Today, I graduated from medical school. Today, I’ve officially earned the right to call myself “Doctor.” I have to admit that I don’t feel particularly different today than I did yesterday. I’m no smarter, no more responsible, no more respectable, and definitely no more competent today than I was yesterday. But today, they called me “Doctor” and handed me a diploma.
I already wrote a little about overnight call before, and even mentioned the slumber party comparison at the time. I thought it would make for a cute comic, though, so here it is. When I was little, my sleepovers consisted mostly of late-night chick flicks, too much junk food, and a healthy dose of gossip. Pillow fights were a rare occurrance.
So… today is my 27th birthday. I’m not sure how this happened, but I have apparently at some point entered my late twenties. Somehow, I even got a dog, married a husband, and am considering buying a house. Also, I seem to be less than a month away from earning my MD and being called “Doctor.” I have, for all the world, become a “responsible adult”… to my own horror, I might add. It’s been nearly 10 years since I graduated high school, but I have to say that I don’t feel any more “wise” or “mature” than I was then.
Like many other Asian women, I look quite a bit younger than I actually am. This has resulted in all sorts of hilarious situations: being carded for an R-rated movie when I was 23, getting questions about who the “older gentleman” is that I spend my time with (my husband is actually younger than me by several months), and being called “Dear,” “Honey,” “Baby,” etc. by more strangers than I care to acknowledge. That, coupled with the fact that I’ve never really spent any substantial amount of time out of school up to now, leaves me feeling like I really have no idea what the “real world” is like.
Remember when you were a kid and a bunch of you would get together at a friend’s house for a slumber party? Going on overnight call is kind of like going to a slumber party… except that you don’t get much sleep, your “friends” consist mostly of drunk and belligerent ER patients, and pillow fights are replaced by midnight pages. But other than that… you pack a bag full of soda, junk food, and miscellaneous toiletries, lay sleeping claims to some piece of furniture that may or may not actually resemble a bed, and wear pajamas (scrubs… close enough) the entire time. Admittedly, I haven’t been on call since several months ago, back before I developed my now-crippling case of senioritis. This comic is just something that I’ve been wanting to draw and never found the time until now. But I remember the experience well enough.
A few stray observations:
- The night before is actually the worst. That’s when I always found myself tossing and turning in bed, stressing about how I needed to get a good night’s sleep because it was the last sleep I would get for more than 24 hours. (Even though interns are no longer allowed to work for more than 16 hours at a time, medical students aren’t actually responsible for any real patient care and are thus exempt for this rule.) As a result, I would invariably wake up feeling like I didn’t get enough sleep.
- Sleeping 1-2 hours is usually much, much worse than not sleeping at all… more specifically, being woken up after sleeping for those 1-2 hours.
- I’ve never been a big coffee drinker, but I’ve found Mountain Dew to be the perfect mix of caffeine and sugar to keep me awake when my body would otherwise prefer not to be. I also usually dislike carbonation, but it’s nice in the middle of the night for some reason.
- Apprently if I don’t manage to eat dinner by about 1:00am, none of the cafeterias will open again until about 6:00am. This has proved problematic on more than one occasion.
- Being on call with a good resident makes all the difference in the world.
- My bed at home is AWESOME.
Apologies for my long absence– I’m sure most of you are used to them by now though. Last Friday was Match Day. For the uninitiated, the process of securing a residency training spot after medical school is a bit of a convoluted process. It all started last August, when I submitted about 60 some odd applications into the nether and anxiously waited for interview invitations. December and January were spent in a frenzy of flying all over the country, trotting around in a suit and heels, smiling until my cheeks hurt, and generally trying to woo and win favor. I had the misfortune of applying in a competitive surgical subspecialty, so all of this was more than a little stressful. At the end of the interview season, rather than getting acceptances or rejections, I simply had to construct a rank list of all of the programs that I had interviewed at. Meanwhile, the programs were doing the same with all the applicants that they interviewed. The rank lists are plugged into a magical matching algorithm, and in the end, we’re told whether or not we matched, and 4 days later, the school holds a Match Day ceremony for us to find out, on stage and in front of all our classmates, where we matched.
The Match Day ceremony is a bit of a controversial tradition. While some regard it as a celebration of one another’s accomplishments, others liken it to forcing everyone to get up and announce their test grades in public. In general, though, I think those that enjoy attending the ceremony the most are those most happy with their matches. I have to admit that I was one of “The Missing.” I attended my school’s ceremony, but decided not to get up on stage to make my announcement. I didn’t get my #1 choice, but I’m overall fairly happy with what I got. Especially considering how competitive my specialty is, I’m happy to have matched at all.