I’m nearing the end of my third year of medical school, and it’s hard to believe I’ve reached this point. I’ve noticed the subtle accommodations that my sense of self has made to squeeze in this new, very tender, very nascent identity of “doctor”: learning to listen and simply stay quiet (rather than spout off random advice or explanations of pathogenesis/pathophysiology, as if my memory on the topic will permanently fail me if I don’t immediately recall all the information on that topic that I can muster at that moment) when someone starts talking about their medical problems, withholding judgement when someone– including patients– talks to me about any type of problem they’re having, placing myself in a space of suspended belief/disbelief when listening to a person tell me about their life or their experiences with others or their feelings (there is no shortage of realities in this world…), noticing a person’s affect when asking them questions, trusting my intuition more often than not, and most importantly… believing in myself and my capabilities but always remaining humble enough to admit ignorance or ask for help.
I’ve grown a lot personally in other ways this year– and certainly to a degree the previous two years, too. I was floating along in my mid-to-late 20s haze of feeling really “mature” before medical school, but I’ve realized lately that I still had a lot more “adulting” to do before being able to call myself fully grown or mature. For example, recently it dawned on me that one of the hallmarks of being an independent adult is being able to do things you don’t want to do but that you have to do. Caring for my ailing mother is one of those thresholds that I crossed that illuminated this idea for me. I’ve also learned from my peers about how to just be nicer to people– and by nicer, I mean non-judgemental or overly analytical. Forgiving people for being imperfect and making mistakes is hard for me, but I feel like it’s a requirement for being a healthy adult who has healthy relationships professionally and personally. I also learned over the past month or so about what it means to just mind my own business and not get involved in others’ life decisions (partnerships, deciding to vaccinate their kids or not, who to vote for, what to care about, etc). These are things I personally involved myself in previously out of some heart-wrenching desire to make the world a better (according to… me?) place, but they’re just not things I’m interested in being involved in anymore. Other people may be as much me as I am me, in a spiritual or basic physical sense (like, made of carbon, I mean), but they also exist way beyond me in regard to consciousness. I am not responsible for others or their consciousness, and I refuse to take on that work anymore– even if I never chose to do it consciously; boundaries matter. Finally, I may still emotionally crumple under the how-can-you-be-so-dumb glare of an attending physician or a miserable resident, but I no longer see it as a crisis that threatens my sense of existential belonging. I have something to contribute to this world, a healing touch to offer others in need of support, and whether other people recognize that or not is not my problem. I know my gifts, and I know– to some degree– my areas for growth. But no one can take away my love for myself or those I serve with their own arrogance or misery or hatred.
Looking toward fourth year, I worry about the compassion fatigue I see in the physicians around me, my teachers. It’s too real, too close to home, and that scares me. Will residency extinguish the love I have for others? The empathy that allows me to deeply feel? I feel its grasping tentacles spreading out around me, maybe inching in and moving closer without me even realizing.
karuṇā 