Medical school comes in waves.
One week, I’ll be sailing along relatively calm waters, basking in my fortune of having the opportunity to attend medical school. During these weeks, my days run smoothly and I literally bounce out of bed to seek out the next unbelievable wonder of the human body.
Other weeks, I swear the waves nearly swallow me whole. My stress levels overflow (like they often do), priorities fall by the wayside, and I feel like the floor has been ripped out from underneath me. I fling to anything I can find and hold on for dear life, hoping that somehow this downpour of information sticks somewhere in my brain, wondering how I got myself in this mess in the first place.
Then the sunshine emerges again. Whether it’s during cadaver lab as my tweezers trace an entire arterial system from the diaphragm to the pelvis, or wrapping my head around the embryonic period where our bowls protrude from our body (for no apparent reason), then coil their way back inside, and I am hit with that all-too-familiar wonder.
But I am learning. More is not always better. I cannot emphasize that enough. There were a few weeks where I didn’t even give myself time to eat. Within 5 minutes of waking, I was studying. When I was walking to the bus stop, studying. Only giving myself 4 hours to sleep. It drained every drop of excitement and passion for medicine out of my body. Then I remembered, this is not a sprint – it’s a marathon.
So as I sit here, freshly showered, lathered in cocoa butter, dishes clean and my house spotless, I can sit back and coast, for just a little while.