I.II.IV – Reality Check
I.II.IV
REALITY CHECK
It only took a few days in med school for me to swallow my words and realise that I was completely wrong about everything. There I was, surrounded by the crème de la crème of university students, these overachieving brainiacs, struggling to keep afloat after I was thrown right into the deep end.
Being the socialite that I am, I quickly managed to rummage up some mates of my own. It might not have been my intention to make friends, but med school kinda does that to you. I went from studying independently outside of the educational system with Google being my go-to study buddy, to sitting in a classroom with some one hundred and forty other students who were all flung into the same boat as I was. We were traversing the same tumultuous sea, braving over one tsunami after the other, doing our best not to drown under the immense pressure. I can assure you it was that intense. Okay maybe not quite. Definitely not that intense.
And what else would one expect when faced with a never-ending syllabus that promises a broad understanding of the human body at the end of it? From molecular biochemistry to pathology, from anatomy to physiology, we had to know it all. It’d be hours upon hours of endless lectures, with the occasional small group tutorials and a heap of assignments keeping us glued together for the better part of our time. Whilst those are things the average student has to deal with, there was one thing that stood out for us – cadaveric dissection.
Facing the first dead body that lay naked and exposed right in front of us, the layers of skin and muscles all dissected to show us what lies beneath, I found myself paralysed. I couldn’t begin to fathom the enormity of that moment. To have someone – a complete stranger, donate their body for the sake of my education. How could one put such privilege into words? To be allowed to touch and manipulate something so sacred… Pure privilege only med students are lucky enough to ever experience.
As days went by, I started to realise that in my naïveté I failed to notice what the course would really entail. First off, back then I had no idea our course was divided in two parts. The first two years – the pre-clinicals, would be held on campus and they’d be mostly theory-based. This would then be followed by three years of clinical rotations at the hospital where we’d be shadowing doctors on the wards – the real fun part.
For the time being, I’d be stuck at university doing lots of reading but not a whole lot of doing. Lectures started off slow, some were enjoyable, some were… I’ve been trying to come up with an amusing metaphor for about three minutes now. That’s how boring some of the lectures were. ‘Too boring to put into words’ kinda boring.
Looking back on the day I had joined my friend in that very same lecture hall the previous year, I could barely recognise myself. What the hell had happened to all that enthusiasm and exhilaration?
Of course, back then that had all been just a big ‘what if?’. Now it was my reality. One which I soon started taking for granted. My attendance was dwindling down and most of the time I’d go in simply because some lectures were compulsory or only cause I wanted to hang out with my friends. You know how some people are auditory learners? I’m not. Sitting down in class for an hour whilst listening to someone rambling on and on or reading off a slideshow doesn’t really appeal to my senses or my pleasure centres.
I don’t wanna be unfair and generalise though – we did have a couple of lecturers who were passionate about teaching and made it fun and interesting, and they will forever have my respect and gratitude. That said, generally speaking, I’d say my time would’ve been better spent studying at home… or counting pebbles on the shore. Potayto-potahto.
Then there was the whole competition thing – the healthy kind and the unhealthy kind. As inspirational as most of my classmates were, there were a couple of them who lived up to the reputation of cut-throat medical students who’d do anything to get ahead.
Now me? I’ve always been the cool, laid back, kawabunga kinda guy. Okay maybe I’m not cool. You’ve got me. But I am quite laid back. And I’m all for healthy competition. I enjoy fighting in the arena (if I feel like it, that is). I do want to be better than the next guy, and that’s a good thing. That’s what evolution’s all about after all. I do want to be better than others, but only if we everyone has the same resources – an even playing field. It is so much more satisfying crossing the finish line first knowing I did it fairly. That doesn’t apply to everyone though. And of course, I’m talking about – wait! What’s that?! Oh my god! Behind you! DA-DUM. DA-DUM. DAAAAAAAA. SHAAARKS!
But not your average great white – the ones you find in the ocean. I’m talking about the terrestrial ones, you know, sharks. These are people that seem to go out of their way to have an edge on you. And not by studying more or working harder. Nope. These people sink their razor-sharp teeth in your flesh without so much as a pang of guilt. It makes for a really nice entrée to them. Your warm tears double as a sensible non-alcoholic cocktail.
And this is not me being hyperbolic, mind you. We’ve had students tearing off pages from textbooks at the med school library so others wouldn’t get to study off of them. Others who’d tell their classmates a lecture had been cancelled only so they wouldn’t show up. One of them would even hand out notes with all kinds of wrong information for crying out loud! Exactly the type of thing you’d expect on any random episode of Gossip Girl.
I never really minded sharks as such, but I’ve always wondered whether they’d fare better or worse off if they were to invest their time in studying instead of coming up with such nefarious schemes. But oh well, boys will be boys and sharks will be sharks. There’s no way around it really. I for one had a different philosophy – to mind my own damn business and help out only when asked.
If these joys of academia weren’t already enough, add to the list the whole workload issue. As weeks went by, work started to accumulate slowly and insidiously, until I was suddenly ambushed by multiple deadlines and the incoming exams.
It was kind of overwhelming really. Story of every single student on the face of the planet, I guess. We were definitely not in Kansas anymore. I fell behind, I rallied and I caught up. Exams came and soon enough these were over too. Then came our second semester. I fell behind again, I caught up again and I passed my exams again. Rinse and repeat.
A routine that repeats itself over and over along the course of the… well, course. One thing’s for sure though, it works. The routine gets progressively more difficult, more exhausting and more consuming, and you either learn to cope or you get crushed by the pressure. It takes a toll on you, but it’s precisely that same routine that prepares you for such a job and a lifetime of life and death decisions.
And that’s how I made it through my first year. That’s how I knew I was right where I belonged. That’s when I knew I’d make it.