Who am I? Why am I here?

Thank you Adm. Stockdale!

Ok, I studied. I mean, I am not finished, but I don't think I ever will be. So, now I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. Now, I am going to take a break. :)

I got to thinking...some people (are there any of you out there?) are probably wondering why I am taking history of all things. Ugh. Trust me, every moment of every day this semester I have asked myself that very question.

So, here is my story...
I have wanted to be doctor since I can remember (I think somewhere around 7 years old, but maybe that is just when I could finally get my mind around what that actually meant when I said it.) My grandmother had been a nurse - first in the army and then as a civilian. I remember years and years when I would go to their house every weekend and grab some random volume from the shelf holding her medical encyclopedias and be fascinated by what I was reading. Obviously, I didn’t comprehend much, but it was heaven to me. I felt I was a total geek and thought that perhaps it wasn't "normal" so over the years I fought the urge to grab and read. But, ultimately it ended when she passed away. I was asked if there was anything that I wanted from her house and my answer was that I would really like to have the (extremely outdated) medical books that I had read growing up. I never got them. Maybe I actually was a geek.

Though interested in science, I was artistically gifted and was pressured into exploring opportunities that arena. When I shied away from painting and drawing (I was more in awe of what other people could do with the medium that what I was able to accomplish) I was steered toward writing. That was something I enjoyed...and THAT was a problem. Writing was my escape. I didn't want to make a living writing because I would be giving up my escape. I couldn't see it as enjoyment. To make a long story short, I wrote on my terms. What I liked however was the use of creativity to explore science. But, I wasn't "supposed" to like science. It was logical. I was creative. When my project got into the science fair, my parents brushed it off. When I painted a still life or composed a paper, I was encouraged and applauded for my overwhelming talent. But, it was not what I truly wanted.

I have had Panic Disorder since I was young - very young. (I could go into the whole story about why and so on and so forth, but I am sure Blogger.com has a limit - if you REALLY want to know more, email me goalmd@gmail.com) But, it wasn't diagnosed until 1991. By that time, it had wreaked havoc on my life, relationships and scholastic record and my parents had jumped off of the "you can do whatever you set your mind to" bandwagon long ago. I had experienced a horrible panic attack in a hospital in 1986 and came to associate the episode with doctors and hospitals. I knew they were completely unrelated, but I didn't understand what I was experiencing at the time. I kept secret my unrelenting desire to become a doctor. What would people say? I wouldn't step foot in a hospital and I freaked out at the thought of a needle.

I graduated from high school in the 3rd quarter of my class. Not so hot. GPA: 82/100
Feeling that I wasn't ready to head off to a big university where I would become a number and get lost in the shuffle, I opted for a junior college about 2.5 hours from my home. It was a little different from your traditional JC... a lot of students lived on campus. I was probably the only one subscribing to "The Medical Gazette" though. My first semester was stellar...compared to a drunk, dead dude. A 1.9... I had achieved academic probation. Score one for the critics. My second semester (having had the fear of God instilled in me by my parents) I pulled myself out of the hole, but not with flying colors. I didn't like to study. I thought that reading was useless and general studies courses were a waste of time. While attending Blinn (my junior college), I became very involved in theatre and acting. I was also president of my dorm and did my share of dating. I had fun. I didn't study. Nonetheless, I had aspirations of attending Baylor University due to their exceptional pre-med program. That hope was squashed one afternoon at a friend's parents' home after wrapping a performance. I was run over (not "hit"...actually RUN OVER ... lengthwise) by a farm utility vehicle. I won't go too far into that but suffice it to say that when I was having to see my doctor an average of twice a week; I opted to go to school only 45 minutes from home as opposed to Baylor.

I chose to major in Communication Disorders in preparation for med school. During my time at the university I wrote for the school paper, was a peer educator, the Underwriting Director and a DJ for the university radio station, was a charter member (and later president) of the American Sign Language Club, a Resident Assistant, worked as a Mental Health Associate at a psychiatric hospital and on weekends I was the receptionist at a rehab and nursing facility. Needless to say my ECs were plentiful, but my grades suffered.

Unfortunately something else happened. I was one of TOO many people who are on the receiving end of sexual harassment. A bigger problem was that the instigator of the harassment was the director of my program. I thought I had been prudent in keeping the situation quiet. I guess I was wrong. One semester, I received an 'F' in this professor’s class. When I approached him about it, we averaged my grades together. I - in fact - had not failed. When I asked him why he had given me a failing grade, he simply looked at me and responded "Who do you think they are going to believe...me or you?" Despite the many hours I had devoted to the degree, I decided that it was not wise to continue my pursuit on his watch. It was one thing after another and I ended up leaving the university before (without withdrawing) taking finals one summer. That resulted in more failing grades. My parents cut me off and it was time for me to get out into the real world and make it on my own.

I worked in media for nearly 6 years and got married before earning my Bachelor's in 2003. But, I finally had that piece of paper that I had always wanted. What had been my biggest regret subsequently became my biggest accomplishment. My GPA was not good (with the number of 'F's that I accumulated in the last days, I was lucky to have it that high)... I graduated with a [edit: GPA removed...time's up!], but got the degree.

Fast forward... I was 30 years old and a doctor that I respect tremendously expressed unwavering belief in my ability to become a physician. I broke down at the mere thought that someone of her caliber believed that I could accomplish what she knew to be so difficult. But, the decision was not made. Was I too old? It was no longer only my life I was playing with...it was my husband's too. We had plans to begin a family. He allowed me to contemplate it without interference until one evening when I announced to him that I would do everything in my power to reach the goal and the rest was out of my hands. How far would I go? To the islands? If that is what it takes. He solidly said OK and we began seriously searching for a house in the city where I will begin school in the fall. He supported me and continues to do so.

I have chosen to pursue an additional undergraduate degree to counter my poor performance the first time around. I took very few science courses (which is fortunate) and it will allow me to show what I can do in that regard.

Believe it or not, THAT is the abbreviated version.

I am tired of typing today...see ya tomorrow.