What Might Actually Happen if I Apply to Med School
I might not get in.
I might get in.
And then: Exams.
Not being able to read pathology.
Or X-rays.
Looking stupid.
Really stupid.
Disappointing my family.
Blood.
Scalpels.
Gross anatomy?
Long hours.
Flunking out.
Someone will find out that I cut gym class in high school. And re-count my credits and I won’t have graduated in the first place.
Dropping out and running away with a band.
Not running away with a band.
No time to even go to concerts to meet the band I could’ve run away with.
Falling in love with another med student.
Marrying a med student. Do I hyphenate? How do doctors’ names sound when they’re hyphenated? Or do I keep my own name to sound modern? But what if I just like his name better?
What if his last name is Pepper, and then I marry him and take his last name, before I realize that when I graduate I become Dr. Pepper? Or Dr. Evil, or Dr. Zhivago, or Dr. Jeckyll, or Dr. Strangelove? That’s a lot of guys with a lot of names I just couldn’t marry if I apply to med school and take their last name.
Getting jealous of each other.
Yelling at each other about who deserves to be tired when one of us gets home at 3AM and the other doesn’t get home until 4AM.
Delivering babies.
Delivering my own baby? What if the doctor working the shift for my delivery knows us from med school and is jealous that I married the hottest guy in our school when she examines me “down there”?
Pressure from my doctor husband to stay at home with the kids. He wants me not to work after so many years of education?
Seriously?
What if I get in, don’t mess anything up, graduate, don’t marry the doctor or have his kids, work like mad, become really successful in my field, and then when I’m fifty-five, I realize that my life has passed me by and I’m too old to have the kids and what if I didn’t even want to be a doctor anyway?
