Medicine or Bust.

I am six years old.

I am in first grade, and I am writing down all the reasons I want a baby sister. For much of my elementary school years, my parents have been entangled in the adoption process due to the multiple miscarriages my mother experienced, along with her primary ovarian insufficiency diagnosis in her late thirties. Of course, her diagnosis has not been detrimental to my childhood, but perhaps my childhood and life could be different if I would have had another sibling.

I live on a lake; we have a new puppy; I catch butterflies and dragonflies in the backyard and make mudpies and climb sunflowers while my mother tends to her beautiful garden. I'm in dance, I like to color and make art and I love my Barbies, Polly Pockets, and Build-A-Bear, Bunny Bunny. In the winter, my brother and I build houses in the snowbanks when school gets canceled. We ice skate on the lake, and we have sleepovers with friends in our parents' fish houses. I dream of becoming an artist, an author, a marine biologist, and maybe even an actor.

I am twelve years old.

I am sitting for a career assessment test in my seventh-grade homeroom. My assignment is to take a profession from my test results that aligns with my personality and interests and research it. Not to my surprise, there are multiple physician specialties, one of them being an OBGYN. There are certainly not many twelve-year-olds that get excited about being a "vagina" doctor, but as you might guess, I am one of those twelve-year-olds. I am fascinated with the profession, and starting today, I have decided to become a doctor. My dream is to deliver a woman's child (Even though I have no idea what it means to be a doctor yet).

I am eighteen years old.

I have just graduated from high school, and I am heading off to college this fall. I am standing in the delivery room facing a woman's perineum head-on. The baby's got quite the tuft of black hair on its head, and the mom is struggling to keep pushing. This is the only delivery I have been lucky enough to experience, and it's nothing like how it is depicted on Grey's Anatomy. Mom doesn't scream when she's pushing, thanks to the epidural. The TV is on in the background, and it's a calming environment overall. I get to hold one of her legs up as she attempts to push from a new position, but she's struggling to push for much longer on her tenth hour of active labor. She is starting to become somewhat distressed, and it sounds as though she is going to need help delivering this baby. Dr. Anderson holds her hand and consoles her; "Why don't we try a vacuum extraction? We are going to help you in your delivery, and you will still get to have your vaginal delivery. We are just going to guide baby out of the birth canal." I am watching what is essentially a plunger be placed on an infant's head, and in a matter of seconds, a family of two becomes a family of three, and their lives are changed indefinitely. While the mom and dad do skin-on-skin with their new daughter, I watch Dr. Anderson's hands swim through the pelvis in a sea full of blood and tissue as she sutures the skin that just gave way to life. I am in pure shock, amazement, and disbelief at what I have just witnessed. This changes everything. Today has confirmed that I will be an OBGYN, and nothing will stand in my way.

I am sitting in the parking lot reflecting on the day I just encountered. While I know some would be mortified by what I have just seen, I am intrigued and inspired. That mother has no idea who I am and has no idea that she is the reason why I am pursuing medicine. I now know what my purpose is.

I am nineteen years old.

I am no good at chemistry, I am no good at physics, and I am apparently no good at political ideology either. I am probably spending too much time having fun during my Freshman year and not enough time studying and getting A's in my classes. I attend my mandatory freshman academic advisory meetings once a semester and am told to start thinking of a plan B other than applying to medical school - I should really tell him off because who the hell does he think he is going and crushing my spirits? My GPA is a dumpster fire, but I'm not worried because I have three more years to redeem myself, right? I started to cold-email physicians for research a while back. I quickly landed a great opportunity with an OBGYN to look at how adiponectin and omentin affect myometrial contractility in pregnant women with obesity. As a result, my name is associated with two published abstracts in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology that I have delightfully added to my resume.

My freshman year is coming to an end, and I am planning to get my certified nursing assistant license to start racking up my clinical hours. I wake up at 5:45 am each day to wake up 16 residents in the nursing home. I toilet them, dress them, feed them, bathe them, and entertain them. I enjoy my job, but I don't love it. I need more responsibility and more knowledge.

I am twenty years old.

I live in my sorority house, and I am struggling to focus on my studies. There is an excuse to go out every night when you live with 33 other girls. I feel like the other girls don't understand the sacrifices I need to make or the amount of studying I need to do, and as a result, "I'm no fun," and I end up missing out on making memories. I bog down on my studies and ignore most of the background noise. I keep telling myself, It's all going to be worth it. What's more important? A night out or your future? Keep pushing. You can do this! Thoughts of taking the MCAT next year linger distantly in the back of my head. It's still so far away, but I know well enough that that test will sneak up on me fast.

I have found more research working with my mentor and two other medical students at a small clinic in North Minneapolis. I've never been to North Minneapolis before, but I know that I should be careful given that security must escort me to my car, which is only 100 feet outside the front door due to the normalcy of gunshots. As a research assistant, I input prenatal risk assessments into REDCap, a research database. I am shocked by the lack of support, food, transportation, housing, and financial stability that the patients at this clinic face. I am starting to learn more about cultures other than my own through my new research project, and I realize how much my life has lacked diversity. I have taken so much of what I have for granted, and I am ashamed of myself.

I am on spring break with my family, and Mr. President Trump announced the United States is closing international travel due to COVID-19. Spring break got extended, and now the university is shutting down, and I'm supposed to go to college behind a computer screen. I'm taking organic chemistry, my second biology course, leadership, and a stupid soil class that covers a liberal education requirement. I was supposed to do more research this spring, start a new volunteer position at the HCMC ER, and get tons of shadowing hours in.

Amid this pandemic, there is some good news, and that is that my brother got into medical school. I couldn't be more happy for him.

My brother has always been smarter than I am, and I've struggled with comparing myself to him all my life. He graduated with a 4.0 in high school, and I did not. I think he got a singular A- in college with a neuroscience degree, and I, again, was well below that threshold of grades. He didn't get into medical school his first cycle, and his stats and resume well surpassed mine. There is slight resentment towards him as medicine is and always has been my dream. His initial dream was engineering when he got to college, but it quickly switched to medicine. College just came easy for him, but it has not come easy for me. Of course, I'm incredibly proud and excited for him, but I wonder how I, myself, am going to get into medical school when he had so much trouble getting in.

I am twenty-one years old.

I spend my 21st birthday in the middle of a global pandemic on the rooftop of an apartment with my close college friends. No bars for me, but I will tell you that didn't stop me from having an appropriate 21st if you know what I mean. I am now the Vice President of Membership Recruitment for my sorority, and I am studying to take the MCAT. I have most definitely taken on more than I can handle, but I'll never admit that to anyone. Having a large leadership position has always been another goal of mine, and I am determined to show people I can lead a sorority chapter through recruitment and be a pre-med student studying for the MCAT. I am spending spring break in my college apartment while all my friends lay poolside in Mexico with drinks in hand. I have to stay off of social media this week or I will seriously have a meltdown. I hate myself at this moment for choosing the career path that I did. Why couldn't I have picked something easier? Something that would allow me to have fun, be less stressed, and go on spring break with my friends.

My resume looks good: thousands of hours worth of clinical experience, shadowing, research, and volunteering all combined. I have to start writing my personal statement and find people to write my letters of recommendation for med school applications. I wrote my personal statement draft in one sitting, and I think it's perfect. Finding people to write letters of recommendation for med school applications is my arch nemesis - the only way to do it is by kissing ass, which is not my style. You're telling me I have to go to office hours and ask questions that I already know the answers to just to build rapport? No, thank you, I would rather not. But I do anyway.

It's the spring of my junior year, and my MCAT is in May. I'm sick and tired of spending my Saturdays taking practice MCATs while everyone else enjoys the nice weather. I recently got prescribed fluoxetine because I can't seem to manage my stress. I wake up with my heart beating a thousand times a minute, and I'm sweating. The first thing I think about is this test, and then I think about my grades, homework, and everything I need to do for sorority recruitment. I hate the fluoxetine, though, because it makes me vomit every time I take it. My provider changed my prescription to hydroxyzine, which doesn't make me want to vomit every time, thank God, but the hydroxyzine makes me fall asleep. To hell with anxiety medication; I'll just deal with it. I don't work out because any time I take away from studying for the MCAT makes me feel guilty. Even taking the time to make and eat a meal makes me feel guilty, and so many times, I skip breakfast and lunch. I don't understand how people can sit down and concentrate for eight hours straight taking these tests, but I've found something that helps with that though...

Mom is waiting outside when I finish taking my MCAT. I cry in her embrace because I have a gut feeling I just completely bombed that test. Instead of going to grab lunch and celebrate my accomplishment of finishing the test, I told her I would rather head back to school. I start on my journey back to Minneapolis from Fargo and continue to cry alone. At least my score doesn't come out for a month, and I can pretend everything is ok until then.

I have locked myself in my bathroom, and I am sitting on the floor; my eyes water faucets on full blast. My breathing is heavy, my palms sweaty, my heart is doing somersaults in my chest. My body is revolting at the number on the screen. I hear my brother's voice on the phone but don't believe a word he says, "Everything will be okay. This does not define you. I am proud of you, and you can try again. You will get in." The number is my MCAT score, and I will not be attending medical school next year.

It has taken me a good couple of months to get over my score. I can't believe it went so horribly after all the time I devoted to studying.

It's only my junior year, and things can only go up from here. I can do this again.

I am twenty-two years old.

I am enjoying my summer before my senior year starts. I've been to New York to visit my brother, Washington to visit my grandma and cousins, and WeFest with my college friends. It is a new school year, and I am ready to take in the last year of my college experience with open arms.

Formal recruitment is in full swing, and I am having so much fun leading my chapter - I can't believe they are trusting me to do this. I cried after the last round of PNMs left the house after Preference Round. I can't believe I did it!

Now that recruitment is over, it's time to start studying for the MCAT again. I'm supposed to be enjoying my last year of college, but instead, I wish it was over. I'm having a hard time justifying why I am pursuing medicine and taking this test again. I'm back to taking practice tests every other weekend, and I'm dissatisfied with my score every. single. time. I cry a lot because I'm so extremely stressed about my life. My friends never see me anymore and are asking that I come out with them all the time, and my answer is no. I can't. I have to study. They say, "You've worked so hard today, and you deserve a break! C'mon!" and I still say no because in my head, I think I didn't work hard enough today, and I do not deserve a break. There is still so much studying that I have yet to do. I'm not good enough. I'm not smart enough.

It's spring semester again, and I want to drop out of my sorority as it's taking up too much time as I study for the MCAT. I don't have the finances anymore, and my mental health is going down the shitter. Sororities are funny; they are all for the sisterhood when you're happy and paying dues, but once you need real help, they're nowhere to be found. I was told my situation is not unique, and I will be expected to pay every cent I owe. No remorse, no resources, just an email essentially stating, "I'm so sorry, but everyone is also in college and going through the same thing as you right now." Thank you, Alpha Omicron Pi; I pray for your downfall as you do mine.

I'm watching all my friends start to become lax in their studies and responsibilities, but I need to gear up for my MCAT that I'm taking two weeks after graduation. I'm trying to be proud of my accomplishment of graduating from college, but I don't get to celebrate like everyone else. I don't know what I should be celebrating anyway because I don't have a post-grad job, and I have no idea what I'm doing with my life.

I'm in the emergency room four days before I take my MCAT. This is such an inconvenience to me because I have so much studying left. I have extreme chest pain, left arm numbness and tingling, nausea, and shortness of breath. I think I may be dying, and I actually blame this stupid test. Can you tell this test has become my entire life? It's pathetic. This test is trying to kill me. I'm sitting in an ER bay room for what feels like 15 hours before anyone comes in to check on me. Maybe I should be an ER physician to help with these ridiculous ER wait times. They stick leads on my chest, slide needles and IVs in my arms, and ask a thousand questions as I struggle to find a comfortable position to sit. I'm being wheeled by a nurse who doesn't speak to me to a room with a giant machine. I am getting a CT done, and my head is racing. Am I having a heart attack? Do I have a blood clot? Are they going to keep me here overnight? My chest feels on fire, and the slightest inhale ignites the flames even more. My chest CT comes back normal, and I am discharged several hours later with no diagnosis or explanation of my symptoms and nothing to help my chest pain. I am told to rest and follow an alternating Ibuprofen and Tylenol schedule.

Mom drove down this morning after my very recent visit to the ER yesterday. She says I look like a ghost. I now only have three more days to study for my MCAT, but I can hardly keep my eyes open due to the lack of sleep that I got. I thought I was ready, but I'm not so sure now. I'm still going to take it, though. I was taught never to push my MCAT to a later date. You schedule it, and you prepare for that date ready or not. You never think you're ready for it anyway.

I don't think this MCAT felt any easier than the first, but I didn't cry afterward, and I will take that as a sign that I did better than the first time. I am heading to Chicago to visit my brother and his friends to celebrate my small victory in taking the MCAT again. There is nothing I can change at this point, and now I need to focus on starting my applications.

I am one click away from finding out my MCAT score. I know waiting longer to look will not change my score, but I can't bring myself to click it. Like every test I have ever taken, I cover the screen with my hand and click the view score button. I slowly move my hand from right to left to reveal the score in reverse order. I am brought back to the moment I sat on my bathroom floor last year. I have been defeated again. I sit at my desk and hide my face in my hands, tears streaming down my cheeks. I need to hear mom's voice.

I am still going to apply and see what happens because maybe, just maybe, I have a fighting chance. I've got a strong application that makes up for my MCAT score, I think. So here goes nothing...

I am twenty-three years old.

I cried after my first rejection from the University of North Dakota. That one felt so personal, being that I have moderate ties. I am getting rejection after rejection after rejection after rejection, and each one hurts. Each one feels like a dagger to the heart. It feels like being broken up with. It feels like each school is saying you are not good enough. I don't have a lot of hope left in me at this point, but I muster up any that I do have and keep moving forward in the process. There's talk in the pre-med community that if you don't hear back from schools before Thanksgiving, you should pretty much take silence as another rejection, and I believe it.

Like a knight in shining armor, I receive my first medical school interview on November 14th at 11:31 am. I am at work, sprint to the nearest exam room, and immediately call my dad. I am on the verge of tears, and so is he. Could this seriously be happening to me?! Everybody is always asking for updates, and I can finally be proud and tell them I have an interview. I have an interview at the University of Minnesota. After work, I call my brother. I can hardly speak because tears are streaming down my face. He is as happy as I am, and I wish I could stay in this moment forever.

I think my interview could not have gone any better. I prepared well in advance and studied every possible question I could have been asked. My MCAT score was brought up, and I do fear that may play into my final decision, but hey, I got an interview, and an interview means I'm on an even playing field, so I have heard. I'll find out on February 15th, 2023, whether or not I get accepted, waitlisted, or rejected. It's going to be a long couple of months. At least I got to walk out of the interview with a smile on my face, no tears, and a feeling of immense pride.

Each time I go home for the weekend, Mom, Dad, and I sit down and have serious conversations about my future. Dad asks me the difficult questions that I don't want to have to think about or answer. "What is your plan if you don't get in? Are you willing to work hard and apply again? Do you still want this? Are you going to take the MCAT again?" My brother didn't have to take the MCAT three times. My dad has always been the parent that's tough on me. He pushes me in a way that only ever makes me better. He tells me I can do the impossible and believes that I can do the impossible. He is the cause of my growing pains, but he is also the source of so much of my success.

My mom. My muse. I know she put me on this earth to do amazing things. She inspired me so many years ago to pursue an area of medicine that, at the time, could not help her. She keeps me kind, grounded, and happy. She doesn't ask questions, but rather, she tells me everything I need to hear. "You have so much time in your life to decide. It's ok to chase after a new dream. I am so proud of you. Wherever you end up going in life, I will always be proud of you and support you." With her, I feel at home. We have lots of conversations that Dad and I cannot and that he would not understand.

Of course, I want to be a physician, but I have always wanted my own family someday. I want to get married and bear children of my own, and knowing about my mother's infertility journey scares the hell out of me. I'm not getting any younger, and I feel my life ticking away. Right now, all I can focus on is the time I don't have to start my family. I think that if I pursue medical school, that's four more years that I have to put my life on hold. As a woman, I have to plan these parts of my life out, and I hate that. I don't have forever to start a family. You're probably thinking that not becoming a doctor would fix a lot of my problems and that there are lots of alternative healthcare careers I could choose that would have a better work-life balance. And you would be right. But what you don't understand is that I don't want to be anything else. I will not settle for anything else. I would not be satisfied doing anything else. I cannot give up my dream of becoming of physician. I will make things work. I will not give up one for the other. I can have both, and I will have both.

Of course my palms are glistening with sweat the second my alarm goes off. Today, I am certain I will be accepted into medical school. I have waited patiently for this day to arrive, and God knows it is my turn. I am checking SDN like a stalker hour after hour. Post after post gets published with post-II-A and post-II-R, and I have yet to hear anything whichever way. It is not yet the end of the day, and all the doctors in the clinic are asking whether or not I've heard anything. I am now awaiting a rejection email at this point. It's now 4 pm, and I got the email. I prepared myself today thinking I would either get an acceptance or a rejection, and I neglected to prepare myself for a position on the waitlist. I'm happy, relieved, and angry all at once, with tears streaming down my face. My mom is the first person I call this time, and she is happy for me because this is not over. I am still in this. She makes me proud of myself for getting this far, and I head home with puffy eyes, but a small smile is pasted on my face. The hardest part of what is yet to come is the unknown, the waiting, but I find that hope again deep within me.

April 13, 2023, at 2:16 pm, my world shattered. I have been rejected from my only chance of getting into medical school this cycle. It's a gorgeous day out, and I drive to the lake to be alone and write in my journal. God damn it, this is just a hard thing for me to accept. I really thought this would be the year. Fuck. I don't even know what to think, let alone what I am supposed to do now. What the fuck do I do? I'm disappointed, in disbelief, frustrated, and angry as hell. What more did they want? How do normal plain Jane people like me get into medical school? I'm not some extraordinary person; I'm just me. I was just so sure. I was so positive. I had so much hope. Now I have none. I just know they don't think I'm smart enough. I'm sure it was my MCAT score that sent me to the rejection pile.

I emailed the admission team requesting feedback as to why my application did not make it. They emailed me back, stating they were unable to give me any feedback and suggested that I attend reapplicant workshops that I have already attended. How am I supposed to know how to be a better applicant if I have no idea what made me a bad applicant? I already know the answer, though - it's my MCAT, and they just don't want to say that.

AMCAS applications open at the beginning of May, and I have a big decision. Do I quit, or do I keep trying? In a matter of 4 days after getting my rejection, I have decided that I am going to do this one more time. I will take the MCAT a third and final time and apply to medical school my second and final time. I have invested a significant amount of money into a prep course that meets synchronously every single day, Monday-Friday, and, yes, practice exams every other weekend. I am going to work my ass off and try one more time.

The weather is starting to warm up, and it is becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on my course. My practice exams are not where I want them to be, and there is so much work to do in this course that I will never be able to finish it. I have my class from 8 am to 11 am and then work from 12 pm to 5 pm every day. I am so exhausted. I have doubts as to whether or not this course can help me.

I've made a lot of phone calls to my mom throughout my life, but this phone call is difficult for me to get through. I am two weeks away from taking my MCAT, and I want to quit so badly, and I mean really quit. I cannot keep pushing. I am not seeing progress, and I question whether medical school is my dream anymore. If I can't get through this, what makes me think I can be a doctor? I am hysterically crying to Mom and trying to explain that I am scared I am wasting my life away, that I am wasting my life on a dream that I will never get to see come to fruition. Again, rather than asking the difficult questions, she tells me, "It's ok if you want to let go of this dream." Then, she says, "Continue with the course and take the test. Don't stress out about it, and do the best you can do. You may regret not taking it, and if it goes well, you'll be happy you did it. The worst thing that could happen is it doesn't go your way, and you take one more year to find your path. One more year will fly by, and it is such a small part of your life. You are so young." For the first time in a long time, I feel relief, but simultaneously, I am in complete panic mode. I need to go home.

After I hung up with Mom, I searched for CASPA and immediately started filling out the common application to apply to PA schools. I'm pretty sure this is what I want now, but I don't know. I don't know what I want right now, but I need to decide right now because, again, time is running out. If I don't make up my damn mind, I'll be in the same position next year too. I can't believe I'm saying it, but I think all my life has been a lie, and I don't really want to be a doctor, and I'd rather be a PA. I am going full PA mode right now. I think I might be going insane.

I had a doctor's appointment earlier this morning, and I completely broke down in the exam room before I could get a hello out. I've never cried to my doctor before, and I admit this to her. She counters that she cries with her patients all of the time. She's the physician who delivered that baby when I was eighteen years old in that delivery room. She's everything I want to be. I want to be her, a doctor. I tell her everything. I told her about the third MCAT coming up, the interview, the waitlist, and the rejection. I told her I am applying to PA school, and also that I am applying to medical school one more time. Before leaving my appointment, she returned to the exam room and placed a small wooden trinket in my hand. It's the word "fuck". She tells me that in her office, she has a jar full of them, and it's her favorite swear word. When she's having a bad day, week, whatever, she takes a "fuck" out of the jar and carries it around with her since she can't go around saying it to everybody. I left the hospital with the wooden"fuck" in my pocket, and I squeezed it until my right hand had deep idents in it. I got in the car, leaned my head on the steering wheel, and screamed "fuck" out loud as tears started to form again. I want to become a doctor again after my appointment today. God, I am so emotional.

After my appointment, I visited my best friend from high school. She's home from PA school before she starts her second year, and I am so happy to see her. We sit on the edge of her bed, and I break down again. I can't seem to escape my emotions lately. I told her the same things I told Dr. Anderson, and she hugged me. I asked her a million questions about PA school because PA school is taking up all my thoughts. Lots of things are taking up all of my thoughts. Being a PA sounds right to me, and after visiting my friend, I am back to wanting to be a PA.

I have another conversation with my Mom and Dad about my future after visiting my friend. This has been quite the day. I genuinely have no idea what it is that I want to be. Maybe I don't even want to pursue medicine at all. I think at this point, Mom doesn't care what I do; she just wants to see me happy again. She wants her daughter back. I want myself back, too.

I walk out of my third and final MCAT feeling five hundred pounds lighter. I will never be taking that test again. Ever. And that puts the biggest grin on my face. Again, it didn't feel any easier than any other one I've taken, and I honestly think I bombed the thing, but I really don't care. It's the Fourth of July weekend, and it's time to have some fun. My future can wait until after this weekend to resume again.

Summer has been amazing. My MCAT score came back, but I am choosing to do the unthinkable and not look at it. I have applied to MD and DO medical schools without knowing my score, and I can't explain the joy I feel in not knowing. Everyone thinks I'm crazy for not looking. I've got a lot of willpower, and I just couldn't care less about three numbers. Nothing changes if I do look, and if anything, it'll send me into a spiral that I've worked so hard to get out of. I've also applied to several PA schools. Secondaries have been a lot of work, but thankfully, I saved last year's essays, so it's been a lot of copy, paste, and minor edits. I am happy, and I am enjoying my life right now. I feel that good things are coming.

I am twenty-four years old.

Today is August 30th, 2023, and I have received a medical school and PA school interview. I am over the moon and on cloud nine. Receiving interview invites feels like you're on ecstasy, and there is just nothing that quite compares. I called Mom to share the good news, and now I am crying tears of joy this time. Suddenly I have that hope again, and I remember that medicine is my passion in life.

Today is October 23rd, 2023, and I have an interview invite from the University of Minnesota. Again. I have three interviews at this point, and I am in disbelief.

Today is November 2nd, 2023, and I just finished my interview with the University of Minnesota Medical School. I killed it. My answers sounded natural, and my interviewers were receptive and acknowledged everything I said. Now, I must wait until December 10th to hear back about my decision.

Today is November 4th, 2023, and I just finished my interview with the Pacific University Physician Assistant program. I'm bawling my eyes out because it went so incredibly horrible. I had no idea how to answer the questions correctly; my interviewers were bland - they didn't smile, they didn't follow up on my answers, they rapid-fired the questions, and I felt so unwelcome. I prepped a lot for this interview, and I was the most nervous for this interview. I think I'm crying because that was my only hope to get into PA school, and I just blew it. But do I want to go to PA school? Am I just grasping at straws to get accepted into any program? I don't know what it means to be a PA because I just decided to apply on a whim, and I ended up getting this interview. I've never shadowed a PA; I don't know any of the history of PAs, which most likely proved true in my interview today.

Today is November 7th, 2023, and I have been waitlisted at the Pacific University Physician Assistant program. I'm not upset about this, but I am extremely surprised, considering how bad the interview was. I am # 96 on the waitlist for a PA class of 60 students. I know better than to think I will be getting accepted here.

Today is December 10th, 2023, and I'm again certain I am getting accepted into medical school today. Just like last year, I woke up sweaty and felt my heart beating out of my chest. Every phone call I get shocks me to my core, and it feels like I'm going to have a heart attack. I keep checking SDN every second as users are posting their acceptances. It's late in the day now, and I'm not getting a phone call, but I bet I will get an email with a waitlist spot, given my history with the University of Minnesota. I'm right, and I do get that waitlist email. I'm disappointed that I'm waitlisted again, but overall, this is a good thing. It's not a rejection. I won't be hearing until the end of April, though, and this sucks. More waiting. I still have hope, though.

I do question if I should have applied to more PA schools. What am I going to do if I don't get in anywhere again this year? Here I go, questioning myself.

Today is January 23rd, 2024, and I have received a third interview invitation for medical school. This is going to be my year.

Today is January 24th, 2024, and I just crushed another interview. I think that has been my best interview yet. One of the interviewers told me my MCAT score, and I just about started crying during my interview. He had no idea I didn't know it, so I had to remain calm and act like I had known all along. My score is considerably higher than my last scores, and I can't believe this is how I'm finding out. I am glowing for the rest of the interview. I'll hear back in two weeks, and I think this will turn into an acceptance.

Today is February 2, 2024, and I finished what will likely be my last medical school interview of this cycle. I can finally sit back, relax, and let what will be - be. The ball is in everyone else's court, and I have done everything in my power. I'm feeling really good about things, and I'm so proud of myself. I'm thankful to my mom and dad for pushing me to take that third MCAT because I certainly wouldn't be in this position had I not taken it. I wouldn't be anywhere if it weren't for the two of them.

This is the week that may change my life, and I have prayed about this moment since I was twelve years old in my homeroom class. If I'm right, I'll get a phone call this Friday, February 10th.

I'm tired this morning, and it's slow in the clinic. My coworker and I are replaying our weekends, working on homework, and messing around like children. My phone starts vibrating, and it's a phone call from an area code I'm unfamiliar with but a caller ID that I'm all too familiar with. This call is from Yakima, Washington, and I have just been accepted into medical school. I watch a single tear stream down my face as I stare at myself in a mirror in an exam room. I don't even know who to call first. Dad. I need to call my Dad. I always had this dream of getting accepted and then immediately driving home and showing up at Dad's work, but I don't have three hours to sit in a car. I need to tell him right now.

He is so proud of me. I wish I could hug him and never let go.

The rest of my workday is spent getting congratulated, and I just can't believe that this is my life today.

I get to tell Mom and my brother on the phone simultaneously. My brother is in New York, and Mom and Dad are at home cooking dinner. Mom's confused why we're all on a phone call right now and I can hardly contain myself. "Guess who's going to be a doctor?" I say.

They are all so proud of me. Dad pops the champagne that he bought after work today, and I know he's going to celebrate harder than I probably will. He is so proud of me. They are all so proud of me.

I'm in Phoenix, Arizona, today, February 16th, 2024, for my cousin's wedding. I flew in late last night and slept late this morning. Everybody is at breakfast when I wake up, and I'm just so happy to be back together with my family to celebrate my acceptance and a wedding. I have a missed call and voicemail from someone with an area code from where I grew up. I know it's been over six months since my last dentist appointment, and this is them nagging me to schedule a follow-up again. It's not my dentist, though, it's the University of Minnesota, but I wasn't supposed to hear back from them for two more months. I got accepted into the University of Minnesota Medical School. Holy fucking shit. I get ready for the day and text my family to return to the room so I can share the news when I see an email that catches my eye. It's another acceptance. Holy fucking shit. I- This acceptance hits me like a tsunami, and I realize that I never wanted to be a PA, and it's always been medicine or bust. I've felt lost for so long and felt like I've lived in a black hole for the past two years, but I've reached the light at the end of the tunnel and I feel on top of the world.

To be able to tell my family in person is so special to me. The four of us are hugging and crying in the hotel room. I have finally been accepted into not one, not two, but three medical schools, and I am going to be a fucking doctor. I get to choose the trajectory of my life now. It's my choice.

I did it.

The four of us go for an afternoon hike, and my brother and I talk about medical school the whole time. This is something new that we can now bond over. I ask him a million questions and just keep thinking to myself, I don't know where I'd be without you.

My dad always loved toying with the question, "Well, what will you do if you get accepted to X, Y, and Z? How will you decide?" I always hated it when he asked. I'd roll my eyes and just say, "I don't know, Dad. I'll worry about it when the time comes if it ever comes." I didn't ever think that be something I would ever have to think about. I always thought that was a silly question because that would never happen to me. I'm not smart enough or good enough to be that lucky. However, it was not luck that got me into medical school. It was hard work, dedication, blood, sweat, tears. So many tears. So many nights of studying until 2 am.

Along with those acceptances included mental breakdown after mental breakdown. It included questioning everything I ever knew about myself, and it included immense sacrifice. And you know, I would probably do it all over again just to feel the way I do.

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My story is probably very similar to many pre-med students out there. My story is not unique, and I'm fully aware of that. But nobody ever talks about the journey it takes to get here. Nobody in medicine shares when they fail for fear that they might look like imposters. There is so much shame in the pre-med culture for failing, and everyone I know just hides it. Failure is what got me here, and I'm so much better for it.

The pre-med track is not for the faint of heart, and it will tear you to shreds. It will make you question everything. It is such a long road, but looking back on everything, it all feels so worth it. Somehow, I don't care that I missed out on spring breaks in Mexico and going out to bars my senior year because I got what I wanted.

Many people always asked me whether I really wanted this for myself or if it was my parents pressuring me to pursue being a doctor. My parents knew that I'd always wanted this, and they knew that I could do this, so they pushed me. They pushed beyond my limits, which maybe made it seem like it was them who wanted it more than I did. Everything I have done has been for myself. Nobody, and I mean nobody, takes the MCAT three times just to make their parents happy. That would be diabolical. Of course, I knew getting into medical school would make my parents proud, but I could have done anything, and they would have been proud. I needed them to get to this point in my life. I needed my dad to be tough on me and ask all the hard questions, and I needed my mom to say things I maybe didn't want to hear or want to accept.

I also wouldn't be here without the rest of my family, my teachers, my classmates, and every single one of my friends. If you know me, you know this has always been my dream. Thank you to every single one of you who has supported me and believed in me from day one. You have not gone unseen in this process.

The tears, studying, and stress aren't over, but I already knew that. Getting into medical school is the hardest part, though, right (;

So here is to the next chapter of my life. Medical school, here I come. Ski-U-Mah forever, baby.

Yours Truly.