Voices: An (A)typical Premed Narrative

Hillary in Botswana

                                                                           

There are so many paths to take to find a passion and a calling. That is one of the great things about a liberal arts education. Things change around us and inside us.  An open-ended program of study gives students a chance to explore and then embrace change. Many of the voices you will hear from have had a transformative experience of this kind. It is what makes the educational system of colleges and universities in the US the place so many want to experience from within the country and around the world.

Hillary speaks far better than I could about this. Her details and narrative put flesh on my vague abstractions. A real voice can make all the difference in someone’s life, be it a teacher, or parent, friend, or in this case, someone who volunteered her time and obvious writing and intellectual talent just to share it with people who might benefit. The importance of service to others is something a college or university tries to instill in students and she and the other voices on this site have demonstrated this perfectly.

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“Do not seek only what you think you wish to find; you will end up learning only what you thought you wanted to know.”  -Jonothan Safran Foer. 

For many people, the phrase “pre-med student” conjures to mind a stereotype completely contradictory to the spirit of the liberal arts:  a grade-obsessed machine totally disinterested in the pain of others, yet willing to sacrifice a limb or a first-born child in order to procure that elusive medical school acceptance. That basically described most of the students who identified as pre-med in my high school, so perhaps it is no surprise that it was one of the only courses of study that I thought I’d squarely eliminated when I arrived at college.  While I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to study, my interests ranged from global development, to Arabic language, to comparative religion.  I knew that I wanted to pursue some kind of service-oriented career, which narrowed my possible career choices down to anything from teaching to public health to working for an NGO.  My goals and interests were so broad, it seemed, that making any kind of drastic change to my path was highly unlikely.   As I’ve learned subsequently in my statistics courses, unlikely events actually occur with remarkable frequency.

My first year of college was wonderful and certainly gave no hint that a change was imminent.  I’d taken economics for the first time and found it fascinating, made a dozen close friends through daily Arabic classes, and completed the required courses for my then-intended major of Environmental Policy.  I’d heard about the Center of International Education Exchange (CIEE)’s summer programs for studying abroad, and decided to apply to their program in Botswana for studying Public Health.  The program remarkably combined almost all of my interests with a focus on HIV/AIDS as well as the environmental influences on health, and it seemed ludicrous to pass up an opportunity to study in Africa.  I packed my bags and braced for the fifteen-hour flight, unsure of what to expect but hoping for an adventure. 

Fast forward to three weeks later, when I was shadowing a doctor treating patients with HIV in a public clinic in Gaborone.  While the public health and development issues facing Botswana are far too complex to explain in this essay, it is perhaps worthwhile to mention that approximately one-third of the adult population in Botswana is infected with HIV and that the government of Botswana provides free care and medications to all citizens.  In any case, as I observed the Moroccan doctor treating thirty patients over the course of a morning, it became apparent that I’d been wrong about several things.  First, I’d never considered medicine a service-oriented career.  Perhaps because I and everyone I knew growing up had been lucky enough to receive the healthcare that we needed, I had never thought of practicing medicine as a form of providing aid.  Second, whereas I’d always viewed physicians as being somewhat flashy and arrogant, Doctor Hussein was gentle and empathetic. It occurred to me that none of my own doctors had ever fit into my unfair stereotype, which was probably a result of my interactions with pre-med students at my high school.  Last but not least, practicing medicine was actually fascinating.  I’d always viewed public health, with its emphasis on community-based changes, as being both more useful and more interesting that an endless stream of patients in an office.  While community-based health initiatives are certainly essential, I was quickly finding that I’d misunderstood many aspects of clinically-based care. 

Suddenly, there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to be a doctor.  Wanting and pursuing are two different things, however, and making the decision to completely change tracks before my second year of college was an excruciating process. I had taken all of the key sciences in high school and enjoyed them, but my attitude had been that of an observer.  I was paralyzed by doubt that I could succeed in the required science courses, and intimidated by the thought of completely re-designing my academic career.  I had no experience doing lab research, which I knew was essentially requisite for applying to medical school. And yet, at the end of the day, I wanted to be a doctor.  The only way to become a doctor was to start as a pre-med student.  I decided that I owed it to myself to at least give it a try.  

When I arrived home from Botswana, I logged into my student account.  I had already signed up for courses for the coming semester before the trip, and had been eagerly anticipating taking Arabic 201, Introduction to Environmental Activism, Politics of Developing Areas, and others.  All of the courses I’d signed up for were now wait-listed; if I changed my mind I would not be able to get back into them. I highlighted each course, pressed the “drop” button, and went to add General Chemistry to my now-blank schedule.  Ready or not, I’d taken the leap.

As I look back two years later, I realize that I was wrong about even more than I knew when I first started.  Whereas I expected the required courses to be dull and torturous, I have found professors who genuinely love what they teach and who want to help their students learn.  The dreaded Organic Chemistry turned out to be fascinating, if extremely difficult.  Whereas I was nearly convinced when I started that I would be weeded out after the first week, I’ve found in myself a resilience tenacity that I never knew I had. Most of all, whereas I envisioned myself being essentially alone in a sea of anonymous pre-meds on a quest to get into medical school, I have found a community.  The students I sat next to on the first day of biology, the other undergraduates in the lab where I did research, the students in my organic chemistry lab section, and all of the other friends I’ve made along the way form a network of support and commiseration.  Each of us has had days where giving up seemed like the only option; having friends to provide a reality check can make all the difference between throwing in the towel and trying one more time.

My future is still far from certain, as the MCAT and applications loom on the not-too-distant horizon.  Regardless of what the future may bring, I am grateful for the friends I’ve made and the unexpected lessons that I’ve learned over these past three years.