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Speeding across campus, I pulled up to the science building right as class began. I hated being late, but I couldn’t miss class. When I reached the classroom, I peered through the window and saw that the professor had already started the lesson. I groaned and closed my eyes. Interrupting class wasn’t the way to make a good first impression.
With a deep breath, I pushed open the door slowly. I tried to make as little noise as possible. I stepped inside and pulled the door softly closed behind me. The click was still loud, but only a few people turned around.
I hurried to the first empty seat I could find. It was in the back row, but I didn’t care. I was just glad I made it before class ended.
Someone in my row handed me a syllabus and I mouthed a silent “thank you.” She nodded and turned her attention back to the front of the room. I read through the syllabus at lightning speed. It all seemed pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary. Once I was sure I understood, I tucked it in my bag and pulled out my notebook. With my pen in hand, I focused on the professor.
In reality, I probably didn’t miss anything important. By the time I started taking notes, the professor had only just begun the lesson. Still, I felt like a failure already.
Here I was on my first day of medical school at UConn and I was already behind. I shook my head to myself and scribbled furiously.
The students on either side of me took notes quickly as
well. I looked around and smiled.
Everyone in the room was intensely focused on the professor’s words. This was the kind of classroom I wanted to be a part of. There were only about twenty students, but we were all there for the same reason: to become doctors. Our goal wasn’t just to get a degree and then forget everything we learned. We wanted to help people, to save lives. Everything we learned now would help us for the rest of our careers.
Now that I had arrived and class was underway, I let myself relax and enjoy the moment.
While I continued to take notes, I grinned widely. I couldn’t believe I was here. I made it to medical school. It took me years, but I did it.
I felt a wave of pride wash over me and my smile grew. If anyone looked at me, they would have thought I was crazy, but they didn’t know everything I went through to get to that moment.
After spending four years raising a son, I never imagined I would have the chance to study medicine. I put my dreams on hold and focused solely on Noah for so long that I almost forgot I was a real person.
My name was “Mom” and my job description was everything that went along with that name. Who cared that I once had dreams of my own? It didn’t matter anymore, not when my son needed new clothes or food to eat.
For four years, I worked nonstop to support Noah. I did the best I could, but I let myself go in the process. It had been years since I so much as cracked open a book. When my brother suggested I go back to school, I thought he was insane.
“I don’t have time,” I had told him.
There were too many things for me to juggle as it was being a single mom.
What would I do with Noah? How could I be both a full-time mom and a med student?
To me, the answer was simple: I couldn’t.
My brother didn’t let up though. When Joe got an idea in his mind, he ran with it. For months, he pressured me into applying. When I finally did, I never thought I would be accepted. I only sent in the application to shut Joe up.
Getting my acceptance letter felt like a dream. It felt like I was living someone else’s life. Even with the piece of paper in my hands, I couldn’t believe it was happening. I still wasn’t sure I could go.
After countless conversations with Joe, I decided to try.
We celebrated Noah’s fourth birthday and a week later, here I was, in my first class of medical school.
I was still grinning like an idiot when I turned over the first page of my notebook. I wished I had a computer to take notes on, I could already tell that my hand was going to be exhausted by the end of class. I stretched my hand and continued writing.
As the professor spoke, my mind had less chances to drift. The content became more complicated and I didn’t want to miss a single word. I made a mental note to bring a recorder to my all my classes this year. These lessons were too important, I couldn’t risk making a mistake.
I had sacrificed so much to just be in medical school. It was Noah’s last year before he started kindergarten and I had been looking forward to spending time with him. Now, I would see him less and less. This year would fly by and he would be in school in no time. The idea brought tears to my eyes, but I knew I was doing the right thing.
Noah deserved a mom who chased her dreams. Not one who sat around and lived a mediocre life. I had to teach him how to fight for things. I had to show what was truly important in life.
So far, I thought I had done a good job raising him. He was a sweet, polite little boy. All his daycare teachers loved him. His uncle Joe was his best friend and my friends adored him.
Still, I wanted more for him than a cramped one bedroom apartment. I wanted to give him everything.
As class continued, I glanced around the room again. I couldn’t stare at my notebook any longer. My eyes were beginning to water. I squeezed them closed and looked around me. It was a short break, but it was long enough to take in the faces of my fellow students. There were so few of us that I knew I would learn everyone’s name by the end of the month. We would be in all the same classes and labs. Our clinical would be together. At the end of these four years, I imagined we would all be like family.
