"Ghosts of the OR"--My Greek Epic

Before coming here I had an internship in the operating room of a hospital near my house. During one particularly uneventful open-heart surgery (which despite what Grey’s Anatomy leads you to believe, is all of them), the surgeon asked me how old I was. He already knew I was going to medical school and he said he asked because he wanted to make sure I wasn’t one of those people who had wasted time between college and medical school trying to “find themselves”. I gave a short laugh and confidently replied “Of course not!”

Given his tone there was no way I was about to say, “I’m off to Japan in a few weeks for a year of teaching English to kids who will never use it!!” And it’s a good thing the only visible part of a person’s face in the OR is their eyes, because behind my mask and head-cover was definitely a face of shame.

Yet I look back on this and the only feelings of shame I have now come from the fact that I was so ashamed then. It’s not like I felt this anger on the spot and hid it just to please him. I was genuinely ashamed that I decided to not go straight to medical school, yet clearly, the shame wasn’t great enough to make me believe that it was the wrong decision.

I’ll never think it was the wrong decision. I’m not so shortsighted as everyone around me seemed to be.

The summer before leaving was difficult, to put it into polite blogging terms. Which was inevitable when I’d been living my life for everyone but myself, then suddenly decided that I’ve had enough.

I’m pretty sure everyone within 3 degrees of separation from my parents knew I was going to medical school, so I do feel a little bad when I picture their answer to people who ask them “So, how is he handling medical school?” Their story of humility is seriously biblical and gives me slight tingles of pleasure.

Not that I came here to spite my parents. My parents simply were not a part of the equation when I was deciding. They claimed I was being unbelievably selfish and stupid, which had the obvious implication that the only way for them to realize their ‘investment’ and therefore the only unselfish thing to do was for me to go straight to medical school.

And you know what? It was selfish. And I don’t apologize for it. However, what I am terrified of is it being a stupid decision. Not stupid for any of my parents’ uniformed reasons; in the grand scheme of things a year isn’t going to make a damn of a difference. However, that doesn’t mean it’s OK for this to be a wasted year. I need to get something worthwhile and profound out of it. It must mean something. And I am terrified of it meaning nothing. I fully understand that this ‘meaning’ will change many times as I get older and look back with more detached maturity, but I will consider it a failure if I get on that plane back to the US and cannot think of one profound lesson I’ve learned or relationship I’ve had.

And I’m not about to fail. If for no other reason than I can look all the doubters in the eye when I get back home and tell them in the most intimidating, fear-instilling way, with eyes narrowed, “You were wrong.”. Preferably with some dramatic thunder or some other suitably dramatic device. Maybe a chorus from an ancient Greek play?

Something like that.