I am in the last module of my spring semester - CRAZY. I've submitted clinical rotation requests, and in August I will be off meeting patients and learning how to apply academic medicine in the real world. The past year has flown by, though, it may be because I can barely remember what life was like before school... before my daily schedule consisted of class M-F 8-5, followed by several hours of studying.
We're currently in the psychiatry module and it's been rough. The mind can do some amazing, yet terrifying things to people who've experienced trauma, neglect, drugs, and genetic Russian Roulette. But today on our schedule, was "Death Exercise" with tissues being the required material. Hmm.... I was sure we would be talking about the stages of grief and practice telling a patient their family member passed away or delivering a terminal prognosis to a patient. I didn't expect to cry. I didn't expect to need my chocolate bucket. I didn't expect to hear personal stories from my faculty. And I absolutely didn't expect to be walked through an exercise where I was a patient with terminal brain cancer who watched her family and life drastically change as my body failed.
Tears rolled down my face (despite my best efforts to suppress them) as I metaphorically gave up belongings, activities, dreams, and relationships with friends and family as I progressed through the disease.
When we finished, I tried to process my emotions and tuck them away as I drove home. I told myself I needed to learn to handle my emotions if/when my patients recount their difficulties - especially, if I do an oncology rotation. But when I saw Matt - the relief of being alive, the fear of losing my family, and the reality that death could happen at any time overwhelmed the tiny wall I had started to build - I cried again.
But that's ok. Today I was blessed with an emotionally taxing lesson. Time is precious. Family and friends are precious. My ability to go hiking, be in graduate school, hug and talk to my family are gifts I frequently take for granted. And I needed the reminder not to. Whatever field I go into, there will be times when I meet patients going through their worst nightmare. Not only do I have the opportunity to support them, but in return, I'm reminded of how precious life is. So many people, myself included, forget that we're not invincible and it only takes a few seconds for life to drastically change. Despite the tears, and lack of studying I'll do tonight; I'm grateful for the reminder.
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