I look down at the first structure to identify. It’s my own cadaver that I’ve been working on for a month, so I should know the answer. The pin is secured into a blood vessel that seems to be running into the back of the heart. Or is it the front of the heart? I suddenly feel disoriented. If only I could pick it up and examine it… but no touching is allowed on the exam.
I think it’s the pulmonary vein. I’m like ninety percent sure.
Maybe eighty percent sure.
I poise my lucky pen over the sheet of paper on my clipboard, printing the words “pulmonary vein,” but nothing shows up on the paper. I try again, but all I can see is the indentation of the words I had tried to write.
My lucky pen is out of ink.
You havegotto be kidding me.
The clock is ticking. I have less than twenty seconds left at this station. I shake the pen, trying to coax the last bits of ink into the point. I only need the pen to last for about fifty or so words.You can do it, pen! Please, pen! Don’t let me down…
“Psst… Hey.” Abe is nudging me. I look at him, and he’s holding out a pen to me. “I always bring a spare.”
Like I said, Abe’s my guardian angel.
I nod gratefully at him and take the pen. I scribble down my answer just as Dr. Conlon calls out, “Next station!”
I thinkI’m going to be sick.
The second the exam is over, I run to the ladies’ room near the anatomy labs and lean over a toilet. My stomach is churning, and I fully expect to see the bagel I forced down this morning regurgitated before my eyes—but nothing comes. I lean forward, gagging. I want to throw up. It’s the only way to get rid of this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I’m starting to understand why a first-year med student might start taking drugs. Because I’m desperate for anything to get rid of this horrible feeling.
Finally, I give up on my attempted vomit and collapse onto the bathroom floor, not even caring about the mysterious yellow puddle right next to me. I lean my head against the door to the stall and let out a dramatic sob. I don’t care anymore who hears me. It’s not like I’ll be in medical school much longer after that performance.
The exam was a bona fide disaster. Dr. Conlon called the test “easy.” Easy? The test could have been written in Ancient Hebrew and I probably would have scored equally well. Even my lucky pen (now in the trash, having betrayed me) couldn’t have rescued me from that train wreck.
But maybe Dr. Conlon was right. Probably the test really was easy, and I’m just too dumb to cut it in med school.
More and more, I’m beginning to think that’s the case.
I don’t even know how long I sit on that filthy bathroom floor, wallowing in self-pity, replaying all the events that led upto my stupid, stupid decision to go to med school. I should have known when I took the MCATs and had to leave to pee four times during the exam that I didn’t have the stamina for med school. The fact that I had admired the hell out of my childhood pediatrician, Dr. Marsha Stoltz-Humberg, with her kind eyes and the smiley face sticker on her white coat, wasn’t enough of a reason to put myself through this.
When I finally struggle to my feet, the first thing I do is stumble over to the bathroom mirror. I look awful. My face is blotchy, my eyes are bloodshot, and my dirty-blond hair is everywhere. I make a half-hearted attempt to clean myself up, but really, what’s the point?
And then I make the mistake of looking down at the sink. At the fissure in the porcelain that still hasn’t been repaired since that student broke it when she collapsed here and died. The thought makes me so sick that it takes everything I have not to run back into the toilet stall to try to throw up again.
As I stumble out of the bathroom, I call Landon’s number on my cell phone. I lean against the wall outside the bathroom, waiting for him to pick up. He knew I was taking an exam today and that I was panicking about it. But the phone rings and rings then finally goes to voicemail.
I don’t leave a message.
I stare down at my phone. I have never felt so alone in my entire life. Med school was such a mistake.
“Oh shit… What happened?”
I jump in surprise at the voice traveling down the hall and immediately try to hide my red, splotchy face. But then I lift my eyes and see who it is. It’s just Abe. Thank God.
“I’m okay,” I mumble, looking away from him.
“I was looking everywhere for you,” he says a little breathlessly. He halts in front of me, and his green eyes widen slightly when he sees my face, but he doesn’t comment. “Youreally hid yourself well. I thought I was going to have to call in a SWAT team.”
I force a tiny smile. “Yeah.”
Abe shifts between his feet, looking a little uncomfortable. I want to tell him that I almost definitely failed the exam, but the truth is, I don’t want him to think I’m dumb. I don’t want him to know I bombed an “easy” test.
“Hey,” Abe says. “That test was super hard, huh?”
