See Mom, See

While in Chicago, I hung out with my goddaughter/godsister practically 24/7. My godbrother Diego, while he was home the majority of the time, I only saw on my first and last days there (well, there were some brief moments where we'd bump into each other in the kitchen, but our exchange would usually be this: Diego: Eaten a peach yet? Me: No. Diego: Good. Know what I found in mine (X) days ago? A MAGGOT! Me: Nice).
Diego would sleep until about three in the afternoon. For the most part, I wouldn't be home by three... there'd be some sunlight to take advantage of. When I'd come home, he'd be out playing golf with his friends (such typical, rich suburb kids) or out drinking with the same friends (a more normal pass-time for 22 year olds, I'd say).
When I finally had my turn to sit down and chat with him, I realized he was... well, depressed.
He graduated in May with a Biology degree... and he too took the MCAT... and he applied to various Medical Schools.
Goes to show how much I knew about him... last time I checked, he was majoring in Chemistry and looking into pharmacy school.
Anyway, I guess he was rejected by all of them.

Initially, he didn't tell me all that. He just told me he was "taking a semester off."
It wasn't until I mentioned one of my friends, currently in her second year of medical school at UCSF, that he spoke up.
Diego: How old is she?
Me: 28.
Diego: SEE, MOM! SEE! Her friend is TWENTY-EIGHT, and barely on her second year of medical school!
Me: Yeah, she tried for years to get into school. She took her MCAT about three times. I remember I scored higher on my first time than she did on her first or second time.
Diego: SEE, MOM! SEE! I HAVE LOTS OF TIME!
What the fuck? What's with the commotion?
Diego: What did she do to get in? Like, lots of volunteer work, I imagine.
Me: Yeah. She volunteered in hospitals a lot... and did a lot of research work for one of her coolest professors. Upped her MCAT score on her third try. She just kept trying.

And that's where he came clean about the med school rejections. He doesn't admit it, but he's pretty fucking depressed.
While I wasn't devastated about not going to med school, since it was a decision I took WAY before even taking the damn MCAT, it was still a VERY difficult decision. It DID depress me. I've never been married, much less divorced, but I imagine the feeling is quite similar. Spend your entire fucking life prepping for medical school, taking class after class, killing it--as well as killing YOURSELF... and then, once it's go-time... you come to realize you never loved that subject from the get go. It's just something you could never commit to... the love isn't there.
However, with him... he seems pretty tore up about it... since his pops is a physician. I'm sure he has it much more difficult than I do. Constantly getting nagged about not getting into the science field. Who can blame him for wanting to sleep his life away? I was doing that up until a few months ago (and I still have days like that).

It upset me to see him so sad. I tried cheering him up... almost forcing him to join us at Six Flags... but after he raised his voice at me, I decided not to push the subject. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.
I just tried giving him advice. I told him not to wait too long... and not to sleep until two in the fucking afternoon. Find something you love, and stick to it. Fuck what anyone will say about you... or what they think of your choice. And if you're still stuck on going to med school... well, try, try again.
Then I sided with him when telling his dad how difficult finding a science-related job really is... though I don't know how hard the job market in Chicago might be... but I'm sure it's not as difficult as down here in Nevada. But still... I'll say the sky's green in order to make someone smile, if I have to... because I wish someone would try that hard to get a smile out of me.

MEDitating

Oh Chicago...
Had I been the responsible adult I'm supposed to be, I would have the tickets booked by now...
but it's such a fucking drag!
The closer September gets, the less desire I have to visit that city.

Am I weird for that? You know, for not liking Chicago?
It's humid. Parking is expensive as shit. Food is... eh. Their taste in music is... debatable. And their toll roads can go suck a dick (hmmm... did someone get a ticket? Not just ONE, but FIVE!!!)!

I had originally planned on being there for the entire month of September, but that's just insane. I'm starting to think three days is over doing it.
I visited the midwest last year, and that was enough.
But I promised the birthday girl I'd go to her cute little party... so I can't go back on my word.

I think I'm also dreading this trip because the girl's dad, aka my godfather, is a doctor.
The man's on the Harvard Med admissions board... and he doesn't go easy on me. The man has been grilling me about medical school since I was in middle school.
You know, you can't go off having any sort of distraction... parties... jobs... boys... all off-limits if you want to get into med school. It's not easy... you better start NOW.
Last year I sat in the kitchen talking about "my dreams" for about four hours... until I almost cried, but acted super interested in the behavior of a squirrel that was running up a tree by the window.

It's not that I can't handle med school... no, actually, that's part of it.
I don't think I can handle it, because I'm sure by the second week in, I'd be researching rope sturdy enough to hold my limp body from a ceiling.
My mind can handle med school, but not my soul.
It makes me miserable, absolutely miserable, to study that shit (medicine, not suicide... although researching that shit must be depressing, I'm sure). I don't sleep, I don't eat, and all I do is vomit... because I want to ace shit.
I can pass, I don't doubt it, but see... what good is it going to do me if my heart isn't in it?
I can handle the studying and all that bullshit, which appears to be what everyone around me suspects I can't handle, but the point is: it doesn't make me happy.
That environment makes me depressed... angry... downright despicable.

Also, I get far too affected when I bump into people entering the medical field for the simple fact that it pays well, not because they want to help people. It's upsetting. Here we have people needing help with their pain, and Dr. IdiotAssholeWithConnections over here doesn't give a fuck... he just wants to get paid and go on his merry way.
You be the change, AnoMALIE.
Seriously? How fucking naive do you think I am? The greedy assholes far outnumber the good-willed.

Can I use MY connection? Damn fucking straight I can, that's what Godfather wants me to do. I also have the score to get in most med schools... not to mention, I'm a PRO when it comes to kissing ass on essays, but do I want to do it? Hell fucking no.

It took me 17 years to realize it, but once I accepted I didn't have to go to med school like everyone else had planned for so damn long, I convinced myself it would be ok not to pursue it.
It's about time I make myself happy... who cares if others think my happiness is found in the stupidest thing in the world (oh boy, and do they). I like... art... all forms of it. I'm the happiest person imaginable when surrounded by it... even if it's 3 in the morning and I have to turn in a 15 page story in 7 hours and I only have 2 pages written down. I LOVE it. Drawing until my palms are raw from rubbing against coarse paper for hours makes me happy. Taking photos of the craziest shit that no one understands fucking completes me.

I have ONE life to live... and I don't want to spend it in a sterile environment, hating myself from the moment my alarm clock goes off, to the moment I pass out unconscious on my pillow. I don't want to face misery every single day.

Others think I'm stupid for doing this? Fuck them... I'll school them in whatever subject they prefer, shut them the fuck up whenever they want...
unless that person baptized me as a baby...
then I just sit there and stare at squirrels-- wondering if they're friends with chipmunks-- as I fight back tears.

Oh yea... this is going to be a blast.

Podophilia

Did you know there are eight colleges of podiatric medicine (in the U.S. I think... it can't be worldwide)?
Yeah, I didn't know that either... that is, not until I started getting mail from a couple of those damn eight schools.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: I HATE feet.

It's not like I go around telling people I detest feet... I won't get in people's face for exposing their feet in my presence, either... I just act like feet don't exist. I don't acknowledge that part of the human body (foot fetishists boggle my mind).

Getting contacted by podiatric schools creeps me out in the first place... but the fact that it peaked my interest a little, freaks me the fuck out.
However, my folks become ecstatic each time I receive any sort of mail regarding medical schools (just not when it's the military contacting me... which tends to be the only thing I'll ever read over twice, once in a while, because I wouldn't mind working on people who deserve it: the military men and women of this country. That's my patriotic comment of the week, and most likely, month)... and they think podiatric medicine is fantastic.

Mom: Imagine! You can work on the feet of soccer players!
Me: Yeah... that'd be hot... I'd be touching all these guy's busted up feet... sometimes have their future in my hands, literally. Sexy...
Mom: Oh, like you wouldn't want to work on Cristiano Ronaldo's feet?
Me: I would eat off his feet!! That beautiful creature...
Mom: And Rafa Marquez... and Lionel Messi... and...
Me: Ehhh... they're great footballers... but no... I'd only compliment CR's feet.

This exchange has given my parents hope that I'll return to medicine after a semester--at most, a year-- off from school (not. going. to happen.).

I'll have crazy moments where I'll think:

Damn... it would be fucking awesome to travel with a soccer team and be the one checking out their feet... that'd be fucking great!

But all I have to do is stare at this for a little longer than ten seconds:
...aaaaand I'm good (fuck.that.).

Freedom! HOLLER!

I vomited out of excitement today.

Yeah, great way to start this off, but that's how I do.
I typically stress myself out so bad prior to an exam, I'll spend days vomiting up to twenty times a day (or until I've thrown up bile at least twice). That behavior stopped after Organic Chemistry, which is around the same time my passion for Biology came to an end.
I have felt the urge to vomit since, but I fight the feeling by de-stressing at a movie theater (or you know, traffic: where I can curse and give people the finger to my heart's content) or the treadmill (nothing better than running for so long that I forget what my legs are doing).
Anyway, I did have an exam today, and I was feeling overwhelmed by it all. I almost hurled yesterday, but the treadmill works miracles. So things were staying put in my stomach for some time. However… last night I had a nightmare (like I told you I was going to, Chase) and woke up telling myself:
I have to check my score!
What score, you're asking?
MCAT.
I took that bad boy a while back, and never checked my grade. I planned on never checking, mainly because I'm no longer looking into the medical profession. I've had enough of some of these people and like previously mentioned… I vomit like nobody's business whenever stressed. I'm just finishing these last 4 classes, getting my degree, and saying goodbye to it all.
On with the story:
People have been asking me about the MCAT for about three weeks now.
“When you gettin' your MCAT score back?”
“How'd the MCAT go?”
“Y esa cosa que hiciste el otro dia? Como te fue? Ya eres doctora?”
To which my response is always:
I don't know, and I don't care.

Well, first thing this morning, I got on-line, went to the AAMC website, and checked out my grade.

Back in December I said:
I'm only sticking to biology if I score a 36 or better. I'm not denying the world my talent if I get that good of a score. Anything less, I go for an MFA in creative writing, just like Irsfeld was telling me a year ago.
I didn't study, and I especially I didn't pay for any special classes. I went in with the knowledge I've (sometimes not-so-solidly) acquired in my last 4 years of college.
What was my score?
…
…
30Q.

Yeah. I was quiet for a second, and checked the scores individually.
Fuck.
I thought about lying to my parents. The score’s still good for a medical school… and that's what was most upsetting to me.
No!! What am I gonna tell my parents?! I'm gonna lie!
Then I looked over at my writing sample score.
Q! A freakin' Q! Dude, I'm a writer!
I was ready to cartwheel my ass out of the room. I became lightheaded after laughing to myself for so long (yeah, I'm crazy… and super excited)… then followed the hurling.

Nervousness + Excitement = AnoMALIE tossing her cookies.

That score cheered me up because I took it as a sign that I should stick to writing rather than biology… my answer to whether or not I should apply to the Iowa writing program, as well as the one at UNLV. Dude, I'm fucking game for this!

I still had to wonder about what I'd tell my folks.
I thought about it all day at school.
I only let two of my friends in on the news. I got this reaction from each:
Friend number 1:
Me: Duuuuuuudde! I got my MCAT score.
Chase: How'd you do? You get a 36?!
Me: hahah. No. I got a 30.
Chase: That's still GOOD.
Me: Yeah... but I got a Q in the writing portion! A fucking Q!

Friend number 2:
Chase: AnoMALIE got her MCAT score.
FutureDentistFriend (FDF): How'd you do?
Chase: Guess! She did good!
FDF: A 35?!
Me:... no... I wish (do I?).

Instead of getting upset, I'd laugh with the whole "Was it a 36?!"
The good humor made me come up with a solution: I'm telling them I scored OK… and that I will apply to Med school. I'm not telling them which ones.
Which ones will I apply for? Yale, Dartmouth, Washington… maybe Harvard. Schools that will say:
Hell naw, homie, you ain't smart enough for us!
Then I'll tell Mom and Dad that I did my best, but I just wasn't meant for the whole doctor business (I can always resort to my usual crying and "I don't wanna keep doing this to myself!" speech I give around the holidays... highlighting my vomiting episodes prior to exams, "I puke out my fucking gall bladder, Ma!"). Hopefully they don't get NALEO up in this… I'll be screwed."She's a Mexican-American girl! You need Mexican-American girls in the medical field!"
Yeah... but with her GPA... not even affirmative action can help (curse you, affirmative action! I'd never resort to that. I'll be damned if I ever do).

My life is about to start, man! I'm going to say goodbye to all this medical school nonsense and say good-riddance to some of the worst humans I've met in my life (I met some great folks, but the bad outweighed the good). I'm done with cheaters… clicks… vomiting! I'm fucking D.O.N.E.
No more plankton! No more photosynthesis! No more pentose phosphate pathway!
(Ew, why the hell do all those start with P?)

Chase, if I ever get sad in your presence over saying goodbye to biology… please remind me of all the unpleasant moments… and never mention microbiology. I'm going to miss that subject.

I'm smiling for the first time in... months... and I mean, smiling with a sparkle in my eye and shit!
It's called hope, man... hope.

(All this while my poor little sister's life is crumbling to a million little pieces. She's been denied entry into her Major... after 2 years of taking lower division classes. She's been crying all day... then she takes a nap... only to wake up crying again. It's heartbreaking. She even cries out loud while showering. Whenever one of our parents asks her what the deal is with her tears, she breaks down and cries.
Makes me realize how good I am at hiding my pain. It wasn't a year ago that I felt like doing the same thing... but I'm so much better at appearing to be OK. It's what being a Pisces is all about. Sure, I'd cry in the shower... but always hold in my screams. I'd resort to screaming into the carpet when everyone else was asleep or out of the house. Sometimes I'd scream into my pillows... but I never screamed in anyone's presence.
I always look gully around people. Hella. AnoMALIE's great at being miserable behind closed doors... but not today, nope, not today. The roles have changed for the first time in... my life).