Can We Be Doctors?
We stared at the cover of my textbook. You asked me what was the weird thing around that man’s neck.
I told you it was a stethoscope. You asked me what is a stethoscope. I told you they put those two plug thingies in their ears like headphones. Then, they can press it against your chest and hear your heart go badump, badump. Or they can even press it on your back and hear your breathing go in and out, in and out.
You asked me if you could have a stethoscope. I said no, only doctors can have stethoscopes. You asked me what are doctors. I said doctors are the people who make sure we’re healthy; if we’re not feeling good, doctors can help us feel better. Doctors are in charge of a lot of people and they save lives, so their job is very important.
You looked up at me and said how that was sooooooo cool.
Yeah, I know right? They get these cool coats, stethoscopes, and other awesome tools to help people feel better. Some really cool doctors can even replace parts in you if those parts are making you feel yucky. They talk while they work together to make you feel better. You asked what do they talk about. I asked what would you want to talk about. You said you would want to talk about dinosaurs. I said that they would probably talk about dinosaurs then.
You gripped my hand tightly and asked if we could be doctors.
I did not answer for a long time because I already knew the answer. You asked me again.
No, we can’t become doctors.
You asked why not. We just can’t. You said, yes. We can.
I said no we can’t because we’re stupid and doctors are smart people. You shook your head at me. We are very very smart, you said. We just passed our calculus final. We even studied really hard for this chemistry exam. You said we’re gonna do soooooo good!
I said that passing calc doesn’t make us smart. You disagreed. I said everyone does well in general chemistry; it’s not worth being proud of. You disagreed. I said we’re stupid and dumb and we can’t be doctors.
You disagreed.
Before I can answer, we’re interrupted by a booming announcement:
Time is up! Ladies and gents, please put down your pencils and turn in your exam and scratch paper to the front of the class.
I look down at my desk and stare at the unanswered question. No. There’s no fucking way. I thought I had more time. I’m going to fail. I’m about to fail this fucking class. Oh god, oh god, oh god. My hands are shaky as I manage to scribble in a random answer before standing up and turning in my exam.
I stand in the middle of my room with all the lights off. I don’t even remember walking all the way here. And now, you’re the only one in here with me.
You say that exam was really hard, but it’s okay because we tried our hardest. You say that we think we did well on the multiple choice section, so there’s a chance we passed the exam. You really don’t get it, do you? I ask if you know what happens when we fail a class. You’re not really sure, you say. I say we have to take it again. You ask what’s wrong with that. I ask how are you not embarrassed by how much of a fucking idiot we are. You say because we’re not an idiot.
Yes, we are. You disagree. I raise my voice: yes, we are. You disagree. We’re pathetic and we should give up on pre-med. You disagree. I’m yelling now. We are awful at everything we do; we fail everything we try to do. We will amount to nothing in life.
You ask me to stop yelling at you. I don’t.
You tell me I’m scaring you, but I keep going.
I’m grabbing you by the shoulders, and screaming at you now. We’re an absolute disgrace; a terrible excuse for a human being. We could barely handle 12 units this semester, and everyone is leaving us behind. We don’t belong here. We’re worthless, and we don’t deserve to take up space. Everyone else is doing just fine, so why can’t we just be like them? Because we aren’t enough: we’re never enough. We never do anything right, and we’re an absolute failure.
It would just be better if we dropped dead right now.
You look at me as I dig my fingers into your arms, tears welling up in your eyes. You start to cry. I let go of you. You bawl into clutched fists and ask why am I hurting you. Do you deserve this? You ask if it was something you said.
I… I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. No, no, you did nothing wrong. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?
You ask if I really hate you this much. Of course I don’t. I really didn’t mean it; I promise. I’m so sorry. You ask if I really promise; if I promise that I didn’t mean any of it. Of course I don’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m just so tired. It doesn’t feel like anyone else is struggling as much as we are. We’re doing everything we can, but it feels like it’s not enough, y’know? I’m just really tired of all of it. We stand in silence, not sure what to say next.
You ask why don’t we just take a nap then?
I say that sounds like a very good idea.
