Matching into a residency program is the culmination of four (or more) years of incredibly hard work and determination. This process does not come without an abundance of stress, fear and at times, self-doubt, at least in our experience.
Admittedly, the strife experienced by hip-hop artists comes from a different place than that of mine and likely many of our colleagues in the medical profession. Yet, the anxiety and fears of being unable to live up to expectations is something we can all understand.
Medicine has passed through many shifts in paradigms throughout its development, starting from the first establishments of hospitals and medical centers in the 1800s to the human genome project in the early 2000s. Such events changed our perspective on how we study diseases.
Advice on how to eat is perhaps the most ubiquitous type of medicine we are exposed to throughout our day-to-day. Just look at Dr. Oz or recall the waxing and waning popularity of fad diets. While I struggle to define any sources as legitimate nutrition education, it stands to reason that doctors receive training about carbs, calories and fats, right?
She approached me and said, “Can I tell you something?” As we drifted slightly away from the cluster of white coats that I had previously stood with, she stated, “I just wanted to say that I’m so proud of you.”
Every medical library should have a table of recommended books. After a day of study, I often linger by the one at my school, wishing that I had more time for a good read. I recently picked up a recommendation and didn’t let go.
I can finally say I’m in my last year of medical school. It has been a bumpy ride, but only one clerkship, a research project and an OSCE separate me from graduating. I remember receiving my acceptance letter eight years ago.
Growing up in an Asian American immigrant household, I frequently encountered and grappled with my parents’ reserved manner of expressing themselves. Instead of using words to communicate their sadness or anger, my parents would barricade themselves in their room and refuse to say a word.
If you remember, about one year ago I had published a story about coming to terms with my mental illness on in-Training. Soon thereafter, I asked for the publication to be removed. I would like to re-publish my story with a very important addition.
Outside apartment 13C the street is empty. It is early in the morning, and yet sounds echo from the metal shop beside the lake, roosters crow, and the children upstairs patter back and forth across the tiles. I roll up my yoga mat, shaking dead cockroaches from its rubbery bottom. Through the grated windows I catch a glimpse of Lake Victoria, shimmering out from the cluttered shore of shanties and deconstructed docks to eventually blend with the blue of the morning sky.
In the spirit of the year of realizing things, I’m starting to think that the med school struggle of knowing/doing/being enough never actually ends. Even as physicians, the problem of “enough” persists, albeit in a form less easily remedied by additional time spent reading First Aid or viewing Pathoma.
When I was first invited to host a Roundtable Discussion, I was told that we were supposed to bring together medical students to discuss their idea of a modern physician: What characteristics would they have? What kinds of skills would we want to cultivate in this increasingly technological age? What kind of doctor would be necessary to meet the needs of the health care system now and into the decades ahead?