I frequented this site during the application and acceptance process. I am now a second-year medical student. I have debated for some time on whether or not to post my feelings on this site. Flame away if you must, I really don't give a $hit. This is an honest depiction of my feelings and describes well what I have gone through during the last 1.5 years of my life. Well, here goes...
First of all, let me say that regret doesn't even begin to describe my feelings about medicine. I did all the standard application crap, including research and volunteering. I didn't particularly care for my volunteer experiences in medicine, but simply brushed it off as "I just don't like x specialty, I'll find something else." I studied hard, did well on the MCAT, and sent my application through cyberspace to my top-choice schools.
The day I received my acceptance letter to my first-choice school was, what I thought at the time, the best day of my life. I geared up for medical school, found housing, bought books and enjoyed the summer prior to starting.
Fast-forward to mid first-year. The initial feelings that have revealed themselves fully within the last few months started creeping in like a fox in the shadows. I knew something wasn't right, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I had done well on some tests, and not so well on others. I stopped going to class. I didn't study. The fox reared it's head more and more with each passing day. I was miserable. I hated gross anatomy with a passion that I have never experienced. Everything about it began to piss me off. Medial to this, lateral to that. Who gives a $hit? It certainly wasn't me. This hate eventually spread over into biochemistry, neuroscience, and histology. Histology - all of it looked the same to me. Pink and purple. What was once a love for the sciences had turned into a force-feeding to the point of emesis.
I was clinically depressed and I didn't seek treatment. I continued with my daily routine of not studying except at the last minute for exams. At this point, all I cared about was passing. Just get me through the semester. After this semester surely things will get better. I'm just going through an adjustment period. I told myself all that bull$hit day after day. Well, the semester ended and I passed all of my classes.
After the holiday break I was refreshed, no longer depressed and ready to start again. I knew I had to do some things differently because I wasn't about to go through that $hit a second time. I went to every class. I studied harder and longer. I studied every day with a few off days now and then. My grades improved. I knew they should be higher, but I was happier now than I was last semester and I wasn't about to get greedy. But, something was missing. I wasn't interested in my classes. This was a first - throughout my four years of college I devoured every piece of information like a starving child. Physiology, psych, embryology, it didn't matter I didn't like any of it. My classmates would talk about , for example, how much they liked cardiac phys and that they were now thinking of cardiology. $hit, nothing was clicking for me. When asked what field I was considering, I would reply "family medicine" or "internal medicine."
This was when I seriously began to ponder my decision to enter medicine. Again though, I brushed it off as boredom with the basic science years. Surely I would enjoy my classes and have genuine interest next year when it really counted. The semester ended, my grades were marginally better, and all I wanted to do was to get the hell away from medical school and enjoy the summer.
I partied hard for the first half of my summer break and then it was time to start my summer family medicine clinical experience. I was really excited - after all, I was going to get to see what it's really like to be a doctor on a daily basis for a month. I saw patients, looked at charts, and went through the motions. I really didn't know what I was doing. I wore my stethoscope and carried my instruments but we hadn't had physical diagnosis or instrument training yet. I got to suture, I did pelvic exams, I did prostate exams. The first week was OK. By Monday morning of the second week I was already tired of rounding on patients at 0700, seeing patients in the clinic all day, rounding again at 1700 and finally getting home by 1900. Twas a twelve hour day for me, but the doc didn't go home when I did. They were his patients, and he had to shore stuff up. On multiple occasions I would arrive at the hospital a little early to meet up with the doc only to find him looking like a truck had hit him. "What time did you get here" I would ask. "I was called in at 0400 with patient X". I always hated those days because I knew he was going to be a grouch for the next 12 hours of my life.
After the second week of my clinical experience, I began to look forward to the very last day. I couldn't wait for it to end. I didn't like sticking my fingers into patients. I didn't like doing an abdominal exam. I didn't like checking reflexes. The really, really sick patients depressed me.
At this point, I was getting really concerned that I had made the wrong decision to go to medical school. I learned that I didn't really like to see patients. I started to think about specialties that had minimum patient contact.
Second year started and I thought I'd give it one more shot. I started studying at the library. I set a very rigid schedule and stuck to it. My grades were higher than they ever had been. I got all A's and one B first semester. We started to see patients here on campus which only solidified my feelings that patients were not for me. That's some $hit, huh? Here I am in medical school and I don't like seeing patients. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Setting out on my quest to find a specialty that had minumum patient contact I began to talk to physicians in various fields.
Fast-forward to the present. I haven't started my clinical years but while all of my classmates can't wait to get started, I am dreading it like never before. I honestly don't know how I'm going to get through them. Long hours of bull$hit that I care nothing about. Let's face it, there is no specialty for me. More in the next paragraph.
I have decided that medicine is not for me and that sly ole fox that reared it's head during my first year was giving me a message. I hate everything about it. Most of all I hate the long hours, long hours that are going to be with me the rest of my life. I hate reading about drugs, compliance studies, and new treatment options. I hate the thought of carrying a pager and being tied down. I hate the thought of being uber-responsible for the outcome of a patient.
I am ready to quit. However, I am going to take Step I since it is only a few months away. Pass or fail that's it. One shot. I'm going to study but not like my other classmates. If I can get that passing score I am going to try to endure the 3rd year. I won't be directly responsible for the patient care as a JSM. If I fail I'm done. No skin off my back as I am not going to enter a residency anyway. That is a guarantee. I hear that 4th year is a vacation. Let's hope so because I really do need one. If I do end up finishing I'm sure I will be able to use an MD degree to some advantage possibly as a back-up plan. What that advantage may be doesn't concern me right now.
What I have learned during my medical school experience (mostly for pre-meds):
1. If you are considering this as a career, please be relatively certain that this is want you really want to do. If there is something else you would rather do with your life then DO IT. This is both for your benefit and the benefit of your patients. I am not worried about messing up with patients because I am not going to enter residency.
2. Life is too short to do something every day that you are not happy with.
3. Medicine is not the way to make the most money efficiently. If you want money, consider something business related.
4. Medicine requires working long hours. Look up the average number of hours worked per specialty in a well-respected medical journal for proof.
5. Medicine is not like TV. It's not like ER. It's not like Scrubs.
6. If I had it to do over again...well, I bet you can answer this one yourself.
I'm out.