*Since I technically graduated from medical school in September of 2016, going to a commencement ceremony in June of 2017 felt super weird to me, so I decided not to go. Oh, and, if I had gone, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have let me give a speech.... But y'all don't mind do you? Nah, I didn't think so.
To my esteemed colleagues, friends, and family: Welcome.
We've worked incredibly hard to get here. But, it is only right that we should have worked hard to get here for now we find ourselves continuing in the tradition of the long and noble line of physicians who have gone before us.
Together, we have done a lot of living. We have seen things. We have watched each other grow and learn and struggle and do better. We have cried tears of joy and tears of sadness together. We have provided each other with comfort when comfort seemed impossible. We went from a group of strangers with a common goal to becoming each others family.
There is an intensive pre-med framework in place at UF. There are counselors specifically dedicated to students in the pre-med track. These counselors pretty much direct you in everything that you need to do to get into medical school from the moment you set foot on campus and declare yourself to be "pre-med." That was a problem for me, because at no point had I considered myself to be "pre-med," let alone declared myself "pre-med." I spent half of undergrad with the plan of becoming a forensic anthropologist. It wasn't until I spent some time in the bone lab that I realized living and breathing humans were the ones for me.
Once I decided medicine was going to be the right path for me, I made an appointment to see the pre-med counselor. I figured the counselor would be able to give me some good advice. The meeting started out fine. She told me what remaining classes I'd need to take and that I should probably get some research experience.…
In senior year of high school I took a (world?) history class with a professor named Dr. Schmidt. I don't remember what the class was called, or, really, a ton about the content in general. Dr. Schmidt was sweet, but a little drone-y and I had a difficult time maintaining alertness, but I tried.
To Dr. Schmidt's credit, ten years later, I still remember him talking about Mao and his famous (infamous?) five-year plans for China.
Now, senior year of high school is a point in life where everybody and their brother thinks they have a right, no, a need, to ask you what your life plan is. And saying that you didn't know is simply unacceptable.
As a high-schooler this enraged me.
I was 18 years old, barely old enough to vote, not even old enough to drink, and everybody from Great Aunt Linda to my favorite cashier at Publix wanted to ask me what my plan was.
And every time someone asked me to describe in detail this epic plan that they just knew I had for myself all I could thi…
Around these parts they keep telling me I talk funny. And, I will admit I do play it up sometimes, but I figure I better not go getting above my raising. The other day somebody gave me a hard time about my liberal use of the word "y'all" and how they couldn't use it because people would think that they were "uneducated." I smiled and nodded and didn't worry my pretty little head about it one bit.
That is, until later, when it hit me like a ton of bricks that the person I had just had a conversation with pretty much called me uneducated to my face. Now, I don't take kindly to being insulted- no one does- but I just find being insulted to my face a little much. It made me just want to take the ridiculous colloquialisms up to a whole new level. I got to thinking about the phrases I loved as a kid and still get a good ole kick out of to this day, so I compiled a little list.
When I was home this last time, studying for the boards, an
opossum decided to take up residence under my house. This could have been okay. Mr. Opossum and I could have lived in
continued obliviousness to each other had he not decided that he wanted to make
a nice nest out of the insulation under my house. Now, take a moment and imagine the sound of
an opossum thumping around under your house ripping/tearing/clawing insulation
out with his nasty Mr. Opossum teeth. That
is not a pleasant noise. And Mr. Opossum
decided that the insulation directly under my bed seemed like the best nesting
material just for funsies. So I decided
that Mr. Opossum had to go. Dad set up a live-trap at what we thought was Mr. Opossum’s entrance
under the house. He baited it with an
old chocolate glazed donut. When I didn’t
catch Mr. Opossum the first night, Dad tried to tell me that there was no Mr.
Opossum under the house and that I must have misheard the whole thing. I figured I could wait Mr. Opos…