MY WAR WITH MEDICAL SCHOOL

My war with medical school begins the moment I enter the hospital doors. My heart starts racing, and I can feel the sweat running down my forehead, my glasses fogging up. The people around me begin to blur as I start to pace down the corridor minding every step I take so as not to fall. I can feel the weight of what I do not know already taking its toll on me. I look at the clock and its only 5 minutes past. I reassure myself that it’s alright to be a dumbass, it’s alright to know fucking nothing at all because thankfully both stethoscope and lab coat do enough talking on my behalf. This is my morning ritual, just enough to fool the security guard, cleaners, and the handful of patients who think I’m God.

Then comes my next battle, the lecturer. I have a problem when it comes to dealing with lecturers. Some of them know they are Gods, and exercise their power on us mere mortals, smashing and breaking our confidence ensuring it’s in a million pieces before leaving you the fuck alone. There are others that are kind, they come to you like Jedi’s and teach you the ways of the force, ensuring that by the end of the day you can at least move a rock with your mind. Then there are those that are just too lazy to break your confidence or move a rock with their own minds. Then come the anomalies, the walking Hollywood blockbusters, to every word and sentence there is a planned pause and facial expression to convey anger, sadness, worry, happiness, and the rare but sometimes occasional, lust. It ends with the mad lecturer, one that just took the guidelines and curriculum and threw it out the window, and then proceeds to write his/her own curriculum with a pen and a bit of toilet paper he found moments ago.

That is why sometimes I am just so confused during a MOSSLER or an OSCE, I have to remember what each lecturer wants and prefers. On top of that, remembering a curriculum that was only created yesterday. We also have some people who wonder the university occasionally, they call themselves teaching fellows, whose function I have not clearly ascertained. Something along the lines of audible Oxford Handbooks and documentation which in a way is helpful when it comes to revision and passing finals.

For some strange reason the questions become harder after lunch. My theory about this phenomenon is that my mind just shuts down after a long morning and my capacity to give a fuck slowly becomes nonexistent. It’s at this point that my mind questions the choices I’ve made in my life. By 4 pm the lecturer is completely inaudible and I stare at my friends across the room wondering if they feel the same way. Besides the blank eyes, the 9 gag screens reassure me that I’m not the only one in this universe, the added bonus of the occasional snore is even more comforting.

The next part of this saga begins the moment I open my apartment door and lie down on my bed. I begin to feel guilty for lying down as I’ve not consolidated the day’s events. So I watch comfort YouTube videos to forget about what I’m doing or not doing. This strange method of studying that I’ve developed for myself seems to work as 3 hours later the stress and guilt creates a sponge that is able to absorb anything and everything. By 12 I’m done for the day. Until I start doing questions and wish I’d not studied anything at all. I might as well have been watching videos all day

The final act ends with me praying to God and asking him to forgive my sins and sins to come. Hoping that he will give me a miracle. Sleep.