THE CLINICAL BRIDGE

While I was in secondary school my ambition, like that of many others, was to be in medical school.
There were rumours that it was very difficult and tedious, that medical students are usually on the brink
of insanity, and that they don’t socialise. But I had always wanted to be among them, and all those talks
did not deter me even an inch and lucky for me, I got an admission.

I started in early 2006, and I learnt that we have to spend three years in the university campus (pre-
clinics) and then cross over to the teaching hospital for our clinical training. At level 100 all we have to
cope with where the basic sciences and we were all competent enough. As I have always liked reading in
a group, I formed a working group of 10, with whom we read together.

We were like a family, and we liked the company of one another, for we have much in common. We sat
together, read together, discussed together, attend practicals together; and whenever it is judgment
time, we write and pass together, which is more often; or fail together, which is less frequent. When we
wrote the final 100L exams, it is to my disappointment that not all of us made it. I took it as a test of
faith and said nothing more.

We crossed to 200L, and I still find the going easy enough. It was easy enough that is, till the end of the
session approached, and I start to think that may be a quarter of what people used to say about
medicine being difficult might have some grains of truth. I didn’t form any study group in 200 Level, but
that was not for lack of trial. No one joined me, and I didn’t join any existing group. They probably are all
that much the wiser.

The first professional MB (the examination at the end of every session) was formidable on itself. I
realized when it was almost too late that I didn’t know anything; and I hadn’t learned enough of what I
was being taught. It’s like pouring water through a sieve - only a memory of something having passed
through remains and that thing is nowhere to be found. I made several timetables and plans (I’m very
good in that) and I decided to stand by it religiously. Well, in that respect, I was as religious as the devil,
so I stood by it as firmly as one can stand on a banana peel.

And I suffered the consequences, for when I was told that I have to re-sit an exam, I thanked my God
that it was just an exam – mind you, nothing in medicine is a ‘just’. But I could hardly call the
consequences suffering; for our rural posting apart (where we are sent to interact first hand with the
rural setting), that re-sit period was the part of my pre-clinical stay I enjoyed the most. The most
amazing aspect was that most of those I’m close to are re-sitting as well. So once again, we come into
school, see each other, have our lectures and assessments, and when we wrote the exams, there were
still casualties. Some were withdrawn, and I learned that they have all prospered in other fields.

And then we come to 300 Level, the final pre-clinical year. As we have witnessed 200 Level, we thought
we would be having a similar experience, only that it will be refined, tighter and more complicated. No
one knew that was how it was going to end. No one foresaw what the results will be.
What started out as an easy and interesting session turns out, at the very last minutes of its course to be
a most devastating experience for most of us. We used to think that we are one and that it shall always
be merry till the end of time, or till the end of our stay.

And we were wrong.

It was indeed merry at the onset, with pretty delicate and complicated stuffs coming our way, and a
peculiar sort of brotherhood growing between us – brotherhood found nowhere else except in medical
school. We had our rural posting, and we so much enjoyed and cherished the experience. We moved
out in groups, we eat in congregation, and we interacted a lot with the local villagers. We thought all we
need to do was to relax and read, and that you shall succeed once you’ve put in the effort. But I now
come to doubt the rule that said success is directly proportionate to hard work. Nothing could be further
from the truth – at least in medical school.

We toiled, we suffered, we walked till our soles are sore, we wrote till our wrists ache, but none
of us is satisfied with the outcome of our efforts. It is not that we didn’t do enough – on the contrary, it
was far more than enough. It is one of those things in life that defy all explanations. And when the
results were out, it was for us to discover that it has changed us for life. We have been disorganized,
completely re-shuffled, relationships shattered, friendships severed and our unity, coordination and
pride injured forever. There was hardly a group that was not affected.

The worst part of it is that no one else can understand what you are going through except your
colleagues, and they are in as much a trouble as you are. Now when can you socialise while you don’t
even have time for your laundry? With whom will you socialise when no one else understands what you
say? How can you socialise while all you know how to do is read? My God, don’t you understand?

When I got back to my room, I reflected on all that has gone by, how my friends will wake me from sleep
to read, the hours we spend reading, the hopes that we used to have and all the plans we have made.
And I reflected on how shattered those plans were – plans that will never be executed. For the first time
on that day and for the first time in my life I admitted to myself that medicine indeed require a special
effort.

Now that we have crossed the clinical bridge, I am determined to put in that extra effort that I have
always neglected – and that I have always suffered for.

I would try my best, and be prepared to leave the rest; and I will continue to pray hard and refresh my
hopes for more good things to come.

Yours for good

A fellow student.