"Born A Man, Died a Gastroenterologist": Tales of My Journey Toward Doctor-hood

The quote above comes from Kitchen Table Wisdom, by Rachel Naomi Remen. I found that book at a rather low point in my life, in the midst of severe personal upheaval and around the time that I realized that the world of academia was not for me. I went into college convinced that I would eventually hold a Ph.D. title, and I graduated in summer of 2021, 18 months after what many of us colloquially called the End of the World. At the time I felt completely unmoored, certain only (although I had not yet admitted it to myself) that research was the wrong choice. My body knew it, at least: upon receiving an acceptance from a well-respected graduate program in my preferred field, the knowledge that I had no good excuse to refuse, that I would have to sign myself away for the next 5 years—it brought bile to my throat.

Instead I faced the nasty truth, that for years even the sight of laboratories, with their benches and fluorescent lights and the thrumming sound of freezers and centrifuges, filled me with dread. I said no. I spent the next year in a strange trajectory of personal tragedy and professional uncertainty, working at one job and then another, trying career plans on for size: future writer, future nurse, future social worker. After several fuzzy months that I do not remember particularly well I found myself working as a receptionist at a doctor's office, with a gut feeling that I wanted to go into healthcare. Some weeks after that I was texting my best friend: I think I want to go to med school. I immediately launched into an explanation, feeling silly for even thinking about it, convinced that he would try to discourage me. His reply shocked me: That's an amazing idea; I think you'd do really well.

It was all I needed. I spent a few days building a timeline, and less than a month later, MCAT prep materials had arrived at my address.

And then--and then. Something marvelous happened. While turmoil in my personal life would not subside out for a few months still, an unease that had been there for years went away. I found myself excited to go to work and learn, studying for my future exam with an enthusiasm that I had not felt since my early days in college. Even the sunsets looked prettier. For the first time in longer than I care to even think about, when I tried to envision my future I could actually see something.

Do not get me wrong; life did not become a fairytale. Getting ready to apply to medical school while working two jobs has not been easy: I am often tired, sometimes overwhelmed, seldom completely rested. But it has been startlingly simple: It has been months and months since the last time I wondered if I was doing The Right Thing.

So—I found my calling. So what? While not everyone has that luck, it is not uncommon either. Many, many people enjoy their careers as much as I do. So why am I writing about it? I suppose part of the reason that I have chosen to write about my life is simply that I like to write; it helps me think and process what I see. Another part is the appeal that I know medicine has for the general public: Grey's Anatomy and the myriad other medical dramas out there aren't popular for nothing. Physicians are traditionally meant to be inscrutable, hidden behind their white coats and surgical masks, and that awakens curiosity. It is only recently that it has become more acceptable for them to be... well, people, as well as doctors. I would like to share my own story as well.

The biggest reason why I am writing about this journey, however, is the sense of wonder that medicine brings to me. Since the beginning of my time working in a healthcare field, but especially after I was transferred to a clinical position and began working closely with physicians as well as patients, my work has offered me chances to wonder, to stand in awe and marvel at all we have learned to do for each other (a necessary caveat, here, to acknowledge the unethical, harrowing, unacceptable things that doctors have done in the name of acquiring this knowledge). Sometimes begrudging, occasionally so overpowering and full that I feel tears prickling behind my eyes, usually somewhere in-between. But always there, always thrumming next to the much more mundane stress and exhaustion and routine, under the aching feet and the caffeine jitters, behind my careful adherence to professionalism and the way I count my breaths to avoid getting emotional. I want to immortalize my wonder as I learn, and share it with those who care to know about it.

Now, for the logistics: While what I write is about me and about medicine, there will be mentions of my encounters with patients. I will make absolutely sure to respect patient confidentiality and privacy, changing names and all identifying features. I am writing under a pseudonym, and for the sake of patients as well as my own protection I will not reveal where I work or any of the places where I have or will study. And the stories I do write about, when I write about them, will be about the medical procedures and knowledge that they bring, as well as the universal human elements that we all have in common at our most vulnerable, at our sickest or when we are most in pain.

I hope anyone that reads this enjoys it as much as I am enjoying the process of becoming a doctor. Wish me luck!