Five years ago when I was about to enter medical school, I could not imagine myself actually being in medical school. It was just another goal I was relieved to have reached, but only because I had not discovered any other life paths in college. Despite what I may have said in interviews, I am not sure a passion for the study of medicine actually existed at that time. At least, the novelty of drinking from a fire hose wore off rather quickly, and I found myself, like so many others, questioning why I had aspired to come to medical school in the first place. Occasional patient contacts reminded me of the rewarding side of medicine while each miserable exam crushed my spirit once more. One step forward, two steps back. Sometime during third year, the rewards began to outweigh the desolation felt after each exam. But at the end of that year, I felt in no way ready to make a career decision and step forward toward residency. A year of bench research taught me two things: I do not like bench research, and I do like clinical medicine.
Upon returning as a fourth year medical student, I was undoubtedly dumber than I had been when I finished third year as far as general medical knowledge was concerned, but there was an inexplicable confidence that had settled in me. The most simple explanation is that fourth year of medical school essentially does away with standardized testing and thus only clinical application of knowledge is important. If given the choice between being pimped in the OR and taking a shelf, I will gladly take the former.
The one year hiatus had taught me nothing about medicine and yet, the transformation of my approach toward medical school was undeniable. When did I, a shy and self-doubting type my whole life, begin to enjoy working with patients and feel like perhaps I had something to offer them? When did histories and physicals become conversations and not checklists? How did morning rounds change from a time of nerve-wracking evaluation to an opportunity to discuss semi-intelligently how we could help this patient? When did attendings become teachers and mentors and not foes trying their best to tear me down? Was this merely the difference between a third and fourth year student? Or had I changed so drastically? How will I view the world, or more importantly the system of medical education, as an intern? Medical school was the rockiest road I encountered during my life, and just as it had become smooth, the road ended and I now embark on a new path.
