Getting into Med School

I thought I’d write briefly about getting into med school. Warning, this is not a post that has numbers and stats and algorithms for how to get in. This is just a bit about my personal journey getting into medical school in the face of some adversity. Because I was one of those kids that they said would never get into medical school.

In fact, my undergrad was so anti-my application, that they refused to write me a committee letter. At the time, I remember that feeling like the biggest blow in the world. No committee letter! How were medical schools going to take me seriously? (No one ever asked me about it.).

My undergrad’s pre-med advisor was a particularly vile woman. I remember meeting with her. I had an excellent GPA, almost a 4.0, outside of the sciences. My science GPA on its own was significantly less impressive. Maybe a 3.0? 3.5? I can’t quite remember. It’s funny, at one point in my life those numbers seemed to define me. They meant something significant about my options, and my future, and (I thought) what kind of person I was, and whether I was worthy of becoming a physician. Now I can’t even remember them. Perspective.

I remember meeting with the pre-med advisor. She looked down at my numbers and said, “Medical schools are going to look at your grades and come to one of two conclusions. You’re either bad at science, or you’re lazy. So which is it?” “Well, I have a tough semester, because I—“ “No. You’re either bad at science or you’re lazy. Which is it?” She stared me down. My mouth dropped. I realized she really was going to make me pick one of those two options. “I guess....I’m.....lazy...?” I stammered. “Then why would they want you?”, she replied. Everything after that was a blur. I remember walking out of her office in a daze, fighting back tears, as I power walked to the place I used to hide and smoke in between classes. I called my boyfriend, choking back tears, and barely managed to explain to him what happened before the tears broke. I was angry. Pissed off that she had the audacity to talk to me that way, to crush my dreams and belittle me without a second thought. I was disappointed in myself that she had the power to reduce me to tears.

“Who hires people like her?! What does she even know about getting into medical school?! She’s a fucking pre-med advisor, not a doctor!” I ranted on the phone to my boyfriend.  But I remember that if there was any doubt in my mind about my path, that was the day that it disappeared. That was the day that I decided that I wouldn’t let this tiny woman crush me, that she may have had the power to reduce me to tears but she damn sure didn’t have the power to derail my dreams.

So I studied hard. I prepared for the MCAT. I got my letters in order. I prepared my application and I chose the shotgun approach to applying to med school—as many as I could afford, and anywhere in the US that I would be willing to live for four years, which was just about anywhere.

In the end, I ended up interviewing at three programs, waitlisted at one, and accepted to one. It wasn’t the one I wanted, but what I really wanted was to be a physician. And that one school that accepted me would allow me to accomplish that goal. So I enrolled.

Against the odds, I had gotten into medical school.

Did I go back and gloat? No. Someone told me, the finest revenge against your haters is to do well, and prosper.