I am 24 years old. Many of my friends are delving into careers and beginning families. As for me, I am still a wearer-of-the-backpack. It's a bright green, but not quite neon backpack ordinary in size but extraordinary in contents. It often contains the binder for the block that currently consumes my life- completion of the most recent one being GI/Nutrition/Metabolism... AKA a couple weeks learning everything there is to know about the intricacies of the gut and a few more weeks re-learning the ever tedious biochemical pathways and their beautifully designed connection. It's an Embark backpack- a brand I never heard of until I saw it in Target, but one that fittingly describes this backpack's purpose. Together we embark on a journey every weekday and sometimes weekend to learn medicine. It carries the highlighters I rarely use, because I feel they complicate my notes; a handful of white printer paper that lacks lines, so I can draw images without added distractions; my handy dandy lead pencil that I have used for over two years and it still serves me strongly; a stapler, a marker, and a few old receipts and gum wrappers. It also has a nice side pocket where my red and white coffee cup sits after I've devoured the freshly brewed coffee within the first hour of lecture.
I've been wearing a backpack for most of my life with the exception of my infancy and summer vacations. I once owned a blue Pooh backpack, a dark green one that I used throughout most of college, a nice black one in high school that I stuffed so much I tore a hole through it, and even one with a random McDonalds emblem that holds sentimental value because it belonged to my dear friend Justin. My shoulders are accustomed to backpacks. They've been trained to endure those horrendous days when my backpack is stuffed with everything but the kitchen sink to get me through long day. I'm a student, an ever diligent and ever studious wearer-of-the-backpack.
I am, more specifically, a second year medical student.
"I am a second year."
"I AM a second year."
I like the way those five little words roll of my tongue. I love the descriptive second in that sentence. Being a second year med student is so much better than being a first year med student, but of course it's a stepwise process and you must endure the first year to get to the second... that's what makes each year more special. With each increase in numerical value comes a whole year of great experiences and knowledge... and even, as bold and maybe naive as it is to say, wisdom.
Some rare occasions, far and few between, allow you to interact with members of other cohorts. For example, our newest class, which is an elective chosen by second and third years, is called Exploring Positive Psychology Through Cinema. This class is comprised of about half second years and half third years. While in class on a late Tuesday afternoon, I begin to recognize the differences between us and them, first the obvious ones and then the not-so-subtle variations. Firstly, we sat completely segregated with not a single person out of place. The eastern half of the room was my class and the western side had the third year class members. It was as if an imaginary equator dotted across the room and each of us knew where we belonged. They appeared more sophisticated in their ties and collared shirts, and slacks and button up blouses. They're shoes were your typical Danskos or another commonly used brand by people who are inevitably on their feet all day. We, easterners, wore jeans and casual, but nice shirts. We didn't all have our School of Medicine badges attached to a visible pocket, but they were certainly in a backpack pocket or at the bottom of a purse. We had papers out and pencils ready in the event we should need to jot down notes. We had come prepared with our homework assignments in hand and possibly a copy in our backpack for our own records (or maybe that was just me). Not a single one of the third years had a piece of paper in front of them and they didn't pull their pencils out of their scrub or white coat pocket. We were different from each other... It wasn't about being smarter or better dressed. It wasn't about taking notes or being overly eager to turn in assignments. It was more. They were a step closer to a goal that we all so desperately desired, but a goal that feels more realistic for them, a goal that is in their near future, not ours. We have an enormous and overwhelming hurdle ahead of us: the first step in our board examinations. This obstacle prevents us from embracing the end goal. We haven't been on the wards, or worked 80 hours work weeks. They do it almost daily. They've already passed their first set of boards.
And then there's the polar opposite. Last week, I volunteered at the Immigration Clinic (a place where immigrants applying for citizenship can get required physical exams free of charge). It was a clinic I had volunteered for before, a clinic that inspires me, and a clinic where you learn the stories of people coming to America for more opportunities. This might sound cliche, but it's exactly what I've heard, what I've witnessed, and what continues to drive my patriotism. It was here that I was the "older, wiser" student, the one closer to the MD, the one with more experience under the belt. I was in charge of the physical exam and a first year student was shadowing me. The tables were turned and I unknowingly wore my white coat a little more comfortably. I handled our medical equipment with more ease and when it came time to looking in my patient's ears I maneuvered my tools into the ear canal effortlessly. It was a task that nearly a year ago terrified me. I instructed and demonstrated physical exam techniques throughout the encounter, offering tidbits of info to the patient, and ensuring that the first year was following along. It was a humbling moment, a moment when you realize how far you've come in only a year's time. It was reassuring that time is actually moving forward despite the long hours in the library that almost make you certain that time does not advance, but rather the second hand moves like that of the shorter and thicker hour hand, one slow tick at a time.
In the end, I've found my place cozily in the second year of my medical school curriculum. I am nearly half way through my 7th block and only have one more left. I exude more confidence when I'm volunteering at the local high school doing pig dissections and when I talk about my research to an interested colleague. I'm growing, one step at a time, and I'm headed in a direction where I'll eventually be able to get rid of my ever faithful backpack... but until then I'll wake up tomorrow just before 7am. I'll grind my pinon coffee beans and start the coffee machine, load my backpack, throw it over my shoulders and head to the third row, second seat of the auditorium.
