Saturday, November 6, 2010

Ex Cineribus Resurgam

"Do you have anyone in your family who's a doctor?"


"Then how do you really know you want to be one? How do you know anything about the health care environment?"

It's been one year, four months, and six days of weeding - the SMU faculty deciding who is and who isn't good enough for medical school. $40,000 a year to be told I'm not. As she tells me how it's impossible for me to succeed, all I can think of is what I wish I could say to her.

Who are you to judge what I am capable of doing? How can you say something so personal after having met me 15 seconds ago? How are people like you, real "educators," employed?

The ideology that only the children of doctors can become doctors is as stupid as a submarine with a screen door.

Maybe it's because I'm 19 and she is a college professor that allows her to decide my future. Or maybe it's because she really does know better, maybe this is what I will be told in my medical school interviews. Maybe I won't even get an interview.

Last week I read an article about how male medical students are 40% more likely to commit suicide and females are 130% more likely. I wish I could send an email to all my professors. To remind them that if perhaps they concentrated more on teaching their students and less on "cutting the fat," things would be different. To let them know how heartbroken it leaves me when I see so many professors ultimately fail their students.

I know that the decisions I have made are hard. Working full time and being a full time PreMed student isn't what I dreamed of when I was a little girl. But what choice do I have? I want to scream how much everything sucks right now, how hard every day is for me. I want to scream that I'm suffering, that every day I fantasize about a way out. More than anything, I want to scream that I'm doing my best.