Toads-in-the-Hole

My family’s on its way, the red-and-green hood is hanging in the window, and I’ve just bought $20 black shoes from Walmart. Graduation day, here we are.

Graduating from medical school feels both ridiculous and inevitable. Ridiculous because, of course, I’m still me. After this evening’s ceremony I’ll still be me (perhaps with the addition of a light hangover), but I’ll be Dr. Me (not my real name). There’s a theatrical feeling to this, or, in less confident moments, a feeling of imposture. I’m me, but I’m about to acquire a different role with new and unfamiliar lines to say and convince people that I mean.

On the other hand, graduating feels inevitable. In a way, I’ve graduated from medical school several times. The first graduation was attended by the pediatrician I trained with and a little girl who may or may not have been sexually abused by her father. The graduation happened in my head, and “Nope, I was considering going into pediatrics, but this can’t be my career,” was my silent valedictorian speech on the day that I decided to become a pathologist.

After deciding to become a pathologist, a lot of medical school took on a perfunctory air. I still assisted in surgeries, births, and both fast and slow deaths, but I was fulfilling prerequisite requirements, waiting for my real training to begin. I don’t mean to be crass, I played my part well, knew all my lines, and really cared about the surgeries, births, and deaths, but I kept a mental barrier up, something like invisible latex gloves, that maintained a pristine sense of, “This is just for now. Later will be better.”

The day of my second graduation was in a crowded hallway, but really it was just Aimee watching me open an envelope (Adelaide was there but overwhelmed by all the strangers.). Inside it was the phrase “University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics”, and then Aimee gave me an Iowa baseball cap to go with my exultation and relief.

After Match Day, things became even more perfunctory. It helped that the rest of my training involved watching very specialized doctors do very specialized procedures. These sinus operations, Mohs biopsies, and brain surgeries had a lot to do with pathology (that which is cut out winds up on the pathologist’s desk), and were interesting, but the doctors in charge of my training let me be a future pathologist who was observing for the week rather than a medical student.

And now today, with the robe, hood, and hat. I’m not sure what the ceremony will be like. Maybe someone will talk about history and how we’re joining a society of professionals stretching back millennia and that we’re all colleagues with Galen. Perhaps they’ll sneak in one last lesson on professionalism and ethics. Probably a few people will gently poke fun at me for being in so many plays when I should have been studying. And then I’ll be Dr. Me, with a light hangover.