My story is not unlike many others. My journey to medical school took many twists and turns. My first cycle, I applied to 10 schools and received 10 rejection letters. Each letter was written for distribution to the thousands of rejected applicants, having no personal flair what so ever. Despite this, I took some solace in the 2 interviews I was offered. I felt like I was at least on the right track. With a new sense of urgency…
and vigor, I brainstormed for round 2. I left my job in an analytical chemistry laboratory (which I hated anyways haha) for a position as a scribe with a local orthopedic group. This was a much better fit for my personality and doubled my interview invitations to 4 (I did cast a wider net though, 17 schools to be precise). However, as fall turned to spring rejections continued to roll in. Of the schools I interviewed at, 3 waitlisted me. Two actually did so on the same day, which was particularly demoralizing. I found myself with the same thought as a year prior, now what?
In the end, it worked out. After a shift in late April, I saw a voicemail from an unidentified number. For weeks, I had hoped every unidentified number was someone from admissions informing me of an acceptance. After several false alarms, my hope faded. This time though, I was not disappointed. Describing my exact emotions is difficult, but more than anything I felt a wave of relief. I was not facing a third application cycle; I was going to be a medical student! For all pre-medical students reading this, keep chasing your dreams. I promise it is worth it!
Fast forward to this summer. Orientation activities roll by in a blur, beginning with an introduction to my wonderful classmates and ending with me proudly standing in my white coat. Then basic sciences violently and abruptly hit us. I remember sitting in the lecture hall with my heart racing faster and faster as the professors ploughed through a seemingly endless amount of material. I left most of these sessions thinking, you have got to be kidding me. Inevitably, as everyone does, I fell behind. I could hear the stern echo of all my professors scolding, “Don’t fall behind!” My attempts to catch up slowly chiseled away at my life outside of medical school. Eating well-balance meals, or really eating at all, went by the wayside. Then came exercise, which has always been an escape for me. Next were personal relationships. My identity was reduced solely to being a medical student. I was no longer a medical student with a sweet-tooth, or one who loved lifting weights or laughing with friends and family. I studied, slept, and intermittently showered.
This regimen wore on my psyche, but even more draining was the fact that I had nothing left to sacrifice and I felt like I was still not doing enough. The mental turmoil soon manifested itself physically. I simply had no appetite. My head continually throbbed. I was unable to sleep. In 1 month, I had lost 10 pounds and walked around like a zombie. My classmates and professors took note and inquired about my well-being. I would always shrug it off with a light-hearted smile and say I was okay; until one weekend I wasn’t. I had an existential crisis. The traits that had propelled me to this point in my life, my perfectionism, my fear of failure, and my unyielding work ethic were now betraying me.
Initially, I thought this powerful, visceral response was because I was pursuing the wrong career. Reflecting on how badly I wanted this in the first place and how hard I worked to get here over the past 6 years, I knew this was not true. Then the doubt crept in. At first slowly, but it quickly morphed into Niagara Falls. I was experiencing imposter syndrome, feeling as if the admissions committee made a mistake. I remember thinking if I can’t handle the first year, how am I supposed to succeed over the course of an entire career spanning decades. To get back on track, I told myself all of the right things. To restore confidence, I reminded myself of my academic success thus far and how I would not have been chosen if I was not cut out for this journey. To combat feeling inadequate, or “average,” I reminded myself that being average in medical school equates to being average among a group of highly competitive, driven, and successful individuals. To extinguish my fear of failure, I told myself how people fail tests and even whole courses in medical school. They still go on to be fantastic physicians. Last, in an attempt to be more than a medical student, I told myself I needed to incorporate more into my life. Unfortunately, I couldn’t listen to my own advice.
Not recognizing myself anymore, I reached out to friends and family. My confession only affirmed what they had personally seen. They told me the same things, however I still couldn’t listen. After meeting with my faculty, I reluctantly decided to reduce my course load this year. The formal term is deceleration, which stings every time I hear it, say it, or think it. It only furthers my feelings of inadequacy.
As I write this though, for the first time I believe that everything is going to work out. I was not okay. When I reiterate this story to classmates or friends, which still remains a challenge, they empathize and support me, but they do not really grasp how low I was, or how low I still am. I still kick myself and wonder why I couldn’t just do it, like all those medical students before me, those currently in school, and those who will follow me. I was wired to implode though. Now I have time to rewire mentally, which will give me the foundation I need for the rest of my medical career. I refuse to be defined by this. I will resume a full course load and go on to be one hell of a physician.
– The Humbled M1
