Welcome to Medical School: The Hazing Begins

Monday afternoon Georgetown Medical School sent an email to all accepted applicants saying that breakfast would be served Tuesday at nine thirty and if students were not in their seats at 1030, their seat would be given away. I set three alarms and still barely slept, but I walked into breakfast on time, only to see two hundred beautiful, intelligent people swarming the free coffee. After managing to get a bagel and coffee, I looked for a place to sit. The swarms of medical students were too intimidating, so I went to a table with one man at it; an electrician according to his shirt. I asked if I could sit; he said yes and countered with the question “What happened?” I told him, “Today is the first day of medical school.” We ate in silence.

The orientation week was packed with speakers from every office and organization, but I didn’t really need to listen after the first day. All the expectations and fears were verified that day. The dean started by joking “Look at you all, here so early!” When someone in the front row reminded him about the 1030-or-out email, he simply chuckled and went on to tell us we were wonderful; we were the crème of the crop; and he showed us the numbers to prove it. He told us to “Work hard, be confident, and know that our acceptance its not a fluke. You deserve to be here.” Then came Dr. Kumar who welcomed us to Georgetown and then outlined the procedures for taking a leave due to stress or depression. I stored her cell phone (which she gave to us in case we were contemplating flying out that night) as “Call if need to drop out of med school.” Next was the mind body course director. She told us that, indeed, we would be stressed, and we will need to find ways to relax. Her advice was, “Make sure you give yourself 10-15 minutes of joy once a week. You deserve that. Or here’s something that doesn’t cost any time or money…take 3 deep breathes.” To which someone behind me said, “Wow, this is going to be worse than I thought…we don’t’ even have time for four.”

The week went on and I took bits and pieces from each speaker. Our anatomy professor said, “If your best friend is getting married and you’re thinking you’ll be there Friday night for the rehearsal dinner—tell him you’ll see him at the wedding. Attendance is required.” The second year students simply said “Have the pizza guy deliver to the ER when you’re studying late.” Father Paul offered: “Let me help you deal with the big questions like….Am I going to die in pain? Oooh. Why did I bring that up? I don’t want to think about that.” Dr. Moore told us, “We make jokes because of stress, fatigue, and because they’re a defense mechanism, but think to yourself: is this really funny or is it funny because I’m tired.” I think about that a lot and I’m glad she warned me. Dean Sistrunk told us, “Being a dean means that a student came to my office at 7pm last night because she needed help choosing a specialty. I helped her establish a plan, then I looked over some plans for redesigning the curriculum, and then I headed to the hospital where I was on call all night. I saw my last patient at 430 this morning. And this is the profession you’re entering, so have fun this week because next week it’s on.” She was right.

By Friday, we were ready for our white coats. The White Coat Ceremony is a great tradition in medicine. There are two parts: 1. The student is coated by a doctor and dons their white coat for the first time and 2. The student takes the Hippocratic oath for the first time. All two hundred of my classmates filed into the auditorium, where our coats were hanging over our chairs with out name embroidered on one breast, and the Georgetown crest on the other. It was my first time seeing it. I wanted to touch it, but it wasn’t really mine to wear until a doctor put in on me. Sitting with my back against it, knowing I would get to wear it soon, I felt like a kid on Christmas morning drooling over a wrapped present. The dean introduced our speaker, Dr. Knowlan, who immediately told us that he doesn’t give advice because “the wise don’t need it and the rest don’t listen.” He told us about the practice of medicine and the significance of the profession and then we stood to be coated. I walked up the stairs, holding my coat over my left arm, waiting to get to the deans. I chose Dr. Sistrunk. She smiled, slipped the coat onto me, and then spun me around by my shoulders and said, “The relationship has been established: student, teacher.”

That was all I wanted. I spent a year applying to medical school and agonizing over where I would go. And now, finally, the medical community had given me the revered white coat, told me I deserved it, and agreed to teach me their craft. I made it back to my seat, took the Hippocratic Oath, and went home with my family ready to start the journey.