A New Day

Maybe it is because I got a whopping nine hours of sleep last night (which is a-m-a-z-i-n-g.  I am the definition of an insomniac and I literally cannot remember the last time that I slept all the way through the night....seriously.  Ask my BFF Rachel - she knows that she will get text messages back at 4:00am).  Or maybe it is because I went running yesterday for the first time in over a month and woke up with that - it hurts to move every single part of my body - good soreness feeling that really, only runners understand (albeit - it only was three miles and I was going so slow that even Dandy could keep up).  Or maybe it was because I woke up to an e-mail from my best friend from college - Andrea (who currently lives in London); she shared pictures with me from her wedding in France and they were breathtaking.  This one in particular made me overwhelmingly giddy (sorry Andrea...I hope that you don't mind me sharing).  Sunflowers are my happy place.  Being in, or even seeing, a field like this is something that I regularly fantasized about:

Maybe it was because I ordered Flavors of India for dinner last night and overdosed on carbs.  Or maybe it's because I'm finally stopping with the self-pity and deciding that life here really isn't all that bad.  Could it be that I'm actually accepting and moving on?  I'm not sure what it was, but I woke up this morning feeling better...and that is a huge step in the right decision.  My nickname by more than a few people is "Sunshine." This morning, I actually felt sun-shiny. 

With the exception of the bureaucratic craziness leading up to surgery, and one doctor, I would say that my transplant experience at UCSF was positive.  The nurses were amazing.  The social worker empathized.  My surgeon, while busy, genuinely cared about me, my fears, and my progress.  The nephrologist on the other hand acted like a robot - he treated me as though I was a number...just a body - not a human being who had undergone major surgery, saved someone's life, was left with only one kidney, and would forever be changed.

I remember feeling like I was going to die as I lay in that hospital room the days after surgery.  I have never felt so vulnerable in my entire life.  I had given my complete trust to the medical staff and the only thing that I could do was believe in the process.  My life was literally in their hands.  I couldn't move, there was a catheter in my body, I had five bloody abdominal incisions, I vomited every time I tried to stand up, and was in constant, severe pain.  Most of all - I was scared.  Was this how I was supposed to feel?  When was I going to get better?  What did it mean that my kidney wasn't producing enough urine?  Why are you sending me home - I DON'T feel normal. 

(Um - yes.  I know this isn't the most flattering picture.  But it was, at the most, two hours after surgery.  It was my reality.  Thanks a lot David for capturing my utter incompetence).

As I lay there, drugged, sick, and in fear, the nephrologist made daily rounds with UCSF students.  Having surgery at one of the best medical schools in the country was both enlightening and demoralizing.  As an aspiring medical student, I was intrigued by the process and comforted by the residents - they were the ones who showed actual sympathy and concern.  The nephrologist on the other hand would walk in surrounded by at least 20 students, recite his list of 15 "yes or no" questions and then, without warning, pull back the sheets covering my exposed body to examine my incisions.  My largest scar is below my bikini line where the surgeon actually went in with his hands to remove my fist-sized organ (yes, I watched all five hours of the surgery that they, oh so kindly filmed for me), so suffice it to say that I was forced to quickly forgo any bodily insecurities that I may or may not have had.  An entire room full of medical students took turns studying, taking notes, and drawing what they thought (but would not say) was either successful or unsuccessful progress. 
 
There is a lot to be said about my kidney donation.  I have been a patient before.  Transplant surgery was not my first experience undergoing the knife.  But there is significant value to being a patient before becoming a doctor.  I know what it feels like to lose control.  To be put in a position where you a forced to trust the medical staff.  You have to believe that they are doing everything in their power to accomplish optimal results.  They are there to save you.  To fix you.  To un-break you.  They are there with the good news and the bad news.  They are the intermediate to your mortality.  Physicians have a decision - to take this responsibility lightly or seriously.  To have big egos or to actually care.  As I struggle through the challenge of getting back the ambition that inspired me to begin this adventure I am reminded of the bigger picture and what it must feel like to make that kind of a difference.

Tennis Anyone?

I distinctly remember the day that I consciously stopped being competitive.  Okay, well maybe that's an exaggeration - competitiveness is in my blood - no one on my dad's side is exactly "easy going."  My dad isn't one to give away a pity game even if he is dominating a tennis match 6-0, 5-0 (40-love).  More like shoot for a "golden set."  I mean, it is pretty impressive to be able to say that you didn't lose a single point during an entire set.  I think that I had one of those in high school.  Anyways - I was probably 15.  That would make David, my brother, about 10.  We were skiing in our normal fashion - my dad leading the pack with me right behind...at least until David just completely would not get off my tracks.  He was really gunning for my number two position on the ski slope.  He wanted so badly to be better than me.  Be the better, faster, crazier skier.  And he was.  I realized then that I couldn't keep up.  I couldn't be the best at everything.  Feeling marginally sorry for myself, I just stopped.  I let him go ahead and I dutifully followed.  Victory was his.  

I spent 4th of July weekend in Tahoe with my parents.  Low and behold my father dragged me onto the tennis court (now that I am home for the immediate future, I'm pretty sure that he has big plans to up our #16 National Father-Daughter tennis ranking...okay maybe I kind of want that as well).  Anyways - we hit for an hour or so until finally he started playing out some of my serves.  After not stepping onto a court for a few months, I was pretty surprised by how well I was hitting - and of course - the moment that my dad put pressure onto the non-threatening situation, I choked.  Serves long, wide, and into the net.  Tennis is an emotional sport.  It is so mental.  It is the reason why I rarely competitively play with family or friends.  It just gets too intense.  I will gladly hit all day, but as soon as we start keeping score, I'm out.  I've realized that my love-hate relationship with tennis is a lot like this MCAT ordeal.  I can sit down and do practice problems all day long but when game day comes, I freeze.

I'm not really sure I understand why I stopped with the intensity.  If anyone has experience with performing under pressure, it is me.  I was a competitive gymnast for the majority of my childhood.  After quitting in middle school I took up tennis (because what else was I supposed to do?  My grandmother is in the tennis hall of fame, my dad, mom, brothers, aunt, and cousins all play tennis.  There wasn't much of an option as to what my sport post gymnastics was going to be).  I was a ranked junior player with countless medals and trophies.  Not like I've checked recently, but I'm pretty sure that if you "Google" me, my 1997 NCS championship still shows up around page two.  I don't know, maybe somewhere along the way I burned out?  I realized that the intense emotional turmoil and anxiety that I put on myself by trying to achieve perfection wasn't worth it.  Losing...accepting defeat...was always more than heart wrenching. 

Six weeks prior to MCAT number one I freaked out.  I was taking practice tests weekly, while trying to balance my science classes, and I wasn't getting the scores that I needed.  It was the first time in two years that I deeply felt as though Tulane might not actually work out.  I have a fairly decent sense of myself, how I am feeling, and what I am capable of, but something inside of me just didn't feel right.  I was consumed by doubt.  Around that time, I started studying with a friend who was consistently scoring higher than me.  He simply said - Meghan...just beat me.  For whatever reason my deep rooted competitiveness overcame my insecurities, and that is exactly what I did.  I started beating him.  We all know that in the end, scoring above and beyond in practice exams didn't result in an acceptance to medical school.  Maybe next time?  I guess I should be in a mental vacuum of winning, dominance, and self esteem, but just as I find myself slipping...losing focus...or perhaps even caring about tennis matches, I struggle to maintain my innately competitive edge on test day.

p.s. - Scott - I know that you are reading this.  The next time we play tennis you have to promise to pretend that my Achilles Tendon has not been revealed.  You better not take advantage of my honesty! 

Moving Day

I have pretty much been waiting for a letter in the mail, a phone call, an e-mail, a telegram, a sing-o-gram...anything....telling me that my resume is just so good, Tulane actually doesn't care about my MCAT score and that I can start school now.  If I got that sing-o-gram tomorrow, I would literally be on the next flight to NOLA in a heartbeat.  I want this so badly.  More than anything.  To tell you the truth, I definitely fantasized about that kind of communication after my interview - wow - we are just so impressed, you can forget about taking the MCAT.  Consider yourself accepted.  I think that I tricked myself into thinking that deep down, the MCAT  couldn't be the one thing that would hold me back from medical school.  Everything else is just pretty darn good so why wouldn't I be successful at the MCAT as well?  Modest, huh?  But, alas, I haven't received anything - no songs, no letter, no phone calls - forcing me to realize that they really are serious about this whole score thing.

July 20th was going to be my move date.  My brother and I were going to drive to Louisiana.  New Orleans was going to be my new home.  Everything was packed, the POD was reserved, and I had found a great apartment close to campus.  July 29th was going to be my orientation - my parents even received an invitation for it in the mail.  And July 31st was going to be my White Coat Ceremony - perhaps one of the proudest days of my life.  But guess what?  Today is July 19th, tomorrow is the 20th, and next week is the 31st.  Even though I would gladly accept a last minute admission, I kind of don't think that it is going to happen.  Reality.  Sometimes it's hard.

So here I am.  At my parents' house.  Back in Piedmont.  I would say that my stuff is semi-unpacked...my mother would say that it is far from unpacked.  How am I supposed to fit my life into a closet that has been collecting mementos since high school?  And what about all of the furniture?  Bedrooms really aren't supposed to have two dressers, two bedside tables, bookshelves, a desk and three lamps for only one person...but mine does!  I'm starting to feel a little crammed.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm obviously feeling sorry for myself.  And the constant Facebook news feeds from friends who are already in NOLA (not to say that I am not ecstatic for them)  aren't helping with my self pity  - social networking forces truth and envy to always be in my face....unless of course, I make the uncanny decision of turning it off.  How addicted to innocent Facebook stalking am I?  This "stalking" may in fact be turning me into a crazy person....I should stop....not to mention - try to convert the energy that it takes to feel disappointment and jealousy into positive motivation and will.  It's been a long and exhausting three weeks but I'm starting to accept the truth.  Tulane is inching its way out of my front and center.  It is slowly becoming a periphery,  while my life here - San Francisco, Oakland, Piedmont, Lake Merit, Morgan Stanley, friends, family, and most importantly, STUDYING are creeping back in.  I haven't given up on the big picture and the end goal but I have to see this year as an opportunity - a chance for growth and new experiences.  I'm not sure I really believe in fate, but maybe - just maybe - there is a reason why life is unfolding in this unexpected direction.  Who am I going to meet?  Who will I become reacquainted with? What will I learn?  What will I be exposed to?  What hard decisions will I have to make?  Where will I go?  How will I occupy myself?  Where will I live? How will I become a bigger, stronger, and better person?  Only time will tell.  I will try to be patient as I immerse myself into the complicated layers of this new life chapter.

Oh look - 12:26 am.  It's July 20.  Moving Day!

What's My Age Again?

Here I go name dropping again, but Claire and I met on the first day of kindergarten.  When we were five.  That means that we have known each other for 26 years (I did just pull out my calculator for that).  So guess how old that makes me?  30...almost 31!  You won't ever see or hear me say that age again.  I will be 29 for at least my next six birthdays.  I mean, people are always shocked when I tell them that anyways.  Nooo - you can't be more than 24.  Ha.  If you had asked me ten years ago where I would be by this age - the answer was simple.  Working at Morgan Stanley, married, with at least two children.  Life really is full of surprises. 

Needless to say, I was one of the oldest in my post-bac program.  And I am fully aware that I will be one of the oldest in my medical school class.  I was hoping to finish school by 35.  Now it will be 36 (and that degree will be from Tulane.  I received a letter from them explaining that deferment means no other applications.  Bummer - there goes my dreams for UCSF).  I know that my age is just a number, but guys sure do have it easy.  Babies whenever they want.  Believe it or not...boys and girls ARE physically different.  This is something that I have to actually think about.  Do I want a family?  Do I want to have children?  What kind of life do I want my kids to have and how much do I want to be a part of it?  Do I want to be a working mother?  Will I have the time and energy to balance it all?  Is this road too hard?  After medical school comes residency, and then I will have to pay back loans.  The years are really starting to add up - all of a sudden I'm nearing my mid 40's and my anxiety level is rising.  This is my life we are talking about.

One huge success of post bac was that I had a circle of friends who were a lot like me.  We had all graduated from college with liberal arts degrees, taken a bit of time off, and realized later in life that medical school was our calling.  Going into Mills I thought this was going to be a problem.  I knew that I was on the older side and I thought that I was going to be unable to relate to my peers given my age, experience, and time away from school.  But this was hardly the case.  My closest friends ranged from 23 to 32 years.  And it rarely crossed my mind.  It came down to our circumstances.  What we were doing, and what we wanted.  We were in the same place at the same time with the same goals, drive, and motivation.  I never once thought, oh, I can't be friends with them, I'm just to old and they won't understand.  Quite to the contrary, these people are the ones who get it.

That said, I also have a tight group of friends who are already married.  Some have started having babies.  We are 30 years old after all.  This is what happens.  Go to college, work, get married, have kids.  This was my road for many years.  This is Claire's road - she is a successful business owner with a family - and her son, Jackson - he makes my world go round.  There is nothing better than getting a huge hug or a wet kiss from Jackson.  Nothing better than seeing him walk for the first time, watching his curiosity grow, hearing him say my name, and seeing his face light up with laughter.  I can only pretend to know what it is like to be a mother, but the unconditional love that Claire and Jackson share is like no other love.

Did you know that Jackson is 1.5 years old and I have never had to change his diaper?  Oh, and I've never changed Dara or Davis' diapers either.  Of course, now that I have confessed, I know that I will be changing diapers forever (more like insisting on potty training - it's fine.  They can watch me use the big kid toilet if you really think it's going to help them learn.  But no diapers...ok?).  It's like when I wrote about options...now everyone makes me choose.  But in all honesty, being Jackson's aunt means that I don't have to wake up with him at 3:00am when he is sick.  I can still go out with my friends.  I don't have to watch Disney movies on repeat. And I can ignore the temper tantrums.  It also means that I can focus on myself, study, and go to school.

So I'm undecided.  There are times, especially recently with this medical school set back, that make me think - maybe I am making the wrong decision.  Maybe I do want to focus on an easier career.  Have a family.  And spend time with my future children.  But if I decide to do that, am I giving up on myself?  Selling myself short?  Will I always wonder - "what if?"  Will I resent the family that I decide to have?  A lot of questions, but I do know that for now,  I can't just forget about my dream.  I can't pretend as though the last two years didn't happen.  I have to try this test again and have faith in the unknown.  Faith in the belief that things will unexpectedly fall into place.  Just as they always do.

(pictures from 4th of July.  Fireworks!)   

Scuse Me, Can I Please Have Some Food?

I really like food.  That is probably why I am so upset that everything that I have even considered to eat over the past week has completely repulsed me (not including the amazing macaron that I had in Sonoma a few days ago).  But I am seriously down to my high school weight which is NOT something that I am proud of.  That girl was a tiny, womanless jock.  That is just not me anymore (at least the tiny and womanless part).

I accidentally started a "paleo" diet about two months ago.  My favorite food is pasta, bread, and cheese, so believe me when I say that this was not my idea.  I didn't completely eliminate carbs - I still had some sugars.  But I pretty much stopped with the grains.  This was not easy for someone who could go days and days and days sustained by bagel lunches.  On paleo, I was eating a lot of meat (steak, fish, chicken, bacon, ribs etc), tons of veggies, eggs, nuts, and fruit.  And I felt great.  Really energized, fulfilled, and motivated.  I felt full - I didn't have to eat all the time, and I felt healthy.  Not to mention that my oh, so favorite body part - the belly pouch actually started to diminish.  And I, Meghan Wardlaw, was enjoying cooking.  Ask anyone who has spent any kind of time with me what kind of revelation that is.  Yeah, never really one to embrace the kitchen....please just do it for me.

After I got my score, I literally felt like I had been punched in the stomach.  Really hard.  And that feeling has not gone away.  Kind of a butterfly/nausea/air knocked out of me combination feeling.  It was pretty bad....a true blow.  But I should be used to this.  I have a sensitive stomach.  My stress and anxiety go strait to my tummy - it is where I feel everything.  I now know that I can blame my mother for this...something to do with the bacteria infants are exposed to when they are born via c-section.  But I digress.

The point of this story is that I was on Lakeshore yesterday doing some errands...taking a study break... and I looked across the street at Arizmendi.  All of a sudden I was hungry!  While pizza isn't exactly paleo friendly, it was delicious and I'm so glad that I can feel my appetite again.  I can see how this might seem silly and inconsequential to an outsider, but having my stomach back means that my dignity, self esteem, and mojo are dutifully returning.  Oh, and did I mention that I went running yesterday for the first time in a long time?  Watch out boys, the four pack is here to stay.

If I'm going to study for the MCAT again - which I'm going to do.  I have already started.  I need a strong, energized, motivated, happy, and healthy body.  Thank you body for finally starting to creep back.  I can't do this without you.

Got Inspiration?

My dad told me that I need to start adding pictures.  This is a lot for me to handle considering that, as you know, technology is not one of my strong suits.  But seeing that the background of my blog is purple stripes, maybe I should put some effort into it.  We will see.

I've been thinking a lot about inspiration recently.  And desperately needing some.  Trying to remember the reasons why I made this big change and why I want to spend the next four years of my life in school (not to mention residency.  Ahhhh...how old am I again?).  I guess inspiration isn't really something that you can force upon yourself, but I've been trying nonetheless.  Today is my first day back.  I woke up early (and when I say woke up, I mean that I got up, because sleeping isn't something that I have indulged in for many, many days), went running, and dove into Biology.  I have no idea why Biology is my worst MCAT subject.  I find the material fascinating.  Physics was the bane of my existence last year, but I shockingly score the highest on that section.  It's just like gymnastics - the balance beam used to scare the bejeepers out of me while I could do flip after flip on the floor.  But during competition my scores always soared on the event that agitated me the most.

Okay, so no, Dandy is not the reason why I want to go to medical school.  But he definitely motivates me.  My mother and him are my biggest fans.  I will say that I am not necessarily proud of being 30 years old and living at home while I study to the take the MCAT for a second time.  But Dandy makes it a little better.

Wow.  Another picture.  I might actually be getting into this.

During my first year of post bac I decided to donate one of my kidneys.  Maybe I'll tell more of that story later (like why I think the whole experience is going to make me a much better physician) but for now, I want to talk about inspiration.  I haven't really used names in my writing yet, but I donated my kidney to Kevin.  I'm sure that he won't be mad at me for saying that.  I remember that I was in the middle of midterms (it might have actually been a Biology midterm) when I got an e-mail describing Kevin's diagnosis.  My heart literally skipped a beat when I realized that maybe there was something that I could do.  No, I hadn't ever met Kevin before, but this was an opportunity of a lifetime.  Why wouldn't I want to help?  I have O neg blood, and am pretty darn healthy.  At that moment, I realized that I had the potential to save another person's life.  How many people can actually say that?  This is the reason why I want to become a doctor.  What makes me happy is helping - significantly contributing.  It is what I want to do forever.  And while I understand that I don't have any more kidneys to give, I can train myself and my brain to assist in other ways - being the one making a difference with the skills that I will acquire.

My kidney donation made me realize that there is more to this process than just "schooling."  Yes, exams were stressing me out when I heard about Kevin. But I instantaneously was reminded that becoming a doctor is more than Biology and Chemistry.  It is deeper than getting A's on midterms and being the best in my class.  It involves other people.  Other lives.  Human lives.  Kevin was and is my bigger picture.  He is one of my many inspirations.

(The picture above was taken during our one year anniversary celebration.  Yay!  ONE YEAR!).

That's What Friends Are For

This week sucked.  I mean, there were days of bad news followed by bad news.  It goes down in the books as one of the worst.  Too much at one time.  Seriously.  Way too much.  But as an old friend of mine has never let me forget - "what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger."  That song is on at least 17 of the 20 mix CD's that he made me.

One thing that has struck me during this week of yuck is who steps up to the plate during times of pain and who doesn't.  It is easy to be my friend when things are going well.  I'm happy, caring, sometimes funny (if you appreciate dry sarcastic humor), and usually up for anything.  I'm a giving person - it is what I do best...I would go to the ends of the earth for my friends and family, so it's nice to have me in your rolodex.  But when times are tough, the people who are there are really the people I consider my true friends.  Friends who can be selfless, thoughtful, and present.

I wanted to thank you for the overflow of support I have gotten this week.  All of my friends have gone above and beyond.  Daily phone calls, text messages, e-mails, trips to Sonoma, dinners, drinks, cards, and care packages.  Thank you for your patience.  For letting me interrupt you in the middle of your sentence with, "you know what really makes me mad?"  I'm not the kind of person who has a billion acquaintances.  My friends are true and close.  This week has made me realize why I have selectively chosen my army of support.

News travels fast.  This is something that I am used to.  I grew up in Piedmont after all - the rumormill is fierce.  It's one of the reason's why I started this blog.  I just want to be honest.  No games.  Not going to hide anything.  If you want to hear it, you can hear it from me.  But I am seriously amazed by the outpouring of support, guidance, advice, and condolences that I have received from people who I wouldn't consider to be my inner circle.  People I haven't spoken to in years, people from my childhood, coworkers, friends of friends, parents of friends, friends of friends' parents, friends of my parents.  Thank you to everyone who has been there.  Words cannot express my gratitude.

I'm an organizer.  I do not like a messy inbox.  I feel like I'm having a pretty good day when I can get my e-mails down to ten.  Since Tuesday, my inbox has been FLOODED.  I have pages and pages and pages of e-mails.  If I haven't responded to your note (which I undoubtedly cried to when I read) or returned your phone call, please know that I am more than thankful and that I will.

Thank you to the people who have been there.  The people who have put their own lives aside just to listen or distract me.  True friends power through during times of trouble.  It has not gone unnoticed.

P.S. - I should thank my family as well.  I mean, whether they like it or not they have had to deal with me this past week.  And when I mean deal with me, I mean, I have really put them through the ringer.  Late night sob sessions,  a lot of moping and feeling pretty darn sorry for myself.  A lot of please stop talking, I don't know how else I can tell you the test was just hard.  No, I'm not sure how I'm going to study differently.  No, I don't know what I want for dinner, in fact, I just want a bite anyways, because to be frank, I feel like I'm going to vom.  All the time.  Thank you for putting up with me and never losing faith.  I know it hasn't been easy.

I Like Options

Please don't ask me where we should go to dinner.  I don't know.  There are some things that I am just not good at.  Shaving my legs (ankles and knees especially), anything technology related (including working a channel changer...yes I call remotes channel changers), and coming up with ideas are at the top of my "needs improvement" list.  Oh yeah, and standardized tests - but that should be obvious by now.  HOWEVER, if you have ever dated me, you know that my favorite trick when faced with the impossible task of having to come up with anything - a movie, dinner, vacation spot, weekend activity...whatever - is "you pick three, I'll pick one."

So, as you can imagine, when I found out my score, I panicked.  I was terrified by the unknown.  I started working on an options list as soon as possible.  Ideas ranged from moving to New Orleans anyways, studying for the MCAT there, working in Tulane's ER, and getting a head start on my public health classes.  If I'm good at anything, it's resourcefulness, plus, I have a huge network - I already know an Examkrackers tutor as well as an emergency room physician in New Orleans.

I did e-mail Morgan Stanley.  I have begged for my job back more than once before.  This test has definitely made me challenge my intelligence and whether or not I'm up for the long, long, long road of exams, competitiveness, sleepless nights, and long hours that I have in front of me.  Can I do this?  If I can't get the score I need on the MCAT, will I be able to get the score I need on the boards?  So that's an option...I can go back to Morgan Stanley.

What else - I e-mailed my boss in the Emergency Room asking her if I could train to be a tech or a clerk (not for the long run, but for this transition year).  I've thought about becoming an EMT....again.. short term.  I looked at the requirements for PA school.  Yes - becoming a nurse would probably be easier.  Plus, I wouldn't have to worry about the liability that doctors deal with, not to mention the crazy hours.

Should I apply to other schools?  Should I start school now in the Caribbean?  Should I just stick with Tulane?  They did tell me that my deferral is an acceptance whenever I get the score that I need on the MCAT.

Then, there's always travel.  Doing some kind of humanitarian project in South America.  Working on my Spanish.  Seeing more of the world.  Getting out of the Bay Area.  You all know that I love the Bay Area.  But I desperately need to leave, it's starting to hold me back.

Yay.  All of a sudden I'm drowning in options.  And that's a good thing.  It means that I can choose.  Everyone knows that I make things happen.  When I make up my mind, I go for it.  You can't stop me.  This is NOT to say that I am impulsive, because I'm not. 

I'd say that there are two major decisions that I have made that have drastically changed the direction of my life.  The first was deciding to leave an engagement.  I can't tell you how long it took me to end a relationship that wasn't making me happy.  It was hard.  The second was my decision to leave a career that I could have stayed with forever.  Going back to medical school was something that I pondered for years.  Morgan Stanley was not a bad job.  I was making a lot of money, working with amazing people, and training for management.  Things there were just going to keep getting better.  But it wasn't me.  I came home at the end of the day feeling unsatisfied and unfulfilled.  I decided that I would rather be in school for the next ten years than stay in a job that didn't make me happy.  That feeling of inspiration is what I'm struggling to find now.  I know that I want to be a doctor, but it is going to be hard.  Did I make the right decision two years ago?  I think I did but I know there are going to be moments of questioning and doubt.

Okay, so as of today, I'm not going to give up.  I have options.  To start with, I'm going to take the MCAT again.  I signed up for the September 2nd test date.  So I'm going to study.  And I am going to study hard.  I gave up a lot to make this happen.  I'm not going to quit now.  And also - I'm going to choose my top ten schools and apply to those.  Maybe I'll be in New Orleans by this time next year.  But maybe I'll be in San Francisco, or Chicago, or Boston.  We will see.  And as for after September 2nd.  I don't know what I'm going to do.  But it's kind of nice to be able to say that, and it's kind of nice to know that I have a long list of things to choose from.

In Loving Memory

I went to my uncle's memorial service on Thursday.  I wasn't sure that I really wanted to go - or that I was ready for my entrance back into society.  But my dad told me that I needed to stand up to my fears, face people with truth and honesty and be brave.  Also, it was a memorial service.  I figured that if there was any place that I could go to continue feeling sad and vulnerable, this would be an ideal venue.  Up until this point, I was having a hard time speaking ten words without choking up, so when I saw that "Amazing Grace" was the first song on the program I felt doom.  But the service was nice.  It was short and simple.  A loving recognition of an admirable husband, father, and friend.  There was one passage from "Tuesday's With Morrie" that made me glad I brought Kleenex.  But who doesn't start crying when you read anything from that book?

Guess what?  Life is not all about the MCAT and medical school.  After I got my scores I was consumed with disappointment, confusion, and fear; at that moment it felt as though those results were the only thing that mattered.  When my uncle's friends spoke about Kirk's life, they didn't talk about the tests that he took.  They remembered the sports that he played, the trips that he took, and the relationships that he had.  Yes, my uncle was an admired teacher, and of course, this was an enormous part of his life.  But it wasn't everything.

While we were eating lunch, my father shockingly piped up and said "You know what?  I miss my dad a lot."  My father has always been on the quiet side and it is rare that he shares raw feelings, so I was intrigued.  He explained how proud my grandfather would be of all of the hobbies my mother and father have recently shared...and yes...tandem biking is close to number one on that list.  He continued by telling a story about a fishing trip that he and my grandfather had taken.  They fished all day without a single bite.  As they were driving to their next location, the van - now remembered as "the wreck" tipped over the side of a hill resulting in 25 stitches in my grandfather's head.  Nevertheless, the fearless duo continued with the trip.  They sat all day in pouring rain (please try to picture my grandfather's head wrapped in ace bandage...kind of like a turban topped with a fishing hat) until finally they caught their first fish.

When I go to medical school and when I become a doctor, I don't want that to define me.  Don't get me wrong - while standardized tests may not be my thing, I do plan on dominating in medical school.  I know that I can and want to do that.  I know that I want to be a talented, knowledgeable, caring, and altruistic physician.  This will be a huge part of my life.  But I also know that I am capable of more.  I want to keep running, I want to play tennis, I want to hike, travel, and be outside.  I want to to be the best daughter, sister, and friend, that I can be.  I know that it will be hard.  I know that medical school will be one of my life's greatest challenges and when the time comes I will embrace that.  However, when I am remembered, I want to be remembered as someone who took on, excelled in, and lived the many roles that makes me and my life complete.