“Allah has called you into this. He’s facilitating for
you to be in medicine,” my mentor said to me.
I was sitting in my car, my mind exhausted from
another long study day, listening to the rain dance atop my car. There are very
little moments in medicine when we allow ourselves to take moments of silence,
to interject the pattern of run, run, run to the next meeting, to the next
lecture, to the next item on your to-do list.
So while I was taking a moment to listen to the rain,
to let it sing calming harmonies into my mind, my phone rang with my mentor's
name on it.
I just wanted to share the heaviness that medicine
felt like these days, how hard it felt each day to just start, so much so that
I've taken on a new routine that minimizes the chance for me to think about
what I want to do and instead focus on the doing.
"Years and years of this, and I'm still figuring
out exactly how to do this because sometimes it gets hard," he said.
I remember the first time I walked into his office,
waiting for something to reawaken my passion for medicine, or should I say,
search for it and if it still even existed somewhere within me. I walked into
his clinic with a heaviness then too, wondering how I would embark on this
journey, why I should put myself through a process that feels so demeaning to a
person's own self-esteem.
By the beginning of the second day of shadowing him, I
didn't find the passion I had previously; I found something new, a new meaning
to medicine, a new understanding of my own purpose in this path. And it wasn't
only about me and the impact I could make. It was about the patients, and the
impact they make on me, that proved to me that this was not a life that one
chooses; it's a life that chooses you.
The impact that people's stories left on me was
profound, and I found that I did not want an idle or passive role in someone's
story when I hear about their vulnerabilities. Each one changed something
within me, and I hear something click each time I meet someone who does change
something. They make me want to be equipped to serve, to be the person they
need, to work on myself to be better for them.
It's realizing that we are not born ready to be
physicians that is an important point that I often forget. We are born with a
calling, and it takes time to realize what it is. By then, I would catch myself
forgetting that I am still in the learning stage, a student in life and school
working to better herself to shape herself into that physician who is ready to
take on the responsibility of caring for others. But that does not come
immediately. It does not come when we apply to medical school. It does not come
when we are in our medical school lecture halls or reviewing lectures for the
third time. It does not come when we are following physicians on rounds, trying
to grasp onto any little bit of information or pointers we can get.
We are not born ready. We have to become ready.
So it was when I walked into patient rooms with that
mentality that I realized why I was in medicine. I was in there for the patient
stories to leave their impression on me, change me, wake up that desire to do
more, to put myself second and put them first. I only realized that when I felt
it happen. I felt that change from within, and I still remember the exact
patient story that made that part click for me.
At that time, I told my mentor my plan had deviated,
things hadn't worked out, I wasn't accepted into schools and I didn't know if I
wanted to do it. And he responded with the simple question of "so
what?" I got defensive, but I was also speechless. My plan had changed,
but that was the plan I made. It wasn't set in stone, it wasn't of some sacred
value that it could never be unchanged. In the end, this plan was a human plan,
and it would always be susceptible to change from a much higher power.
While that girl sat in that chair drumming this
question back and forth in her mind, feeling like no one understood her
frustration, the version I am now would scoff. How I am different than that
younger and naive version of myself is I am more confident in my place in
medicine. I understand that this is a calling, and not entirely a choice. The
choice I made was to follow the calling I felt drawn toward. That does not mean
the plot twists will not happen, but I understand better that they are just a
simple part of this journey.
And no, you cannot always make them feel better.
Sometimes, there is no positive twist on them. Here I am, back in a position
where it feels like my life depends on scores and a standardized exam. And you
know what, I have thought about running, running, running more times than not
in the last few weeks. The heaviness is back. But I am not sitting with that
same frustration. I know what I need to do. I know that this part is temporary.
Acknowledge the frustration, welcome the heaviness, but let it sit beside you
instead of over you. Let it follow you, but never take the lead.
So as the rain drummed against my windshield and
danced overhead, I let it sink that that I am coping with the heaviness because
Allah has facilitated to be here, to do this, to be strong enough to do this. I
was called to do this. Whatever higher power you believe in, just know there is
a force greater than ourselves that has determined we are capable of taking on
the hard battles. And just because something is hard, really really hard,
doesn't mean it can't be done.
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