A Littmann, a Letter, and Some Courvoisier

I've always been superstitious. I knew I had to be patient if I was going to get lucky enough that night to find out if I would indeed become a physician. Emory sent their letters of acceptance on December 23rd, so there was a chance there would be good news sitting in my mailbox on the 26th. Even though it was a federal holiday, mail was being delivered (the mail takes a break for no one). So as I pulled up to my apartment after a six hour drive from DC, I was nervous. The likelihood that Emory would accept me during their first committee meeting after my interview was low. Many times applicants are passed over after many reviews before they get their letter. So if I was going to get lucky, I had to be patient. Good things always come to those who wait.

That's why I didn't check the mail box immediately after I parked. First I unpacked the car: clean laundry was put back in my dresser, Christmas presents moved to their new homes, McDonalds' wrappers thrown away. I went to the bathroom and set my clothes out for my EMS shift in the morning. Only then did I briskly walk outside to Box 125. I knew that the letter would be 8.5 x 11 (acceptances are always this size of course, as I found out from applying to colleges). I unlocked the tiny door, peered through the opening and then I saw it: the official seal of Emory University.

However, if I had opened it immediately, I would have found an informational packet or a "thank you for interviewing, please be patient" letter. My heart was racing. I brought in the mail, and threw away the rest of the superfluous documents (ads). The clean dishes had to be put away first, and then (only then!) would the letter magically turn into an acceptance letter. I took a deep breath and opened it...

"Congratulations Robby, your life-long dream has come true. Everything you have worked for over the past 22 years of your existence has now realized. Your journey begins at the end of July as you matriculate with the Class of 2013 at Emory University School of Medicine. Every minute you studied, every hour you volunteered, every practice you swam: they were all worth it. Congratulations, you will be Robert A. Swendiman, MD." (It gives me the chills just looking at my name with those two letters after the comma).

No, that's not what it said. But it's what I read. I felt three inches taller. The yoke that had weighed me down for the past few years (and especially the last few months) was lifted. It was a miserable process: the tests, the waiting, the applications, the more waiting, the essays, and of course, the weeks of waiting. But it was over now... any other interviews or acceptances are now just icing on the cake. I called my parents (Mom. Dad. I'm going to be a Doctor. - on speakerphone), and I realized after I hung up that I had tears in my eyes.

Unfortunately, I can't say I did anything too crazy once I saw the good news. I didn't scream, run around the house naked, or even pee on myself. I settled for something classy and doctor-ish: I sipped on Courvoisier, since that seems like a grown up thing to do. "Sipped" being the key word, meaning I took one sip and switched to orange juice; it wasn't as tasty as I hoped. Still, nothing could mar the night's events. Dreams are dreams, and they are even better when they come true.

Needless to say it was a fairly good Christmas. Santa brought me a Littmann Cardiology III, a top of the line stethoscope to use in conjunction with the sphygmomanometers on the ambulance (that's a big word for blood pressure cuff... aren't I supposed to start using words that no one else can understand??). The gift was foreshadowing of great things to come, and frankly, I think I've now started believing in Santa again.