One of my favorite things in life is food — the act of cooking and baking, sharing food with friends and, of course, eating it. I don’t know about you, but I can personally attest to having very positive thoughts after filling my stomach with delectable sweets.
As medical students, we spend endless hours stuck in a library, with tons of books and piles of notes that we try to get into our heads … It is only logical that it is challenging to maintain a healthy diet and exercise routine while aiming for academic excellence.
While it is clear that the issue of depression and anxiety extends well beyond the medical school admissions process, it is important to ask whether it is the beginning of a long and slippery slope to a life of anxiety and depression.
Most of my articles bear a similar theme: find activity, go on activity, discuss what I learned from the activity and my recommendations for whether or not my readers should pursue said activity. This one is … different.
Tears rushed down my face / like the initial gush of water / spurting from a faucet
It’s ironic that the medical field is arguably the most humane profession, yet we put our residents and physicians-in-training through such pain and suffering.
In October 2015, someone I love very much lost someone truly special to them. I had just started medical school and this news really jerked things into perspective. Life is not a passive force; it is something we are meant to live.
I had one last beautiful, golden weekend before starting my OB/GYN rotation. I knew that I had to fit in one more memorable activity before my life became overrun with uteruses (uteri?) and babies.
I was once asked if medical school is an unhappy place. It is a good question, the kind that it takes someone outside of medicine to ask.
The entirety of the third year of medical school is an act. If you want to be a good medical student, you are what your team wants you to be. Amenable, pliant, easygoing — even when inside you are a bitter angry little thing who’s tired of being pushed around.
Given my time constraints as a third-year, I thought that maybe I could change things up — instead of going to an activity to help alleviate stress, I could ask someone older and wiser than me for tips on how to de-stress. And who better to ask for advice than my 79-year-old grandmother?
Is it just me? / Or does it seem / that my pride / will not let me be