Post-USMLE 1 Thoughts

06/11/2015 officially marks one of the worst days of my life.

It is finally over. The seven-week ordeal of Cramming-As-Much-Information-Into-The-Cranium has finally ended. This monster called USMLE 1 has finally be slain. Whether or not I have been mortally wounded and must forever retire my armour as the Knight of Medicine is unknown until July.

In the meantime, I definitely feel the effects of such a strenuous battle.

But enough with the metaphorical glamorization of my ordeal of Step 1/Boards/USMLE 1 studying. I had never spent so much time and energy studying for an examination and ended feeling I still don’t know anything. It seems impossible that even with the golden bible of First Aid 2015, there is an infinite amount knowledge to memorize and understand prior.

My upperclassmen, friends, and family have assured and reassured me again that feeling utterly unprepared beforehand and completely defeated afterwards is a completely normal process. I have been persuaded and then dissuaded that I am indeed smart enough, and in the end, it is only a test.

Logically, I understand that this exam, although arduous as it were, is still only one step in the long path of my life in medicine. And even if this is the step that leads me out of medicine, it is by no means the end of the Life Show Called Nita as we know it. I have seen enough of my own friends/classmates who have left the career of medicine whether due to unfortunate circumstances or attrition of the curriculum to understand that medicine is just another job. It only becomes my life if I let it consume me. I have seen enough of these friends survive this blow and bounce back to another calling to understand that I was not molded to live for medicine and no else.

Still, it’s a terrifying feeling.

As I toss and turn in bed about contingency plans if I do indeed fail this examination, I have realized the greatest fear that runs through my mind is the potential loss of this new family I have acquired. Medical school was the first time I truly felt like I fit in and was accepted for who I was; it was the first place I was able to open up and find other people on the other end patiently supporting me. It was the first time I felt somewhat more understood and not immediately rejected. I had a purpose – a role that I uniquely inhabited – in the class of 2017. It’s terrifying to think about losing that, and even worse, having to attempt to recreate that again somewhere else. I have always been somewhat awkward and socially idiotic (he has always jokingly teased me about my unofficial autistic tendencies). I have very seldomly been accepted for my quirks and even more rarely kept much of my connections when people learned of my dysfunctional tendencies. I have very little confidence that I can find such great people again. It was not an easy process to gamble that risk of letting others into my outer demeanor that I try to brave, and it’s even more frightening thinking about having to invest in so much time and energy to gamble yet again if this fails.

These past seven weeks, I have studied alongside V. She has always been one of my strongest pillars in this road of medical school. We are very different people, and we have definitely have had our struggles in friendship and otherwise, but despite it all, she has never given up on me. Despite my constant need for validation and frequent, reflexive tendencies to clam up and shut her out when I spiral down into another period of self-defeat, she has always been honest and supporting of me. It’s the first time I have met someone so different from me. It is the first time someone so different has tried her very hardest to understand me. I have many insecurities, and I have obsessed more than once the potential crumbling that will inevitably happen should our paths diverge. It’s been an insane ride, but we really consoled each other through these forty-nine days of hell. I am thankful that I had V to shoulder through this hurdle together – constantly reminding each other that we’ll be okay and we’ve studied enough when we took turns wigging out – and I am certain that I could not have even gotten through this ordeal had not been our support for each other. During this time, I have also been (surprised and) happily reminded of my family who still greatly care for me. Thank you for M, S, and many others who have made sure I was thought of and checked up on despite their own very busy lives/study schedules. Finally, I am also thankful to my family that has supported me through these seven weeks. Going home was definitely the correct decision. I was well fed, kept alive, and kept sane due to my family’s attentive efforts to ensure my stress levels were never too overwhelming. I am thankful that they are encouraging as they are and never panic when I do.

In the end, knowing that I have these amazing people in my life keeping my company in the worst examination of my life has made these fifty days (forty-nine days of studying plus one day of horrible doom) live-able. Hopefully, I may progress forward with my family in stride. But if not, I know at least a handful of them will always stand by me.