and their souls.
I AM A PHYSICIAN.
And I will fight every uphill battle to make it to my
goal. I will not let fear or doubt or
mere adequacy deter me from the life I was made to live. I may not have the
most glowing CV or the highest test scores, but I work hard. I have learned so
much. And I care. I really, truly, deeply care about every
person I have the privilege to call my patient.
So even though THE MOMENT still haunts me at times, I can
turn the light back on in my spirit by reminding myself of these truths. I was made to be a doctor. I am capable and
knowledgeable. I am imperfect and still
learning. And I have been given the amazing gift of using all that I know, all
that I can do, all of my self, to take care of the sick and the injured.
I am blessed.
I am a physician.
