So I’m here. Enrolled in my 1st year of medical school and wondering how exactly this became possible. A month and a half in, I’m still bewildered by the turn of events. A miracle, no other way to explain it.
Let’s start off from the backstory. Where did I come from and how did I get here?
My family immigrated to the U.S. from Eastern Europe when I was 5. Mom worked, my sister and I went to school, my Grandma took care of us. My Dad came later. Mom used to be a translator and an English teacher before studying pharmacy in America. Grandma was a dentist and Grandpa is a psychiatrist. They value God, family, hard work, and book smarts. Life didn’t make it easy for them, but they did their best to keep us safe from its harsh realities. I grew up with America’s resources but with a foot still firmly planted in the “old way” of thinking. I like to think that this gives me the best of both worlds.
Eventually becoming the eldest in a family of 5 girls, I enjoyed the perks of being in charge and the privilege of getting to blaze the trail for the younger ones. I learned responsibility mainly through mistakes and am still learning the concept of consequences based on decision-making skills.
I could be called smart, depending on your definition of intelligence, and have wide array of interests. Before I wanted to be a doctor, I looked forward to enjoying a riveting career as either a paleontologist or jungle explorer. And if that didn’t work out, librarianship suited me just as well. If you haven’t guessed it, I was an avid reader of encyclopedias and adventure novels. Those interests haven’t truly faded, just been set aside to let me better focus.
Ah yes, focus. My best friend and my worst enemy. There when I don’t have any real use for it and gone the moment I have 120 pages of dense medical text to get through by tomorrow. See, that’s what I would say is my “real” problem. Focus. My mother called the other day and called me a professional time-waster. She is not entirely wrong. But I digress.
I was 14 when I first decided I wanted to be a doctor. A preacher came to our church with testimonies about the orphanages that needed help back in Russia. As cheesy and cliché as it might sound, I wanted to help them. I wanted to help these children who had no protectors, no true home.
The knowledge that there might not be someone to reassure you when you are scared, or listen to what you have to say with genuine interest, or just make sure that you were eating enough boggled my mind. But what really hit me was the idea that there was no one to comfort you when you cried. I don’t know why it was this one thing that made feel the saddest.
I grew up in a very loving home. My grandmother, the woman who essentially raised me and my second sister, is one of the most caring woman I have ever met, known, or even read about. She is brave, resourceful, unendingly optimistic, and kind, oh so kind. It was her I ran to when I was upset or angry, and she who ran to me when I was sick or in pain.
She put my good ahead of her own 24/7, and only when I started middle school did I realize how abnormal such behavior was to this world. I was encircled by love and comfort. Sure, at times overbearing, but it always came from a good place. Trying to imagine a life without her, without someone like her… I never knew how much I had until I realized how much others didn’t.
Sorrow is a rather heavy feeling for an overly-sheltered young girl, but I don’t think any other word can describe what I felt for the orphans. I wanted to help. I wanted to rescue all of them, but even an idealistic teenager will balk at the impossibility of adopting about 100 kids. I knew that, but that didn’t stop me from desiring it all the same.
So I began to plan. A plan that evolved in those few 15 minutes of prayer, but the one that, looking back, I’ve essentially founded my entire educational goal on. I needed money. That was a fact, plain and simple. And as important as it is to rely on God to provide, I did not want to be traveling from church to church, entirely dependent on charity.
So who made lots of money? I knew the answer – businessmen, lawyers, and doctors. I had no interest in business then, nor did the law appeal to me. Business men seemed boring and court dramas scared me. I could never figure out who they were referring to when they talked about the prosecutor and defendant.
And that’s how I decided I wanted to be a doctor. Money. An ignoble reason for an honorable cause. “Wouldn’t it be great if, not only I could sponsor these orphanages and help the children, but also be their primary care doctor?” I mused excitedly. It one of the first times that I set a long-term goal not for myself, but for other people. I wanted to help. I wanted to do something.
I guess that state of the heart was something Jesus could use, because now I’m here.
Let me set something straight. I am no saint and don’t want imagine myself ever even being eligible for sainthood. I am no Mother Teresa with endless patience and a firm grasp on the concept of eternity and serving the Lord like you’re already in it. In fact, I am probably one of the most under-qualified people in my class to become a doctor, not IQ-wise, but behaviorally.
Oh where do I even start?
First off, I grew up sheltered. Very sheltered. Like as in Victorian-era-sensitivity level of sheltered. My first few Osteopathic Manipulative Therapy classes were… uncomfortable. No, I am not used to seeing rather fit half-naked men surrounding me by the dozens. Ok, I admit it. I am not used to it even when they are all dressed. I grew up in an all-female household and my only guy friend, until two years ago, was my cousin I saw twice a year. My sensibilities are need of an extreme recalibration. But that’s a post for another time.
Naivety I have, worldly wisdom I have not.
Also, I lie. A lot. I’m not talking about to other people. (Though I’m not entirely innocent of this either.) I’m talking about lying to myself. Being honest about how I feel about certain things and acknowledging it is not my forte. In fact, denial is no doubt one of my biggest coping mechanisms. “If the problem is ignored, then it does not exist,” could probably be my motto. No need to tell me that it’s not healthy.
I’m still learning to be honest with myself and my own abilities and limits, and even though Jesus is the best teacher one could possibly have, I still tend to relapse. (Good thing Love is known for being long-suffering.) Unfortunately, this particular learning curve is coinciding with my first month of medical school.
Bringing things back to the present, let’s just say things have not been going as swimmingly as I had hoped they would. My high self-expectation to “become the best doctor I was made to be and push my self-potential to the limit” has dropped to a significantly less stellar, “Oh, Jesus, please help me to just pass Anatomy. I don’t want to repeat a year!”
I have failed 3/5 quizzes and one major exam. I have been late 5 times, once, almost to a quiz. (Here they dock your test grade 30% for tardiness). Most of the time, I have no idea what is going on and try to do what my roommate is doing. Not a great thing for someone who aspires to doctorhood to be admitting to. I mean, who wants a doctor who barely passed Anatomy?! Feeling like the class dunce is humbling, to say the least.
Going back to thing my Mom said about being a professional time waster? It’s true. It has taken a slightly different form than it did back home, but the idea is essentially the same. Instead of surfing the internet and reading fanfiction and manga, I do housework and cook. That would be a great change of pace, if only I didn’t know so little and have so much memorizing to do.
Whelp, I made my bed, now I need to lie in it. Speaking of bedtime…. It seems like even sleep is being procrastinated on. I’ll try to pick up on this tomorrow. Or maybe next week. Hopefully, things will have picked up by then.
But my conclusion to all this is that no matter what my failures are, or how beggarly my own abilities happen to be, God is the One whom I draw strength from, and who will work all things for good. (Romans 8:28)
Think about it. If all is truly as bad as I say it is, and yet somehow, someway, I still end up pulling through and succeeding, isn’t that going to point to Christ and glorify Him?
~ Student Doctor Matryoshka
Featured image: https://www.goldencockerel.com/ru-ru/nesting-dolls/doctor-and-nurse-gifts/nurse-doll-5-pc-5-inches.html
Reality Grounded In Dreams 