Last Round
V.I.III
LAST ROUND
Amidst all the chaos and drama, I was also embarking on my fifth and final year of medical school. Holy friggin’ crap. I was almost there. Almost. I could practically taste it, the moment I’d get to ditch my ‘Mr.’ for a ‘Dr’. I mean, duh – of course that had been the only thing I was looking forward to.
Oh how the previous four years had flown by. I still remember how excited I used to be back when I started. How easy-going and relaxed I used to be. How much I’d procrastinate and leave everything till the last minute. How much I’d complain about all the work we had to do. How many hours I spent in my bed tossing and turning the night before an exam. The adrenaline and nerves the following day. The post-exam gatherings with my classmates. The uncertainty before results came out. The relief a pass would bring along with it. And then the celebrations! Man, how much we’ve celebrated over the years!
Then third year came along and showed us what real hard work was. It kept me so busy I literally didn’t have time to complain – hence the SWSD mantra. The pressure and workload only seemed to increase ever since. Every single year brought along new challenges – some academic, some logistical, some bureaucratic. Assignments and logbooks to hand in, workshops, seminars and conferences to attend, and of course, invariably and without fail, a fresh batch of exams.
Fifth year was all that and then some. Remember that med school is kinda like a factory that spits out doctors, and the last year is practically the conveyor belt that delivers the final product. But it’s not just any conveyor belt – oh no.
You’re standing on the belt when suddenly you realise you’re quickly approaching a hydraulic cylinder that’s crushing anything that goes underneath it. Behind it, a cauldron hanging from the ceiling is tipping just slightly, pouring down molten lead every so often. Then there’s a giant scythe swinging to and fro while effortlessly slashing anything in its path in two. You try to run back but hey, the belt suddenly doubled in speed! And it’s on fire. You’re this close to jumping off but the poisonous spikes surrounding the belt aren’t that welcoming either. That’s final year in a nutshell. And so you stay on the conveyor belt, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
Our predecessors warned us what to expect. Exams all throughout the year for starters. We’d have one in November, one in December, then the usual January exams, then another one in March and then finals in June. Also, smack right in the middle, la crème de la crème: our job interview. We’d have to make sure our resumé was up-to-date and in tip-top shape, compiling the things required to get the job and the things that would distinguish us from the rest. After all, we’d be ranked – one after the other. That’s how we’d choose our specialties and rotations once we graduated – very Hunger Games-esque.
I think that sums it up quite nicely. Talk about getting burnt out! But as tough as it was, I always had the same outlook. If others before us had managed to do it, so would we, simple.
Turns out, building my resumé was actually fun. First of all, I’m kind of a Microsoft Word savant if I may say so myself. Getting to play around with the format of a Word document for hours on end until it looks nothing short of perfect really soothes my soul. Aah, who needs spas, right?
Aesthetics aside, what really made it fun was seeing all my accomplishments over the past five years listed underneath each other. Those unrelated to medicine, like my experience as an EFL teacher during summers and the fact that I had accidentally learnt some Spanish along the way. And then the relevant ones like conferences, workshops, seminars, research projects and what have you. Amongst these were a few big ones: the course in Manchester, my exchange in Hungary, my elective in Cambridge, and my voluntary work in Nepal and Peru. All of those had been the highlights of my five years in medicine and life. Who the hell would have known how much of an impact the things I’d do for medicine would leave on my life?
When I was done with the whole thing I was emotionally overwhelmed. How lucky I had been to be able to do so many things in so little time… To experience so many adventures, to learn so much! And so, all suited up, with my resume in my hands, I went in for the interview.
“Hmm… Good morning… Marius? Sit down please… So… Hmm… Department of neurology… Department of neurosurgery… It seems we have an aspiring neuro aficionado amongst us…” Bingo. What followed was basically a soliloquy. It was me talking to myself about my love and passion for neurosurgery. My god… I still remember the poor secretary as she was trying to take down the minutes. She was going at it with all she had until I mentioned “neurocysticercosis” for the first time. Her facial expression will remain forever immortalised in my brain.
When they’d had enough of the overzealous, overtalkative idiot that wouldn’t shut up, they asked a few unrelated questions to close off the interview and that was it – it was all over. And hey, I had only lost like three buckets of sweat – no more!
Once that was over, it was mostly exams that we had to face. We’d have the theory-based exams in January and the clinical exams in June. Five years’ worth of knowledge all crammed into two sessions.
All throughout I kept waiting for this nervous breakdown to ambush me – for all the nerves and anxieties to creep up and have me crack under the pressure. But it never did and they never managed. I was actually kinda unfazed by the whole ordeal. At first I put it down to denial or exhaustion – then I realised it was actually the course itself that turns you into this machine. Productive and efficient, methodical and focused. From nincompoop to ninja, from nitwit to med whizz, from ignoramus to Nostradamus – or something close to that anyway.
We got into the course not knowing our elbows from our oesophagus and now we could suddenly take a patient’s history and examine them, order investigations to confirm a diagnosis, and then treat and manage their disease. I’m not one to brag but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I was so damn proud of our class!