In addition to a general dislike for anything relating to physicians, there was little in my background that would have pointed to a career in medicine. As my youngest brother approaches his graduation from medical school, I started thinking of what led me to practice medicine.This is my story ... Undergrad (Part 1)
I walked out of Moore Hill that first day to a brisk, sunny January morning not at all certain what the future would hold. By the time I had walked a mere fifty yards or so past Gregory, I began to feel at home.
I made my way along strange sidewalks to register for classes. Every corner and turn took me one step closer to familiarity with the campus that would prove beneficial in the months and years ahead. I had arrived at The University.
Given it was my declared intention to eventually be accepted into medical school, one might assume I would first make my way to the Pre-Med office to get the run down of classes required for admission. Not I.
No, I had decided to go in an entirely different direction; instead, I made my way to the Robert Lee Moore Building and the Department of Chemical Engineering.
I still wonder how it is most undergrads come to decide on a major when entering college. Some choices seem obvious: the artist might decide on architecture; a talented French horn player may elect to teach high school music. And I am forever in awe of those who simply seem to "know" what life has in store for them. I am writing about the rest of us; what happens along the way which helps to devine our future?
High School anatomy had granted me an education from Mrs. Whipple and the "cat." This practicum eventually bestowed an arrogant, ignorant notion that simply because I had successfully endured the stench of phenol as well as commendably memorizing copious details, I must surely be suited for a career in medicine.
But, was that enough?
Well, I had also grown to love Chemistry and gained a better than average facility with Math.
Good. It turns out these skills are also prerequisites for success in being accepted into medical school. So why didn't I just make a left turn past the Welch Chemistry building and walk up the hill to the Pre-med office that January morning?
Because I had been warned to avoid registering for classes as a "Pre-Med" student.
I am guessing Pre-Med students had been much-maligned for years; while only an assumption, I honestly didn't know for certain if it was a well-earned generalization or not. However respectful friends may have been of my career choice, many wasted little time advising me to, "grow an extra set of eyes in the back of my head," when dealing with "Pre-Med people."
So, it was that when considering the totality of (dis-)information I had gleaned, as well as an assessment of my academic strengths and weaknesses, I enrolled as a Chemical Engineering student who also intended to one day attend med school. While undoubtedly making the road more "interesting," my logic seemed sound: By earning a degree in Chemical Engineering, I would have an alternative career choice if med school never materialized.
Survey Classes, Gunners, and Grades
There is nothing quite like walking into a room ~ no, an auditorium ~ with 500 or so other students vying for top honors in a class like General Chemistry, notorious for being a "weed out" course. Chemistry marks the beginning of the end for many students; as a result, enrollment has the potential to bring out the best and worst in people.
I was soon introduced to the term "gunner." I came to hear the whispered phrase, "Oh, so and so is a gunner," and it certainly didn't strike me as praise. I don't recall if anyone ever sat down and explained its meaning to me; eventually everyone figured it out for themselves. To my way of thinking, a gunner was someone who would stoop to any level to get a good grade.
I initially felt many were being a bit hypocritical; after all, wasn't everyone then ~ at minimum ~ a "closet" gunner given we each had the same goal of doing our best while simultaneously outperforming fellow classmates? But I came to learn that to walk in the shoes of a gunner, one must be willing to visit a darker side of human nature; a gunner would screw a fellow student, step over the bloodied corpse and continue climbing the proverbial "food chain" with nary a moment's hesitation.
I unfortunately have distinct memories of a few of these students. They each seemed to be universally held in contempt as they really made no effort to conceal their intentions. On one occasion, I heard the brother of a now famous mogul intentionally mislead a fellow classmate regarding the date for a test. He then cavalierly admitted what he had done, all the while laughing hysterically. It was through my experiences with gunners that I came to better understand why many people held Pre-Med students in disfavor.
I soon learned there are other, less invidious, ways to find yourself in dutch with classmates enrolled in Pre-Med survey classes. I learned this lesson the hard way.
When eventually enrolling in Organic Chemistry, I was truly fortunate to land in the class taught by Taylor B. Jones, PhD, one of the rare professors who could teach anyone to love this touchy subject. But for all the praise I have for Dr. Jones and his acumen as a professor, his enthusiasm for students and their success held the potential for mildly adverse consequences.
I distinctly remember everyone nervously settling into seats the morning we were due to receive marks following our first exam. Dr. Jones entered the room, approached the podium and immediately asked if "Rob Marvin" was present. I hesitated then raised my hand with no small amount of trepidation; I had seen the "Paper Chase."
After acknowledging my attendance, he proceeded to go over the stats for the test and then went on to announce that I had earned the highest marks on the exam.
Was I happy? Of course. Dumbfounded is another word. Organic Chemistry may rank highest among those classes which destroy the hopes of many a potential physician.
I was also not blind. I quickly learned that singular notoriety has consequences especially among the ranks of gunners. With a few laudatory words of praise from Dr. Jones, the gunners turned and glared, telegraphing concern that this Marvin guy might actually inch his way past them and potentially stand in the way of them realizing their goal. Gunners are not in the habit of looking at the backside of anyone; they pride themselves in always having a clear path.
While a great moment for any college student, I understood my invisible position in the class had changed:
Not only was I now targeted by the gunners, I was also labeled one by others. It also marked the day I officially became engaged in Pre-Med warfare. By enrolling in an entirely different college, I had hoped to be beyond the scope of these dynamics; like it or not, however, I was now directly in competition for a valued seat in some distant med school class.
My perch at the top of that Organic Chemistry class didn't last ~ it seldom does for most of us. Thankful for my moment in the sun, I was equally grateful eventually having the onus placed on someone else's broad shoulders.
I eventually came to understand; up until that day in Dr. Jones' class I had not truly been engaged in the pursuit of my goal. Sure, I had gone through the motions: attended classes and labs; studied well into the night; had taken and passed exams. By calling me out, however, he forced me to come to terms with the fact that competition in college, and life, is an essential component to success. People who actively pursue a vaunted position must compete against great odds all the while potentially risking being vilified unfairly along the way.
Despite my enrollment in the College of Engineering, I officially became a Pre-Med student that day.
It isn't Pre-Med students people should hold in contempt.
No, I would say to keep your eyes open and on the lookout for the Gunners.
