Pieces of a dream
In the emergency room of a ghastly old hospital, a little girl looked intently at a group of men dressed in immaculate white. She didn’t know what they were talking about but she heard words like “blood loss,” “fracture” and “dehydration.” It looked like they were saving the life of a wounded woman lying on the hospital bed surrounded by crying relatives.
The little girl stared at the men with eyes wide open. And as they sighed in relief, she told herself: “I want to be exactly like them someday, a doctor…”
Years after that fateful day, here I am. I want to be a doctor. And that’s my dilemma.
Becoming a doctor is not something I decided overnight. It’s not a result of a whim, or a fulfillment of my parents’ dream. It is truly my dream, not just a childhood wish. It is my greatest desire. I have been an aspirant since high school. “To help the sick and see them smile”—that’s what I say whenever I’m asked why I want to be a doctor. And just like any other person, I’ll do anything and everything just to make my dream come true.
Just dreaming about it has not been easy. I already had this defined impression that it would be really difficult. And that is an understatement.
As the first step in making my dream a reality, I took the National Medical Admission Test (NMAT) in Manila on Dec. 4, 2011.
My memory of that fateful day is still vivid. I remember being so excited. I woke up at around 3 a.m. because I had to take the bus from Lipa (in Batangas) to Manila and I didn’t know exactly where the designated place was. But I thought the journey would be like hitting two birds in one shot: I would have the opportunity to familiarize myself with the place and I can take the required exam.
There were thousands of test-takers and I had a hard time finding the assigned room. Along the way, I met some old friends. They were astonished to know that I would be taking the exam for would-be doctors. It thrilled me so much to see those countless medical aspirants at the same time; it heightened my desire to be a doctor.
However, as they say, it’s no walk in the park.
I can still remember. It was a Thursday, a few days before Christmas, and everyone was supposed to be happy and full of love. The results of the NMAT were readily available for the test-takers to view. I prepared myself for the possibility of having a low score. I knew quite well that I had not performed well enough. Thanks to Sigmund Freud’s defense mechanisms, I even practiced some tactics on how to handle the aftermath of seeing the results, whether depression or euphoria. But in the back of my mind, I was hopeful that somehow, luck was on my side on that day of the exam.
I thought I was ready to face the consequence of my actions. But I was wrong; I was not emotionally prepared for it. Before reading (and downloading) the results, I prayed to God. I thanked Him for the chance to take the NMAT and told Him of my hope that the results would be fine for me to endure. After the longest 15 minutes of my life, I mustered the courage to click the “download” box.
At first, I stared in awe. Then I was stunned. Minutes later, tears were welling in my eyes. I cried helplessly in my room, with no one to talk to. I was so ashamed, so emotionally wounded. Well, who wouldn’t be? The results said it all: I could not enter medical school with such a low score. Moreover, any form of scholarship would not be possible with that kind of outcome.
But life did not stop there. I told myself that it was just the beginning of something great. The story is just about to start, yet my endurance has been tested.
I am scheduled to take the NMAT again on March 25. I am determined to be wiser this time, and hopefully I will do better. I’ll be courageous and mindful all over again.
I’m thankful to God for giving me the motivation to cure the ailing. Medicine is one of the noble professions and I know deep in my heart that embarking on this path will give me authentic happiness. And I’m grateful to my family members for their understanding and support. I know it won’t be easy going. My getting into medical school will probably drain bank accounts and piggy banks.
I’m also grateful to my friends who are always there to remind me that “I can.” I owe them a lot for giving me courage and lots of love.
In his book “The Alchemist,” Paulo Coelho said: “Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself, and no heart has ever suffered if it goes in search of its dream. Because every part of the dream is a moment of encounter with God and with eternity.”
I hope my fellow MD aspirants can relate to my story. I’m wishing them the best of luck on the healing path we are about to take.
Kimberley H. Guinto, 20, is a fourth-year psychology student at De La Salle Lipa.
