Exactly 8 years ago, I graduated as a doctor.
5 years in medical school is definitely not a waste of time and money as I often bemoan; it's also a sort of unnecessary guilt that some others often reinforce (without meaning to, perhaps). And so I am writing this as a means of self-encouragement mainly.
I did get into med school thinking that I'd turn out to be a doctor - particularly, a paediatrician who puts smiles back on children's faces. Think, Patch Adams - maybe minus the clown part. (I'd make a horrible clown!) I dreamed of setting up a children's hospital that looked like a cross between a hotel and a funfair. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a doctor. Diseases and the workings of the human body fascinated me. I yearned to gain understanding, to empathize, to cure. And so, I worked hard to qualify as a medical student. I made it. To some, an enviable position, perhaps. To me, it was a dream come true, by God's grace. (From where else should my strength come?) Little did I know that the dream would grow wilder with time.
I was, however, the medical student with an illness. By the time I began first med, I had been ill with eating disorders for many years and no doctor could cure me. It was no fault of theirs, I suppose.
I was the problem - resistant to treatment in so many ways. Co-morbidities, perverse incentives to remain ill (and an ego-syntonic pursuit of a malignant lifestyle), drug intolerance, distrust toward doctors, and etc. Seeing specialists was becoming too expensive for my family anyway. The only relief for my struggles, destructive as they were, was found in my grand tour of love when I joined a church who held their weekly meetings in a rented cinema hall at the Irish Film Institute. I'm not talking about mushiness, heart shapes, and showy hugs. There was often tears and rebellion (on my side) - and yet, forgiveness and acceptance. From warm picnics to serious Bible discussions, my tour packed in an incredible number of mind-boggling reasons to pursue the healing and freedom I had always rejected. There was always someone who spoke a loving word, someone who offered me a shoulder to cry on, someone who ripped the veil blinding me from the truth, someone who encouraged me to return to making music (because apparently, I was rather good at it, a diamond in the rough), and someone who rebuked me whenever I devalued the life God had given. Surprisingly, these liberating experiences (
at the core of which God is) helped me most with my illness. It just goes to show how limited the medical science is in restoring a patient to wholeness. The medical science, excellent as it is in diagnosing and treating physical pain, tends to leave out the spiritual aspect of life - the very core of the human person.
If you are wondering... yes, I did recover from eating disorders. I don't qualify as an eating disordered individual anymore. Not according to the DSM-5 at least.
As for medical school, a turning point came during a down period in my second year.
There was a sudden financial crisis back home and my poor dad couldn't afford to pay for my school fees as well as the high living expenses in Dublin. I wondered if I should give everything up and return home. After all, I didn't think that medicine would miss me that much. It wasn't like I was the top student or something. Thankfully, God intervened. During a Bible study class one Saturday afternoon, our student pastor, Mike, asked: "If money wasn't an issue, where do you see yourself in 5 years or 10 years time?" He told us to pray about it. I didn't think that it was
that hard a question until I sat in the dark of my room that night, trying to imagine the future. It frightened me to realise that I wasn't as attached to the idea of me being a doctor as before. I thought,
perhaps it could be due to my worries over the financial crisis or the difficulties I faced studying medicine. Perhaps, I had been unconsciously searching for an
escape route. I had also grown to love church work; having had many opportunities to be involved, especially in the areas of music and discipleship. I was drawn especially to people who were hurting in their hearts, disillusioned eating disordered individuals who had relapsed for the umpteenth time, and yet, children. These were the things that made (and still makes) me tick.
But why couldn't I have arrived at this point before coming to Dublin? So do I now pack up and go back now? And maybe, enroll at a (hopefully affordable) Bible college? Was the financial crisis supposed to be a signpost that pointed me away from medicine? But I couldn't bear the thought of having to leave.
While my Bible study mates (who were my classmates in med school) told Mike gleefully the next meeting that they saw themselves as full-fledged doctors, I confessed heavy-heartedly that I saw myself as a pastor. To my utmost surprise, Mike said, "Ah, I knew this was coming. I knew it!" However, Mike (and a few other leaders whom I trusted) wisely advised me not to quit medicine immediately. Moving in the new direction too hastily would lead to trouble. I needed time to pray about it, to think about it, to be sure, to be very very sure... and so, why not pray for funds first? Unless God meant to close this door, He would provide my school fees.
He did. More than funds to sustain me through the remaining years in med school, there was a lot of grace and strength to endure the psychological hurdles every medical student faces as well as the challenges of
not seeing oneself as a doctor at the end of all the hard work. (Much harder than I thought.) My inclination toward the pastoral ministry continued to grow. I continued to pray and read my Bible... and by the time I graduated from med school, I was ready to pursue a second degree - a theological one - in order to transition to a less green field but only because it grows purple grass, so to speak. Dad's heart softened (he wasn't happy about me not becoming a doctor, initially, and I understand why) and he gave me his blessing to proceed. Subsequently, I studied for another 5 years in the seminary - and God provided again. Dad didn't have to pay a single cent this time.
There is
nothing wrong (and everything right) with being a Christian physician/practitioner by the way. I know of a good many who have chosen to bring their faith in Christ and their clinical practices together as an integrated whole. My obstetrician is one of them. However, I am me, with my unique set of gifts, passions, abilities, life experiences, and personality... It was my personal conviction to walk down the more unconventional path of making my medical degree (and the myriad of skills I learned from 5 years in medical school) work for me in the so-called peripheral but no less important fields in society... so I chose to do so. An understanding of pain as well as the human body and mind helps me to be a better musician, artist, educator, writer, theologian, pastor, and mother. I would also like to think of myself as playing supporting roles to the medical practitioners whom I was to join - reaching out to people like me who are too distrustful of doctors. What I do now doesn't earn me as much money, but fulfills me all the same, especially when I still get to put smiles back on people's faces, children included.
And Dublin. What would my present and future be like if I hadn't gone there?
