My MBBS Journey

...As a child, I would often wrap my mother's dupatta around my neck like a stethoscope and declare to anyone who would listen, “I’m a doctor!” What began as innocent role-play slowly cemented into a dream—a dream nurtured by late-night studying, endless entrance exams, and the weight of expectations. When I finally saw the word "Selected" next to my roll number on the NEET result portal, I stared at it in disbelief. I was in. MBBS. The first step into the world I’d dreamt of for years.

Year One: Shock and Awe

The first year hit like a whirlwind. I had walked into campus with stars in my eyes, expecting to learn how to save lives. Instead, I found myself buried in Gray’s Anatomy, struggling to memorize nerves and muscles with names longer than railway station announcements. Dissecting a cadaver for the first time was a strange mix of fascination and fear. We didn’t talk much during those early dissections—silence hung in the air like respect.

Hostel life was a new chapter altogether. From midnight Maggie parties to shared tears before internals, we formed bonds that would last a lifetime. Sleep became a luxury. Coffee became religion.

Year Two: Somewhere Between Books and Burnout

Second year was supposed to be better—shorter, they said. Easier, they said. They lied.

Pathology, Microbiology, and Pharmacology welcomed us like heavy textbooks falling from a shelf. We studied how the body breaks down and how we try to fix it. Endless hours staring into microscopes, trying to differentiate cells that all looked like dots. Pharm practicals were a nightmare—one wrong dilution and the whole experiment was off.

I remember one night before an exam, I broke down. I couldn’t breathe from the pressure. I called my mom, and she said, “You’re not just studying medicine—you’re becoming it.” That stuck with me.

Year Three: The Turning Point

Third year felt like we were finally doctors in the making. We got to wear our white coats with a bit more pride. We stepped into wards—real patients, real problems, real stakes.

I still remember my first patient. A young boy with a heart murmur. My hands trembled as I placed the stethoscope on his chest. I didn’t hear anything unusual, but I’ll never forget the look in his eyes—hope, trust, vulnerability. That was the day I realized that medicine was more than knowledge. It was connection.

We started case presentations, and every viva felt like a courtroom drama. Professors grilled us, and we defended our diagnoses like soldiers. Slowly, we learned. We grew.

Final Year: Fire and Flight

They call it the ‘exam year.’ I call it the ‘transforming year.’

Final year was war—Medicine, Surgery, OBG, Pediatrics. We were thrown into OPDs, wards, OTs. We saw life being born, and we saw life slip away. I assisted in a C-section and cried quietly when the baby wailed. I performed CPR on a patient who didn’t make it. The contrast was brutal. The lessons, unforgettable.

Finals arrived like a storm. I barely slept, barely ate, and lived off adrenaline. I walked into the exam hall with shaking hands but a steady heart. When I walked out after my last practical, I knew—I had survived something extraordinary.

Internship: The Becoming

Nothing prepares you for internship. Suddenly, you’re the one writing progress notes, taking blood, inserting catheters, answering emergency calls at 2 AM. We were thrown into the deep end—and somehow, we swam.

I learned more in those twelve months than all five years combined. How to stay calm in chaos. How to speak gently when delivering bad news. How to laugh in the face of exhaustion. And above all, how to treat patients like people, not cases.

One evening, a patient's relative shook my hand and said, “Thank you, doctor.” And just like that, I became what I had always dreamed of.


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Looking back, my MBBS journey wasn’t just about becoming a doctor. It was about becoming a version of myself that I never thought I could be—resilient, compassionate, and capable. From dreams scribbled in childhood notebooks to diagnosing real illnesses, I had come full circle.

This was more than a degree. It was a journey. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.