Life is not the form of the organism, but the organism is the visible form of life in its resistance to that which does not live and which opposes it.
Yes and no. I think that in the end, your life in medical school is still what you make of it. There are differences between the two styles of clerkship that exist at this time. I find that my friends in rotational clerkships have a more stressful and more intensive experience in medicine; the expectations and demands are greater. On the other hand, my friends in integrated clerkships sound a little more well-rested but more anxious because the style of learning is very independent.
In my conversations with my friends, it does sound much more manageable to have personal time in an integrated setting although it is by no means a cakewalk. There is no getting around the fact that medical clerkships are challenging, exhausting but rewarding experiences. The real challenge though is finding a balance for yourself.
At this stage of my learning, balance is probably the most crucial component to surviving the year. We are constantly inundated with information and expectations that it becomes a necessity to provide relief and care for yourself. Some days you are obligated to read for hours on end; other days, you can afford to take a few hours off to relax.
Life is person specific; it is what you make of it.
When life as opening buds is sweet,
And golden hopes the fancy greet,
And Youth prepares his joys to meet,—
Alas! how hard it is to die!
When just is seized some valued prize,
And duties press, and tender ties
Forbid the soul from earth to rise,—
How awful then it is to die!
When, one by one, those ties are torn,
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
And man is left alone to mourn,—
Ah then, how easy ‘tis to die!
When faith is firm, and conscience clear,
And words of peace the spirit cheer,
And visioned glories half appear,—
‘Tis joy, ‘tis triumph then to die.
When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
And films, slow gathering, dim the sight,
And clouds obscure the mental light,—
‘Tis nature’s precious boon to die.
I will be doing my third year clerkship in a larger, more cosmopolitan city. It is a different animal than the small city, some may even call it a town, that I grew up in. It is a transition to new dynamics that should prove interesting once I finally begin working in the hospital.
The city stirs from its half-slumber,
A million of one whole
To diverse roles and common goals
To the heartland.
The vessels swell
with slow ebbs, dense traffic, new obstructions.
Arteries pulse and branch with renewed pace.
Everywhere the system stands.
Autonomous: self-preserving, self-growing:
Constructions abound, repairs throughout.
But some areas still fall, individual and whole.
Signal the blaring sirens
To action, to purpose, to rescue.
Every other moment you hear
the steadfast patrol that fades or nears.
Till dusk falls.
A new life breathes into concrete sinews
Light paints a new face on its host.
Where work turns to play, to gather, to rest.
Constantly the grounds move and breathe
With anonymous life. A million of a whole.
I look to this moving metropolis
This creature. An outsider. An insider.