Why I Would Make a Terrible Doctor

What is it that I truly want to do? For the last year and a half I have been selling my soul and prostituting my brain- I was in a post-bac premedical program. This isn’t one of those normal premedical routines where you have no life and stay up all night studying graduating college with the realization that you have no friends and are completely alone, but thankfully you’re going to medical school so its all worth it, except its medical school so you’ll never have the time for any substantial relationships and you’ll always be alone. No, this is a program meant to make sure you never even have a spare second in order to think about the fact that you will surely die alone.

Why did I do this? Revenge on myself perhaps. Well, I wanted to be a doctor. And yes, it’s the typical “I want to help people” story, but here’s the thing…I was under the delusion that doctors actually help people. Meaning they actually meet and spend time with their patients in order to assist them in living a healthy and happy life. Perhaps I’m being too harsh. Some of them do help people. That is in between long talks with insurance companies, paperwork, eating, more paperwork, and some more paperwork. So instead, it’s the nurse or PA that actually sees/touches the patient. Of course this world is cruel, so rarely do they receive any kind of recognition about this fact. But where does that leave me?

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