Premed Perspective: Be the Rock

I was stuck while writing this blog post.

I’m not in a very positive place, and I don’t want to be a downer to readers…. But this path isn’t always ‘easy’ or ‘pretty’. While some individuals are blessed with a smoother process, others may not. We just happen to be one of those others. Not that a bumpy road is at all new or unfamiliar to us. We have always had to overcome and persevere. Add any other motivational growth buzz words into that as you’d like…. It’s us.

Our lives represent one giant motivational poster.

It’s crap.

To be perfectly honest, we just are too stubborn to give up and go to plan B.

After turning everything necessary for med school applications into the AACOMAS website, Hubs was hit with a problem with getting the military to send some of his credits in. It’s some acronym that I hadn’t heard of until this problem came up.  After a back and forth of about a week and a half, finally AACOMAS said to ‘just delete’ the military stuff and don’t worry about it since it was a non-necessary part of the application.

It would have been nice to know that before we wasted almost 2 weeks calling and emailing.

Delays.

Hurry up and wait.

We are now entering week 4 of verification of transcripts. We had everything together back at the end of July…. It’s the middle of August.

Such is life.

Persistence.

Stubbornness.

Grit.

Tenacity.

Determination.

THAT is what gets you through this process.

Don’t take no for an answer. There is a light at the end of this long, 8-16 year tunnel.

Do your thing. Motivate and push your partner.

Remain the bright and confident rock.

Get it done.

Then go have a nice, quiet, frustrated cry in a steamy hot bath.

Add some Epsom salt and essential oils to top it off.

Premed Perspective: Living Your Life While Waiting

One more year of waiting.

I can’t tell, yet, if it’s a blessing or an annoyance.

Hubs learned a valuable lesson from submitting applications on the tail end of the cycle.

We get an extra year of saving and family time.

We have to face another application cycle, with more schools and more wait time.

Hubs can take a class or two to help boost his GPA.

I’ve come to the realization that I am just along for the ride.

If I try to force anything or over plan our lives, I always end up disappointed.

The military taught me that within the first year of Hub’s contract.

There is nothing more frustrating than putting all of your eggs in one basket and staring at them as they all break apart and start dripping on your lap.

While we were waiting to hear for any status change on our wait listed application, I took to looking into every aspect of the possible changes in our lives.

I was overwhelmed, stressed and on the verge of a breakdown.

My problem was not that I was preparing, but that I was hording all my eggs.

Damn that basket.

Things were piling up and piling up.

Life.

I wasn’t living it while we were waiting.

I was storing it for a time when everything would be settled and decided.

It was a terrible way to handle being wait listed.

It took our entire family getting sick to snap me out of it.

I was miserable, Baby was miserable… (Hubs wasn’t as bad off because he worked 2^nd shift and rarely tends to not really be around the family as a whole. I can’t tell if he is lucky or not. )

I was ignoring the life I was living by obsessing this life that could be.

The life that wasn't confirmed yet.

Nothing was set in stone and I was planning like it was going to happen tomorrow.

I took a break from my obsessive compulsive need to look at absolutely everything to help Baby get better.

I took time to invest in some time for myself.

I took the time to look at the stress and mental deadlock that Hubs was in due to the exact same waiting game.

It was taking a toll on all of us.

I decided then and there that our family was going to treat being wait listed like a ‘No’.

We were going to live our lives like we were staying put for another year.

We were going to slow down and enjoy ourselves and each other.

I was going to allow THIS life to overshadow THAT possibility.

I couldn’t be happier with the result.

I haven’t stopped thinking of the future, I think I have most of that sorted and stored for an emergency move, if needed.

But I’m excited to plan little family vacations for when we get interviews we have to travel for.

One step at a time.

Positive, realistic thinking.

The Worst Decision I Ever Made

…was falling for a doctor. Anyone not married to medicine won’t understand how heartbreakingly true that statement is but will shame me for even thinking about not being by his side. But, come on, you know it’s the worst.

What a shame it was when we met in college as he studied molecular biology. He put up with my endless girly shenanigans and I faked enjoying working out because a few more minutes flirting with each other was better than anything else we could or should be doing.

How terrible when he had to move far away for medical school and I agreed to go with him because although no one had gotten down on bended knee yet, we knew an important question would be popped soon enough…and that the answer would be a resounding yes.

Oh, the misery of adding a research year (to be a more competitive applicant), walking down the aisle, moving in together, and seeing what all the fuss about marital bliss was! Those early years were a mix of interviews, newlywed nights, rank lists, and mister and missus days.

And then there was residency, which meant another move (but this time thirteen hours away). Just as the ink dried on his seven year contract…TWO pink lines appeared! And then disappeared. Too soon and just two weeks before he disappeared into the hospital for intern year. The wounds of the years that would follow still sting.

Work, work, work for him. Labs, tests, needles for me.

Baby? No baby.

Family? Friends? Nope. None of those out here either.

But there were plenty of hours…countless hours of him learning how to save lives at work and then us struggling to keep ours afloat at home. No one understood what we went through to help him live the dream of being a doctor while hiding the nightmare of personal struggles.

What kind of masochist chooses this life? Who agrees to move around again and again? Who supports a career that comes with so many strings? Who works this hard with this little recognition? Because no matter whose side of the family or which friend it is, everyone applauds his dedication and sacrifice but merely expects mine. How can you not want him to succeed and do everything in your power to make it easier for him to do that? It could be worse, you know? Why are you the one complaining? You don’t work those hours; he does. Because, of course, while he’s working I’m certainly not. What kind of monster hates her husband’s job sometimes…oftentimes?

And then…BABY! And baby! And baby! And, goodness gracious, another baby. And the hours at work went on and on. As our lives grew and changed, our responsibilities increased, but only my to-do list got longer. Take care of everything I need, everything he needs, everything we need, AND everything they need too. After all, he has to go to work. Those dreadful words always coming at the most inopportune times: I have to go into the hospital. Forget missing the big events and dates! That was commonplace at this late in the game. Now the small moments, the ones that meant nothing to anyone but me and him and them, were being stolen too. Studying for boards. Reading for cases. Prepping for presentations. Falling asleep ALL THE TIME. In fact, I still don’t know how that hilarious story about his attending ended because he only got halfway through the first word before falling asleep with a mouthful of the dinner I prepared for our family. Terrible decision.

That’s right. I learned to cook! And I’m kind of good at it. I also taught myself how to pay bills, do taxes, work in the yard, collect trash and recycling, balance schedules, not miss my career right now, make appointments for home repairs and health repairs, deal with two families who don’t really get it, take one, two, three, and four babies out alone, be an independent woman AND man, remember everything, and forget nothing. I learned it all, but he has the degree and the letters behind his name. Horrible decision.

The worst decision I ever made lead me to a life where I live in a lovely home with my four amazing children and their disappearing, zombie father. My partner is never fully present. Their daddy lives at the hospital. I sleep alone more times in a week than I thought I would in a year. Everyone we know cheers him on for the incredible work he does while barely mentioning all that I give to make it possible for him to succeed. So there are moments where instead of being grateful, I curse the stars for having me look up at the stud standing in front of me so many, many years ago. The explosion of my heart in that moment left me no choice but to begin my happily ever after.

But I stay. And I always will.

Because the worst decision I ever made looks at me with tired eyes, scruffy face, smelly scrubs, an empty stomach, a full bladder, an impressive brain, a strong will, and a thankful heart. He kisses me. He hugs me. And he calls me the best decision he ever made.

BOOM goes my heart.

And who could need more than that?

By: Soraya
 

Premed Perspective: The Baby Debate

We’re not in med school yet and we have a 11 month old.

This means that Jake and I are awesome at compromising.

Or I won.

Squeaky wheel and all that.

Back story

Jake and I got married knowing that we wanted to be parents.

For me, it was a no brainer. I wanted children as soon as we were hitched. The only thing holding me back was the impending deployment.

I was all about being a young mother, so I could pop out more kids. I’m in no way career driven, so my dream job is staying home with my children.

Well, let me take that back.

The things that I am interested in doing as a career are impractical and not really applicable to family and adult life.

Staying home with my children seems to be awesome enough to dream about now too.

It''s more important now, and possibly a gateway to volunteering in the direction of my childhood dreams.

Jake had a little longer timeline in mind for us. He wanted to be settled and established.

This meant getting into Med school and possibly even into Residency before having children.

Did I mention that we got married in 2009?

.

.

.

.

Can you feel my deadpan stare?

After Jake got home from deployment in 2012, I was fairly hysterical for a shorter timeline for babies.

It did not help that my sister and all of my sisters-in-law were pregnant or had babies within a 9 month span.

Except me.

There were a few times when I flat out cried at him.

I’m not proud of that fact, because I tend to think of myself as a pretty emotionally stable person.

We did, finally, compromise.

We were blessed that Jaxon was on his way the very month we agreed to start trying for a baby.

Now we are more than over the moon in love and happy as a family of 3 starting this journey together.

Jake and I know that it will not always be easy, raising children while Jake is pursuing his dream.

There are many long years of school and hard work in Jake’s future.

Jaxon and I, along with any other future children, will be more than ready to be his completely adorable and awesome cheerleaders.

How many of you are entering this adventure with child?

How many are planning on having kids during the process of med school or residency?

Was it a big discussion with your spouse?

Survivor Stories: The Next Chapter in A Different Kind of Survivor Story

Last month, I wrote about my husband's background, and how that began his journey towards a career in medicine.  He and his parents, along with some of his mom's siblings and their families, were refugees from Laos in the early 1980's.  It was a risky choice, to say the least, crossing a river at night with toddlers aboard, hoping to reach Thailand safely.  They spent 18 months in a refugee camp in Thailand before American missionaries helped them settle and start anew in Massachusetts.

When I've asked V about how early he knew he wanted to go into medicine, he tells me it was in his teen years.  Although stereotypical Asians excel in school and pursue professional careers after attending college, the numbers are somewhat different within his culture.  Many teens from his country, from his generation, got into gang culture and never went too far from home--geographically or ideologically.  V embraced Western culture, and his parents always had extremely high expectations for him.  It was understood that he should do well in school and live up to his potential.   I think they always knew he was capable of great things.

V did excel in school, enough so to have his choice of universities and scholarships.  Here is where he and his family took another huge leap of faith:  V decided to attend a private university three states away from his family.  Within their social circles, made up primarily of family and friends from their homeland, V and his parents found themselves to be rather odd.  First, V was going out of state, for college.  Second, he seemed to have no intention of working in his dad's small business and/or taking on ownership of it someday.  Third, his parents did not expect him to hold a job during college; they wanted him to focus on his pre-med studies.  Fourth, they assisted him financially because they could and they wanted to.

His parents continued to believe in him and support him after college, when he wanted to work in a biology lab on campus until he was absolutely certain that medicine was what he wanted to pursue.  Around the same time, he asked a fellow alumnus, also working on campus, on a date.  Within the next two years, he knew that he wanted to apply to medical school, and he also knew he wanted to marry that young lady...me.

I was on a walk through campus, passing the building in which V took his MCAT.  I was in his living room when he opened his acceptance letter to his top choice of med school.  That was around the time he told his parents he wanted to marry me.  His family hasn't had the best experiences with their men marrying American women, so although they were thoroughly cordial to me, they were open with him about their concerns.  "She'll be a distraction...she'll get pregnant and you'll drop out of school..."  I have to applaud my husband for his defense of me and our relationship.  We got married amongst great joy and hope, and both sides of the family, a month before med school started.  That was 13 years ago.

Even as I write this, I'm realizing how many risks V and his family have taken to get to where they are now.  There is more to his story, which I can add to if there continues to be interest.

My husband's story captivates me because of the fascinating results that have come from his family's decisions to take risks.  His story encourages me because lately he has been saying that he feels like there is more to his calling, yet to be seen...

I am married to an ENT physician, and together we have two children, ages 9 and 5.  We live in Florida and enjoy playing outside together, and gathering both sides of our family in our home for good food and fun.  

Why I get on Stage in a Sparkly Bikini and Flex

Why I get on Stage in a Sparkly Bikini and Flex

 by: Emily Sanchez Otero

On Nov. 1^st, 2003, I was on stage doing my first Figure competition in Sacramento, CA.  Earlier that morning, I had driven the two hours north from Stanford, where I was a senior, a pre-med History major, a Pi Phi sister, and a very independent woman.  Period.  My boyfriend (DrH, now), was snapping pictures in the crowd, cheering.  He was an honors-bound, pre-med Biology major who had just finished his Medical School applications.  Smart as hell and hot, too.  But, right then, he was my #1 Fan.  And, I was in the spotlight for once.  It felt scary…and nice.  I got 13^th place.

Fast forward six weeks.  I was sitting in my 1998 forest green Saturn in the parking lot outside of Student Health, and I was crying.  The test was positive.  DrH was in St. Louis at his first Medical School interview and he was on the other end of my cell phone call—surprisingly calm.  “We’ll make it work,” he said.  “St. Louis seems like a great place for a family.” 

And that was it.  That was the end of me as an independent, sky-is-the-limit, might-be-a-doctor, too, intelligent, Woman.  Everything changed instantly.  And, eight months later, I was a mom living in the Midwest, married to a medical student, too uneducated (with my Stanford degree) to get a job that would pay enough for childcare.  I spent my days nursing and trying to figure out how to live on $1700 per month (DrH’s MSTP stipend).   There wasn’t a pretty wedding or a diamond ring—just a civil ceremony and a $40 band…that I bought for myself.  But, I knew that I was lucky to have snagged a future-DOCTOR.  So, I played the part of young, happy, new wife-and-mom.  I worked tirelessly to lose my baby weight and to figure out the ins-and-outs of WIC and Food Stamps and Medicaid.  Meanwhile, my new husband disappeared into his books, getting smarter and smarter and smarter…while I just got older.

In 2010, however, everything changed.  My youngest was two and potty trained, and with three kids under 6, we were DONE.  I had given up trying to live on nothing, as we had private Kindergarten and ballet lessons to pay for.  (It wasn’t our kids fault we had them too early; they would not lack any opportunity if we could help it.)  So, I was working as a personal trainer every free minute I had.  While the job was stressful and the hours painful (most people work out before or after work), it inspired me to get back to my own fitness goals—to get back on stage. 

Looking back, the idea of competing at that time was just short of insane.  Prepping for a fitness competition is 16 weeks of working out at least two hours, daily.  It is a constant ache of hunger, and never-ending stress—prep meals, do workouts, practice posing, repeat.  The process is hard for a single person with no kids.  For a working (50+ hours per week) mom-of-three, with a husband just about to start his away rotations (one of them would be 2,000 miles away for eight weeks); prepping for a show seemed impossible. 

And, it was…almost.  It was a messy, difficult, stressful, emotional experience that almost tore my marriage apart and made me question my ability to be a mom.  But, on July 9, 2010—seven years, 2,000 miles and three kids away from Sacramento—I stepped back onto the stage.  And, my DrH was there, just like the first time, cheering me on, supporting me like I had him through his MD/PhD years.  It felt so strange, so scary…and so good.  I got first place in Beginner Figure and Novice Figure, and I was hooked.  DrH carried both of my trophies around with him all night while we celebrated, and he bragged about me to anyone who would listen.  It was good for both of us.  It was healing; we felt like we were back on track.  He had felt bad for what life had taken from me, and I don’t think I realized it until that night.  But, there we were, on the other side of the hardest seven years of our lives…and we hadn’t just survived; we had killed it!

That, my dear Doctor wives, is why I am a Figure competitor.  It gives me something to think about besides “when is this going to be over?”  It distracts me from the impossible life that we have chosen and gives me a chance to make and follow my own dreams, now.  It makes me feel like I’m not “just getting older,” but rather, getting a little bit better.  But, most of all, it gives my marriage a brief moment where I am the one on stage.  My competitions allow my DrH a brief reprieve from being the star and give him the chance to be the supporter, the encourager, and my #1 Fan, again.  It turns out that we both needed that.

(And, hey, let’s be honest…the sparkly bikinis are super duper fun, too!)

Survival Stories: Don't Yell at the Flowers

I'm overdue in posting something here, which really hurts me more than anyone since writing is so therapeutic to me.  Chalk it up to a stressful home purchase, moving, and trying to get settled in before school starts on August 13, but I haven't sat down to write in months.

A conversation I had with my children over the summer has stuck in my mind, though, and I think it's applicable to nearly everyone, in every stage of life.  Our son is nine; he is a bright, funny, friendly kid, but he inherited impatience from both my husband and myself.  Not surprisingly, it is his only sibling, our four-year old daughter, who tests his patience the most.  One day, he was particularly exasperated with her, and he moaned to me, "Mommy, why can't she just grow?  Why does it take so long?  When will she change?"

Many replies ran through my head, but as I was picking the right one, I saw a pot outside by my parents' pool.  In it were some zinnia seeds my daughter and my dad had planted a few weeks before.  The stems were getting higher, the buds getting more ready to bloom, but they weren't quite ready.  I pointed this out to our son, L, and asked him if the flowers would bloom sooner if we went outside and yelled at them, the way he felt like yelling at his sister.  He laughed, and agreed that yelling at flowers to grow would only make us look foolish.  I told him that he should try thinking of his (fierce, strong, vocal, determined) sister as a flower.  She is growing, but in her own time.

I think L understood what I was trying to teach him, though patience with Little A continues to be a big growing point.  Since then, though, I've realized how often I've tried to yell at the flowers, so to speak.  From little things to big, I somehow have this notion that my timetable is the best, the only way to go.  No matter what your spiritual leanings, I think we can all agree that none of is in charge here.  Things happen that we can't control, people do things that let us down, change happens slowly or not at all...if we are the yelling-at-flowers type, we will get torn up inside.  It's a tiring and unhealthy way to live.

As I've walked beside my husband through medical school, a five-year residency, and now four years of private practice, there are so many things that I thought I wanted to change--how long it was taking, how hard it was, personal struggles, financial difficulties, uncertainty about big decisions--but when I look back, I can see that if those things, people, and situations had changed the way I thought they should have, then perhaps my husband and I (and our kids) wouldn't have grown and changed the way we were supposed to, either!

It's hard for L to have patience with his sister.  But I know he loves her, and I know that the patience he does show is growing, and it is developing deep kindness, endurance, humility, and a prayerful heart in this young boy.  Likewise, being married to a person pursuing a medical career is very hard, harder in some seasons than others.  But I know we love each other, I know his career is more of a calling than a choice, and I know that we are growing in amazing ways--as long as we stay quiet and stop trying to yell at the flowers!


I am a stay-at-home mom to a 9-year old/5th grade son and a nearly 5-year old/pre-K daughter.  My husband practices general ENT in the Sarasota, FL area.  We have been married for 13 years.

Survivor Stories: I Need Help Accepting Help

It is quiet, and I am alone.  This is rare!  My kids are asleep, my husband is out catching up with a buddy from residency, and my parents left on a short road trip this morning.  As a 37-year old woman, I am once again under my parents' roof, for the longest time since I left for college.

The circumstances are fine:  we are having a home built a few miles away, our rental wasn't available anymore, and my parents were literally down the street from the house we were renting.  They have graciously let our family of four fill up their home until our new one is complete.  My parents and I have always enjoyed a healthy and loving relationship, and they adore my husband and the kids--their only two grandchildren since I'm an only child.

All of you know this medical journey has many twists and turns that yank families this way and that.  Many of you have either considered or decided to live with parents or other family members temporarily or even permanently.  Since we have been here with my parents for about four months,  I've been learning a lot about my family.  One of the more surprising things I've become aware of has to do with me, and with something we talk about often as doctors' wives.

"We can do hard things"--this is a phrase I see a lot of in our discussions on the LDW page.  Having been married to my husband since just before he started medical school in 2001, I've taken pride in the variety of things I've done in his absence, out of necessity.  I might not have a perfectly tidy home, my kids don't always get along, and I don't always handle things with the grace and strength I'd like to, but I feel satisfied and content when I think about being the wife and mom that I am.  I suppose I get a certain amount of dignity from fulfilling my role to the best of my ability.

It probably shouldn't have surprised me, then, that having so much help at my fingertips might seem a little strange at first.  All of a sudden, our cat's litter box and food had been freshened before I even had breakfast; dirty dishes by the sink were washed, dried, and put away before I could make a second trip back from the table; my kids' sheets were being laundered before I could get to them; items I'd forgotten on the grocery list were in the fridge within hours.  My parents are pretty darn amazing, and they obviously show lots of love through acts of kindness.  It is wonderful, and I am grateful.  To be completely honest, though, it has really been hard sometimes to just say "thank you" and keep going.

Prideful me feels guilty, inadequate, even lazy, for not doing it all.  I have been doing all of these things for years, so why should I stop now?  Do my parents think I'm struggling, and that's why they do so much?  Am I not clean/diligent/organized/patient/able enough to accomplish all of these things?  Pride is pretty ugly, isn't it?  It hurts our own hearts and those around us, too.  My eyes have really been opened to my difficulty in accepting help!

I'm working on it, though.  I am practicing gratitude.  When someone does something nice, I simply say thank you.  I am remembering that as my parents do so many things to help me, I am freed up to be more available to my kids and husband.  Or, when the kids play intently with their grandparents, I am freed up to make dinner or take care of a phone call or e-mail.  It's a situation that truly has the potential to bless all of us.  It's great for our kids to see us do hard things, but I think it's just as important for them to see us accept help graciously.

I am wife of nearly 13 years to an ENT physician, who is in his fourth year out of training.  We have a son, age 9, and a daughter, age 4.5.  We are looking forward to moving into our new home and settling down for as long as we can, and we are also enjoying where we are right now!