So this year is perhaps my most important yet.
I am finally applying to medical school. I had thought I was ready before the pandemic, but when I hired a consultant, they said I was a moderate candidate at best as I didn't have any medical caregiving experience.
They also cited my lack of having any medical letters of recommendation.
Well, in the last 3 years, I got my wilderness Emergency Medical Technician certification and an Emergency Medical Technician license (NREMT). I got a degree in medical assisting as well as being an intern and then working for a hospital as a medical assistant for nearly a year. I have been volunteering for search and rescue for nearly 3 years and working as an emergency medical technician for nearly two years. I am also volunteering on occasion for 911 and got FEMA disaster certifications so in an emergency I can be activated.
So all that, plus killer references – I am beyond ready. My once weakness is now unbelievably strong and robust. I have saved so many people at this point through giving care I have forgotten more than I recall.
I know how much you bragged about my intellect and how I was going to become a doctor. Well, at the moment, I am going to apply for PA school.
You, like many, might say, why do that when you should be a doctor? Well, the fact is I have ADHD, and the 9-hour MCAT just seems a lot. Meanwhile, the GRE and PA programs are less taxing on my ADHD. In fact, even before I got a diagnosis and started taking medication, I could do fairly well.
Physician Assistants do roughly the same task as doctors and work in hospitals, providing advanced medical care, and I know you care about this – have a good salary with a decent life/work balance.
So who knows? Maybe after I get my PA license, I will go back and become a medical doctor or maybe get a PhD to do some medical research, but for the moment that's the goal.
I know you'd be happy and say, well, finally getting into medical school; it's about time. It hasn't happened yet, but this year is the year and I am gonna do my best to make you proud still.
You bragged before it was a reality. Maybe you feared as I was taking care of you with cancer that you wouldn't get to see the day.
You used to talk about how you wanted to be front row at my graduation from medical school.
Sadly, I don't know if I want anyone to go now. Since you won't be there, what’s the point? In fact, I am used to that.
My performance arts diploma no one came, my high school diploma no one came, my dual college degrees no one came, my third college degree no one came – and one day my medical school degree that you demanded to come to, that was only meant for you and maybe my aunt; why should this break the streak if you're gone?
I really wish you could be there. You started to apologize for not believing in me near your death. I thought it was just the cancer treatment talking and you feeling guilty for how kind and loving I was to you.
But for awhile now, I see it as you trying to repent for not supporting me sooner. You bought into the narrative from the school and my mom that I was a problem child, that it didn't matter how smart I was, that I should be cut off as a burden.
That's why, at 16, I fought legally, got my independence, and left. Going it alone with no family made it much harder, but you didn't support or belive me then. Well I did it and am doing it. And when you needed me, I came back to take care of you anyway, no preconditions, because I always loved you and my family, no matter how poorly you treated me. Like a mongrel mutt, I kept coming back, just being happy to have scraps.
I know you'd be especially proud that I did it all on my own without any help.
Yet one thing that definitely helped towards the end was the joy I knew it would give you to one day tell you I did it.
I am sorry I will never get to say those words to you. I love you, and caring for you when the cancer was coming has made me a better person.
I wouldn't be the medical care provider I am or anywhere near as compassionate of a person.
You showed me the love and care people need to endure, you exposed me to the pain of being a family member arguing with doctors and insurance companies. You started a fight in me to be a crusader for my patients.
No matter how hard the situation or task or how difficult the patient, I just think of you, Grandma.
The ups, the downs, and the right way to treat people. I will never dishonor your memory, and you have given me more than any medical school or dollar ever could: a moral composition that is unambiguously true.
Love, your only grandchild
