So I implied a couple of days ago that it would be my last post before going on vacation and then starting medical school, but I realized this is probably also my last chance to honestly write about how I am still scared that this isn’t the right choice for me. Amongst apartment hunting and packing for vacation (and watching reruns on the WB), I’ve pretty much managed to avoid thinking about it as much as possible, but I finally brought it up with Guy a few nights ago.
Me: So, I know neither of us really has a cemented place to live yet and you don’t have a job or anything, but I’m still really worried about medical school.
Guy: What do you mean? You don’t mean the work, right?
Me: No, I mean clearly the classes will be hard, and I might not be in the right mindset about it so it might be difficult to study at first and I’ll probably do horribly on the first set of exams or something like that — but whatever, I can always pull that back up if that’s the case.
Guy: So you’re still worried that this isn’t the right choice.
Me: Well, yeah. And what with making you move down here and everything, and getting my parents’ hopes up …
Guy: Don’t worry about me. I mean, yeah, you made me quit my job a little earlier than I’d planned, but I’m going to get a better one, so that’s fine. And your parents would rather you be happy than be a doctor, unless those two coincide.
Me: I know. It’s just that it’s really coming down to it now. I really am going, and it really might not be right for me.
Guy: Well, you’re lucky enough that it doesn’t matter that much. You want to explore your options, so you’re doing so, and that’s good. And if you hate it and we get to move from Home State after only a year, so much the better. … Kidding.
Me: Ha. Ha. But if I figure out this isn’t right for me … if I realize that I don’t really want to be a doctor …
Guy: You’ll have no idea what else to do.
Me: Yes, that would be an accurate assessment of the situation.
Guy: Well, don’t worry about that until you get there.