Metaphors & Medicine

Here we are, at the end of my gap year. This is it. It's surreal to read that statement. This morning, I will be headed to my first medical school lecture . As nervous as I am, I am hungry to learn, to feel my mind grow more and more enriched each day. Most importantly, I am ready to take the next step to mold myself into the physician I aspire to be. And an integral part of this process is the school I attend. So for this final chapter, here's a little story: In February 2016, as I was walking across campus in the chilly, fall weather, I received an email notification from the Medical College of Wisconsin. My breath stopped for a second, and I stopped walking suddenly, startling whoever was behind me. My cold fingers opened the email and I read, "Unfortunately, we are unable to consider your application..." January 2016 was when I began to panic about the possibility of a gap year and began to feel my hope sinking. This school was one of the last ones ...

One box, another bag. One pile of clothes and a perfectly hung and wrapped white coat. "Are you sure there isn't else you need?" Mama asked me (for the thousandth time, might I add). "Oh wait! There's another bag of food I don't want you to forget."  There she was, running around to give me more, as it seemed she almost always was. She was always making sure we had what we needed- no, making sure we always had more than we needed.  As I drove away from the house tonight, I saw her standing outside the house, her figure disappearing more and more in the background. She was probably still trying to think of what else I might need that I may have forgot.  As I sit in my quiet apartment room nearly an hour away from her, I realize that what there is one thing I don't have with me at the moment and probably will always  need: her.  So Mama, it's your time. This is for you.  If I was ever looking for a woman who could lift the ...

I was soaring. I was soaring so high that I was almost certain my fingertips could brush the tip of a cloud. Tomorrow your life is going to change. This morning when I woke up I told my family I wanted us to go on a picnic, be outside, sit on the grass, and enjoy each other’s company. That was how I hoped to spend the last day of my summer and the last day of this long-and also short- gap year. So that’s what we did. Tomorrow your life is going to change. My siblings, my mother, and my grandmother piled up into the car and drove to one of our favorite lakeside parks. After we ate, my brother and I raced to the swings like children and tried to beat each other’s heights. My legs moved back and forth and propelled me higher and higher until I felt lightweight and invincible. But in the middle of my bouts of invincibility, the same recurring thought kept eating its way through these happy memories I was carving in my mind: Tomorrow your life is going to change. ...