Reflections on Graduating from Medical School: Part I

In May, we celebrated our graduation from medical school. It was the first graduation of my life that I really felt proud. For many, high school and college degrees are huge accomplishments. And, not to dishonor that at all, but having come from a family with multiple generations of college graduates, high school and college were not remarkable achievements for me or for my family. Sure, we worked hard and did well in high school and college, and, for that, our families were proud, but it wasn't uncharted territory.

At our graduation from undergraduate in May 2009.

Medical school, however, was different. No one in my family or Aaron's family had ever gone to medical school. I often joke that it's good I wasn't close to any doctors because had I known what I was getting into, I may have never begun this endeavor. I love my job, but, there's certainly an element of truth to this joke.

Graduating from medical school was one of the most challenging things I have ever accomplished in my life. It's hard to describe to someone unless you've been through it or someone close to you has been through it. 

It is mentally, emotionally, physically, and even spiritually exhausting.

The mountains upon mountains of material to scale. Wading through textbook after textbook, powerpoint after powerpoint, note packet after note packet.

The pressure of quiz after quiz, test after test, board exam after board exam.

The panic attacks that wake you in the middle of the night after cramming for or taking yet another insanely difficult, anxiety inducing test. 

The incredibly long hours of studying or taking care of patients.

The isolation from doing something so all consuming, that it leaves too little time and space for other pursuits and people.

The miles and miles walked on hard, tile floors.

The pain of missing the people you love. 

The guilt of feeling you can't be there enough for the people you love.

The hours in the anatomy lab, formaldehyde burning your eyes and throat as you hover over cadavers, cramming for the next anatomy test.

The burden of sharing in the sadness of patients and their families. Staring death and grief in the face.

The complexity of balancing the sorrows of work with the joys of life.

The sadness of having to say no over and over again to invitations as your friends get together without you. And, sometimes, stop even inviting you anymore, as you fade from their radar.

The nauseating feeling of setting an alarm clock for 5 am, or earlier, 27 days out of a month.

The anxiety of having to start all over again at the beginning of the each month, figuring out where to go, what to do, and what role to fill on the team.

But, those years were also filled with such joy and fulfillment, that made it worth it.

Those lightbulb moments when the mountains of information finally took coherent shape and made sense.

The elation of surviving, nay dominating, quiz after quiz, test after test, board exam after board exam.

The amazing amount of learning that happened in those years, though the days were long.

The happiness of finishing a difficult rotation or set of rotations.

The camaraderie that develops with the people in the trenches, who speak your new language and understand what you are going through.

The strength that comes from the miles walked.

The pride defeated and the bonds strengthened by having to ask for help from family and friends.

The flexibility and confidence gained from having been in so many new, varied, and difficult situations.

The peace that comes from entrusting it all to the Lord.

The gift of the eyes of Christ, to see Him in His suffering people.

The blessing of making a difference in the lives of patients and their families.

The growth in faith that is born out of trial and self-denial.

And most importantly, the peace and joy in knowing that I was doing what I was called to do.

Medical school graduation, May 2013