In the challenging realm of medical education, both students and professionals frequently find themselves reflecting on significant life decisions. The journey to becoming a healthcare provider is filled with difficult instances that may prompt one to reassess their career trajectory. These moments of introspection often emerge during long night shifts, fatigue-laden stretches, or during the tedious task of paperwork, bringing forth the heavy question: What if a different career had been selected?
This personal contemplation is inspired by Tobias Wolff’s short story “Bullet in the Brain,” which poignantly illustrates the desensitization that can accumulate over time. It highlights the importance of remaining connected to the fundamental reasons that motivated the pursuit of medicine. This narrative seeks to delve into those emotions by offering a fictional yet genuine depiction of a life where medical school was never pursued. It serves as a reflection for anyone who has considered alternative life paths, aiming to reinforce what truly holds significance in their existing reality.
**The Other Life**
The clock shows 7:42 p.m., and the office light remains illuminated. Fixated on a continuously unresolved code issue, I am alone, my teammates having departed long ago. My cold Pad Thai lies untouched on the desk, while the testing server hums quietly in the background. With a looming product release, the tension is intense, blending days into a nebulous haze.
In this imagined existence, I am an engineer. I graduated on schedule and secured a position at a software company in Tempe, earning a commendable salary. My weekends are genuinely mine to relish. My living environment remains organized and serene, and restful sleep is a nightly occurrence. In this scenario, medical textbooks, anatomy diagrams, and patient files are nonexistent in my life.
Opting for this path may have been a choice rooted in security. A knack for problem-solving paired with mathematical skill made it appealing, alongside the allure of a stable, less demanding profession. Yet, from time to time, a feeling of incompleteness surfaces.
This evening, I listen to a voicemail from my sister about her friend’s daughter, who experienced a seizure amid unclear medical dialogue. Her voice resonates: “You didn’t pursue medicine, but I always thought you would have made an excellent doctor.” The message plays twice; I choose not to respond.
Once, I speculated on who I might have turned out to be without attending medical school. Now, I understand that I would likely be satisfied—perhaps even flourishing. Still, something vital would be missing.
Even during the exhausting intervals of clinical rotations, I felt part of a significant pursuit. Although frequently fatigued and overloaded, I felt genuinely alive. Medicine required my full engagement, connecting both my mind and emotions.
In this alternate existence, perhaps I’ve mastered self-preservation. Yet, at what expense? Perhaps it has resulted in feeling less—or feeling differently.
*Hunter Delmoe is an osteopathic medical student.*