This self-indulgent little spiel was conceived after my audiobook ran dry during a long drive south from Stoke on Trent. I’ve neglected this blog for far too long, and felt the end of my medical school career warranted some brief mention. Anyway…
I’m about to become a doctor. I graduate on Thursday the 7th of July, and am given my provisional registration with the General Medical Council on the 25th July 2016. This will mark a rather extreme transition of state, from the infamously carefree life of a student, to all the responsibilities and expectations of “being a doctor”.
As I approach this stark threshold, I’ve been looking over some of the angsty reflections I’d indulged in as a teenager (thankfully before I was given a blog), and it’s been a bit like bumping into an incredibly inebriated version of yourself a few hours before you leave for a party.
I am writing this in part so that Dr Low of 2022 can look back on what was on the mind of Mr Low of 2016 in (presumably) the same way. A lot more seems to have happened in the 6 years of medical school than the half dozen years preceding it – whose meagre highlights were video games, music and the romantic tact of an adolescent whose best (read: only) line was “I’m in a band…?”.
Since then, my repertoire of emotional and romantic discourse has expanded hugely. I’ve managed to get this far with Mei partly on the back of “I won’t always be this useless – I’ll be a doctor in a short while, and I’ve heard they’re great!”
Dinner table talk – albeit some that can cause the more soft stomached of my friends and family to groan, has certainly improved. I’ve seen internal organs inadvertently delivered via C-section, only to be frantically reinserted (twice) by incredulous obstetricians. I’ve called over doctors to help resuscitate a patient we’d previously declared dead after 6 rounds of unsuccessful CPR, when I noticed he’d started breathing again of his own accord. I’ve helped out a man stabbed at Kentish Town station, and had to explain to my flatmates why I was covered in blood, and “no it isn’t mine”, and “no you don’t have to keep glancing at the nearest exit”.
All in all, it’s all been rather exciting, and if you or someone you know want to embark on the process of becoming a doctor, I can’t recommend it highly enough. Medical school can be a great way for sheltered white heterosexual cis-males to gain a sense of perspective in this exciting world.