mud pies to medicine: The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Friday, January 20, 2012

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

At the end of second year, every medical student across the country has to take the boards. I just recently scheduled mine transforming them from some figment of my imagination into a rapidly approaching event that should be consuming my life. This New Year's Resolution is a lot of things. One is procrastination, another is denial. With third year starting this summer, I'm not sure if my goal is realistic. Regardless I am trying until then. And since I need some sort of reward at the end of this test, I'll have a week's vacation between boards and the start of third year. My mom's been taking French lessons so Paris was on the agenda but with flight tax being sky high (bad pun, I know) I'm not sure how realistic that goal is either. But, I've decided to pretend I'm going to Paris anyway. I pulled out my Paris Vacation piggy bank which actually has some change and bills in it. So picture #18 The Light at the End of the Tunnel.

No comments:

Post a Comment

The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.