An Afternoon in the Life...

My desk/cubby space looks such like the typical med student's. On the shelf, my binder with a month's worth of MNE (metabolism, nutrition, and endocrine) module notes, a used pen, a Starbucks cup (no, I still don't like coffee, however I will drink a mocha on weeks like this where my body simply decides it doesn't want to sleep), and my ID (so I don't forget it if I leave the library, locked on a Saturday). My desk has colored pens in a pile, my Life is Good Nalgene, papers with lists and charts (in color), reactions (also in color), bullet points. My laptop blasts classical music while displaying slides on the urea cycle. My backpack on the chair next to me has a sweatshirt draped over it (the library is as fickle as New England in mid spring, temperature-wise), notebooks filling it, and a pocket of snacks to keep me fed and sufficiently distracted. My bare feet are tucked under me as the sound of typing fills the air....

Such is the weekend before an M1 exam, filled with mild to moderate tension (sometimes more), friends a text away in a pinch, in those moments of "Wait, what?" Otherwise, silence reigns and even a ringing phone conjures dirty looks (though the student snoring on the couch only garnered soft chuckles and a bit of envy).

It's intense. I knew that coming in. I love it, love the science, love the students and the intellectual stimulation and shared passions, the moments of patient contact. I hate it, the hours in the library, the guilt when you spend an afternoon talking about the universe (quite literally) rather than studying. But ultimately, the end is worth it. This is where I am supposed to be.

People keep telling me when you put the white coat on, people's view of you changes. You know what--they're right. I wore my coat this morning for the first time in a non-PPC setting, introduced myself as "Hi, I'm Nichole, I'm a med student here, how are you?" before taking their blood for a prostate cancer screening and making conversation in the way PPC teaches us, though without the nerves, the effort, the staging, the observation. This is the first of many times when it's you and a patient. Sometimes you come bearing a needle, sometimes a chart, sometimes simply yourself. But it's the beginning, when people start to look to you as the one who knows. Sometimes I step back and wonder if this is real. Am I really a medical student, three and three quarters years and more modules and rotations than I want to consider away from becoming a doctor? Do I really have an apartment with a view of the cathedral in the heart of an upscale DC neighborhood (just down the road from Whole Foods, where I can buy broccoli sprouts, which have tumor suppressing properties, and steel cut oats, which are lower glycemic index, thank you nutrition class)? It is surreal, but yes, this is my life. Even if I pay my rent in loans and wear a short student's white coat, yes, this is real. I'm on my way! :)