An autumnal Tuesday afternoon. I see it only from a chair in one of the many HMS skill areas where I have taken residence. On one side of me sits a bag of granola that I occasionally munch on; the other side holds a tray of human brains extracted from cadavers, and in use by the second year neurology class.
The learning curve in these first few weeks has been tremendous. Daily I absorb more information than I previously absored in semester in college. While I am still so near to the beginning of my education, a part of me is concerned for my future patients: will I remember the biochemical causes of Type II diabetes years from now, when this day is just a distant memory? I make the conscious effort to will my mind to remember these details and nuances, knowing that someday it could make the difference, but I am doubtful that this has any affect on the actual knowledge I will take away.
This is not to say that I don't enjoy the pace and bustle of life here; quite the opposite. Everyday I am challenged to wrap my mind around biochemical mechanisms of disease - to grapple with complicated health policy and the social factors which exacerbate illness - to search for new and meaningful ways to lead and collaborate. While there is still the inborn insecurity that I could never stand amidst the giants (in mindpower, leadership, and clinical practice) who surround me, there is also my great hope in the process of education here: I am not sure it is possible to walk away from here in four years not charged to contribute in meaningful ways.
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