Orientation

Its happened. I am really going through with this. I am writing this at the end of the second day of orientation, because frankly, yesterday happened without me. It just was. And I was there, but the entire thing seemed like a dream state; faculty and students engaging one another through intense gaze, sprinkled with colloquial niceties. The first dissection you do in medical school is of the students in your class. I never thought I would admit to this, but if you’re a medical student, you are narcissistic to some degree.

Its interesting to watch, and even more interesting to feel yourself secretly scowl at the people around you. That is, until you realize what you may resent in some of your fellow classmates (even before meeting them, I am sad to say) are the faculties within yourself that you once held dear. They are the very things that once made each and every one of us unique at our respective alma maters, from Princeton and Penn to Moarvian and Scranton. I’ve never seen such a quick dissolution of individuality in my life. Yes, each of us as students are individuals in our own respect, but as to the magnitude of what got us in the door of Temple, they completely cancel each other out.

I suppose I should find some solace in that fact. I now have the ability to remold myself, and for one thing, after talking to my fellow classmates, I’ve found that each have the drive to do so as well. But it is no longer to some further end (other than residency, but the numbers seem to govern that, not so much the complexities of human experience), but for the sake of a self-refinement. I’ve found that the second dissection one does in medical school is of the self; an almost panic-induced self-inventory. At least I hope everyone does this… it should be a momentary humbling experience, one that opens you up to the ability to respect the achievements and stories of those who will be sharing the next four years with you. For those who do not experience this, I suggest sitting down to allow yourself to be grounded.

Dr. Lyons, a prolific and extremely well spoken professor at Temple (who also interviewed me for medical school), shared a couple of thoughts with our class that first morning. I remember two of them very well. The first being the difference between “not knowing” and “ignorance”. Not knowing is not a conscious shutting out of information and experience, but more of an innocent lack, whereas ignorance remains double blinded. In one respect it does not know, but as a compounding factor, it does not care that it does not know when made aware due to some determination of necessity. I guess thats what I mean by the dissection of the self; to be successful in this field, one needs not only to become aware the s/he does not know, but must be comfortable with that fact. However, that comfort should be paired with an almost animalistic vigor to find out. This allows for one to open to the entirety of life experience. This is excellence.

The second thought. “Perfection is the enemy of excellence”. Dr. Lyons started with “life is demanding enough”, not as a prescription for getting what you need and want out of it, but that life demands enough from you without having to compound it with the stress of “knowing absolutely everything.” In this day of medical science it is impossible, and furthermore, a completely transparent and empty goal to be attained. Let the mindlessness of computer storage “know it all”. Which lead to his conclusion; don’t have a life in medicine, “have a life with medicine”.

Relief. Maybe this field is the right thing for me. Or, maybe against all probability, I managed to get the quack doctor buried in a University mislabeled for excellence in healthcare for the the underserved, and this is all a load of bullshit. Not likely. For anyone who has read the entry before this one (before I even stepped foot into the school), I wrote under Only the Weak, “I have no intention of being a doctor, its what I hope to do. I am still working on being human.” I am lucky to have found a school that understands the distinction between a life in and a life with medicine, between who I am, and what I hope to do. These two ideals are not at odds, nor are they mutually exclusive, but complimentary. I hope that one day they will still be identifiable as separate entities, yet intertwined to a complexity that rivals that of the human mind. It seems oxymoronic, but if you get the first distinction, maybe someday we’ll both discover what it means to live the second.