When I was little, I had trouble deciding what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a professional ice skater, a veterinarian, an Egyptologist, and a marine biologist. I wanted to be a journalist, or write fiction. Eventually, I zeroed in on the biological sciences, especially medicine. A virologist, a pathologist... I wanted to be a psychiatrist for a while, until my father's mocking shamed me away from it. That, and a few surgery videos made me realize that I didn't have the stomach to get through medical school.
During my first year in college, I was listed as pre-med, even though I doubted I would follow that path. (My father wanted me to get an MD/PhD and do research. Ha ha.) After my first semester, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Genetics. I'd loved it in high school, and I loved it even more in college. Loved it enough to stay awake at 8am in a lecture hall of 100+ students, with a monotone professor who still used an overhead projector and slides.
But a few trips to the lab, and I realized it may be a dream half-realized. I HATED the lab. So tedious, so monotonous... I could become a medical geneticist, but that would require not only and MD, but more study beyond that. And then, that darling, monotone professor suggested genetic counseling. He wrote it on my exam when he graded it - yes, he did essay style exams, hand written. He wrote, "Great way of explaining things! Have you considered genetic counseling as a career?" And that was it. I was hooked.
So my path was set. Without ever meeting a genetic counselor, or even meeting a person with a genetic disorder, I knew that was it. I continued the "pre-med" path, to a degree in Biochemistry. I took the monotone professor's advanced medical genetics course, and slogged through a graduate level course in genetics as one of two females and the only undergrad (being the department head's daughter has its perks.) Anatomy and physiology? Because I wanted to. Statistics (with my father,) because it was recommended. Way more psychology than I needed to (all three courses of it.) And I was on my way. (Ironically, Biochemistry was easily my worst class in college, aside from Calculus II, which almost killed me. Twice.)
I really didn't like college. I did well enough, but it wasn't what I liked. Especially the "crap classes" - the prereqs, and the boring crap. The "this is a keyboard" computer class, and the "how to write a sentence" class. But I knew it was necessary. My parents kept my spirits up with the promise that graduate school was better, because all it was, was what you loved.
I didn't fare much better in graduate school. Homesick, lonely, dealing with the perhaps unfounded (but very real) fear that the program director disliked me. I lived in constant fear that she would "see through me," realize how little I actually knew, recognize me for the weak link that I was. I struggled. I failed a course, and didn't realize it until two months later, when she told me I was on academic probation and possibly faced being held back a year. I obviously couldn't hold down the part time job I committed to, so I had to give that up, despite it being a fantastically cushy job that I still regret quitting.
Being one of only three students was a difficult place to be, because it was easy to see who was the screw up.
Just 6 months into a 2 year program, I was over it. I was determined to keep my head down and finish, because I still loved genetics and genetic counseling, but I was ready to be out of that place. I had to keep the balls rolling, and kept studying and kept going, but it was probably obvious that I wasn't sparkling. I wasn't brilliant. I wasn't anything.
Two things saved me: Metabolics, and Lori. The course on metabolic disorders that second semester snapped me back to life. It echoed my biochem roots, and was something I could really excel at. It was probably the only course in which I did better than my fellow students. It was something I could look forward to, in the midst of those embarrassingly poor lectures on cancer genetics with our department head.
Lori was the "other" program director. She was the nice one. The one who taught about empathy and counseling skills instead of statistics. And, deep in that second semester, when all I had was that metabolic course, she called me into her office. She handed me a piece of paper and a pen, and sent me out into the hall with an order to write about "What is genetic counseling, and why do I want to be in this field?"
Well, it started with a generic, dictionary answer. It evolved into an admissions essay, about how my mother was a speech pathologist who loved people, and my father was a biologist who loved science, and how I had practically been raised to be a genetic counselor, to marry my father's science together with the counseling and people skills my mother had given me. And then it started to chronicle my experiences thus far... Two pages, front and back, I finally cracked. I couldn't hold back the tears. I went back to her office and said, "I don't want to write any more."
I probably spent an hour in her office, sobbing, telling her how much I was struggling, and how much it hurt to think that I might have to give up. How graduate school was nothing like I'd expected, and so much harder, and how sorry I was for being a failure. She let me cry. And then she told me to remember how emotional and passionate I felt about wanting to be a genetic counselor, and to never forget it.
Graduate school didn't get much easier. If anything it got harder. But I managed to survive, because I didn't want to let Lori down. Because I had her, and the promise of a future in metabolics to keep me going. I didn't want to let myself down, either, of course, but she was the driving force. I can't tell you how many times I was in her office, crying out of sheer stress or frustration. But it was probably a lot.
But I survived.
One year later, I have a job - as a genetic counselor, no less! And I'm facing my board certification exam in 15 days. In two weeks, I will take the exam that will determine if I can remain a genetic counselor. (Of course I can retake it if I fail, but come on. Do you really think my ego could take that?)
I'm still only half a genetic counselor. I'm not all grown up yet. Not fully realized. I hope that, once I feel safer in who and what I am, that I can really be what I should be. I'm still keeping my head down, still guarded. Still waiting for my degree to be revoked, still holding my breath over the accreditation issue, or the threats of plagarism. Waiting to hear that I didn't sign a form, or that my bitter utterances were just a tad too loud. Listening for the final, vengeful gasp of a department head.
Maybe after I pass this exam, after I go full time, after I'm off chart review, I can begin to really reach toward my full potential. To reach out into research more, to keep in touch with recent publications and guidelines, and really feel comfortable serving my patients at the level they really deserve...
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