The End of First Year

As I sit at the Bean Traders coffee shop in Meadowmont, sipping leisurely on some Kenyan black with no sugar, I figure now is as good a time as any to wrap-up and reflect on my first year of medical school. Yes, I realize that our final exam in Block 4: Immunology and Microbiology is not until Thursday, but within a couple hours after that test I will be loaded up on a plane to Amsterdam for a two week cruise with the Fam and the Laabses. And frankly there won't be a whole lot of reflecting on this trip (the only thing I will be "reflecting" are the sun's rays). And indeed, I've also already checked out of school. We finished all new material this morning, and now have 5 days totally free for studying (2 of which I will be in Atlanta visiting Keith and Brandon). No pressure. However, in an effort to stay on top of things, I will play the immunology Step 1 review session on my iPod and re-listen to a few of the key lectures during my drive south. I have no excuse to be unprepared for this final.

This year has gone fast. I remarked earlier how it feels like just yesterday I was standing in my kitchen at Finley Forest, opening the 8.5 by 11 envelop with an acceptance to Emory University Medical School. Well it really feels like just yesterday that I took that bus ride to Orientation 2010 with Amy Sparks and a few other green firsties, eager to begin what we had all be dreaming about for years. That first week was equally memorable. I dressed up like a Stay at Home Dad for our Plan B party, and almost got in a fight with Klara Klein because she said I would never remember her name (well, not a fight really; but Klara was adamant that I would forget everyone's name, especially hers, by the next morning. Really? With that challenge like that and mind-blowing alliteration you think I would forget?). She stood up, all 5 feet of her, and challenged me to a brawl; I knew immediately I was outmatched. Well not only did I remember her name, but she would soon become one of my favorite people. Ever.

That first few weeks of Molecules to Cells (may God have mercy its soul) was frustrating to say the least. It was an incredible adjustment from doing, well let's face it, nothing in college, and then having for study hours and hours a day. I learned I couldn't procrastinate as much (and then re-learned this important life skill after "thorax and abdomen"). This was the new game, a new chapter in my life. I fought it, but eventually one gets used to the grind. The two week period builds, anxiety sets in around Wednesday or Thursday before the test, explodes on Monday morning, and then leaves Monday afternoon/night as the best day of the week. That cycle only gets more difficult next year, with exams coming all the more frequently, but again, I'll get used to it. And third year is its own bear.

So eventually I learned how to study, how to cram massive amounts of information into my brain and then regurgitate it once a fortnight. And in the process, I think I might have learned something. I know now that a foot is made up of more than just an ankle and some toes. I know why smoking causes cancer, and why you shouldn't eat poop (the many many many reasons why you should never, ever eat poop). So maybe I have learned something useful. Next year I will learn a whole lot more, and a year from right now some organization will quantify that knowledge (or lack there of) with the first installment of the United States Medical Licensing Examination. Then I will be able to tell you if I have truly learned anything at all.

But when I look back on this first year, I'm not going to remember much about school. Vaguely I'll recall how Molecules to Cells was a bitch and I never really made it to much class. What will be indelible, however, will be the biweekly dinners with Julia Brant, Dan White, Lauriane Auvergne, and Natalie May, reading trashy romance novels dramatically while dining and drinking wine. There was ghost-riding the whip down the gravel road in front of Jake's house with Thomas Brinkley and Ginny Moye. Doing kart-wheels with Kelly Esposito, Ronnie Milam, and Clodagh Mullen around a park in Lima while the "Happy Birthday Song" was played by three dudes in funny garb behind me. I have pictures of many these events. However, if I really need to remember what my first year of medical school was like, all I have to do is hop on YouTube, search for "5 Star Nerve" and watch the (award winning and highly acclaimed) movie that took Ronnie and me hours and hours of filming, editing, and creativity. Days of video taping faculty, classmates, and potential incoming students. 5 Star Nerve sums up my life as an MS1: it's not about your grade on any given test. The question is, "Do you know the brachial plexus well enough to make a rap about it?"

Because I do.