A letter to my village

Four and half years ago,

I thought I didn't need you.

I knew I would miss you.

Miss you terribly.

But I could give you up to start an exciting adventure outside of you.

At least that's what I thought.

Thank goodness Heavenly Father knows me better than I know myself. 

Because He knew I'd need you.

He knew there would be long rotations,

away rotations,

80 hour week rotations.

He knew there would be overnight trips to the emergency room when Jason was 3 hours away because Lily was dehydrated from rotovirus.

Or days when I was too sick to care for my family.

He knew my mom's cancer would come back.

He knew I would experience raging postpartum depression.
He knew Jason would be on call some days and I'd have to be in 5 places at once.
He also knew that somewhere along this training journey, Jason would lose his faith.
He knew I'd need your listening ear.
He knew I'd need reassurance from you that it would all work out.

He knew I'd be lonely sometimes.

He knew I'd need a friend sometimes.

He knew.

I'm not sure how long into medical school that I realized what I would have missed out on.

But I was reminded over and over and over again:

You are my village.

Time after time,

you showed up for me. 

And my children.

Most of the time without being asked.

You text to check in.

You showed up with meals.
Or a gallon of milk when I left my wallet two and half hours away and we were out of groceries.

You offered child care.
You carpooled my kids to activities,
you drove them home when I couldn't be there on time.

You arranged girls nights to remind me that I'm not just a student doctor's wife,

who stays at home to care for the children, living in her husband's shadow.
You remembered my birthday.
You rallied around me when Lily was diagnosed with Childhood Apraxia.
You prayed for Jason to find his way
and then celebrated with me when, after so long, he finally felt God's love for him.

I mattered to you.
My family mattered to you.

You gave me that.

And that is a gift.

The tears stream now as I remember the selfless acts of service
you have ministered to me over the last 4 years. 

There are no real words I could say to define the humility and gratitude I have because of you.

No real way to tell you what you have meant to me.

Back then,
I wanted to begin a new adventure.
To create a new village.
But as four years of school humbled me,
{and hardened me}
the very depths of my soul mourned the thought of leaving.
For 18 months before commencement,
the longing to stay entered my mind daily.
Not only stay with you,
but stay here.
Arizona.
H O M E.

I cannot begin to tell you how difficult it was to keep resentment at bay.
This is not my dream.
These are not my goals.
This is not my career.
I do not WANT to move away from a home, school, neighborhood, church that I love.
It is a part of me.

I would drive on the freeway at sunset,
look at the pink mountains to the east and think,
"I'm going to miss those"

I would breathe deep after rainfalls,
closing my eyes and trying to sear the wet desert smell into my memory and think,
"I'm going to miss this."

My eyes would fill with tears as I attended school fundraisers, awards assemblies, performances and curriculum nights,
seeing child after child walk by whose faces I knew,
whose parents I knew,
whose mothers were my friends,
and think,
"I'm going to miss them"

A couple years ago, I took a step back from social media.
For a number of reasons.
But truth be told,
I was trying to protect myself.
To distance myself from you,
so that when it was time to say goodbye,
maybe the sting wouldn't bring to my knees.
I tried to avoid you at school or church functions,
so that maybe if the bonds weren't quite as strong,
I wouldn't leave here with a completely shattered heart.

But it was no use.
I still cried walking home from those school functions.
I still cried when I listened to "Remember Lot's Wife" ,
as I tried to have faith in God's plan.
I still cried after all of last year's "lasts"
Last birthday celebrated with girls dinner.
Last 1st day of school surrounded by all of you and your children.
Last Halloween walking the neighborhood with you.
Last primary program, listening to your children who I've grown to love, bear their testimonies.
Last.
Last.
Last.
Because of you, these lasts were painful and tearful and my heart ached through their entirety.
And because of COVID-19, a lot of those lasts were taken from me.
Maybe that was a blessing.
I'm still not sure.

Either way,
you have defined a part of me that will never be lost.
When I look back at this part of our doctor-in-training years,
I'll remember how hard some of these days were,
but I will also remember YOU.
And as we set out on this journey that I'm still not sure I want to be on,
I will hold the memories of this time of my life as sacred little treasures.

I know they say,
"Bloom where you're planted."
And I hope I can do that in the place I will call home for the next 6 years,
but it will never be the same as when I bloomed here.
With all of you.
These years have changed me.
Defined me.
And I had hoped in the time we had here before we left,
I could see you,
face to face,
give you a hug,
and tell you that I love you.
And that I will miss you.
And that you have shaped me forever.
But because I can't,
please take this post as my thank you.
Thank you for being my village.
Because it really does take one to raise a human.


Beautiful friends,
you have unquestionably "raised" me.
You taught me.
You nurtured me.
You were patient with me.
You were kind to me.
You reminded me not to lose my faith.
You loved me.

I am leaving better than I came.
And I owe that to you.
From the bottom of my heart-
T H A N K     Y O U.

And if you're ever in Tennessee,
please come visit.
And bring some of that Arizona sky
{and wet desert smell}
with you.

All my love,
Stacey

I see you

Every three months. 

{I told you I'd stick to a blogging schedule.}

Maybe that's because life feels too hectic right now to sit down and pour out my thoughts here.

Or maybe it's because putting those thoughts into words feels overwhelming.

Not that the actual typing feels like too much,

no,

more like the actual feelings are all over the map,

and that saying them out loud,

just means I have to give them a name.

And a place in this world.

Acknowledge them.

Accept them.

Look them hard in the eyes,

and say yep- I see you fear.

And you sadness.

And you anxiety.

And you control freak.

And of course you resentment- you are one I never want to recognize.

I shove you down,

along with fear

and sadness,

and all of your melancholy friends,

hoping to distract myself long enough to forget about you.

Changes are inevitable. 

They are coming.

I'm not ready some most days.

And the anxiety of not knowing where we will call home once this part of our journey has come to an end,

spilled over to all other areas of my life. 

My physical wellness.

My mental wellness.

Rational voice clouded by the irrational one.

Self-talk, self-motivation, self-love

becoming less and less successful.

I have never felt so stuck in my entire life.

Even through a marriage I wasn't sure how to leave.

Even then... 

I had a choice.

It was my choice.

The future was what I made it.

I was in control of the path I could choose to take.

Was I in limbo for months,

unsure which path was the right one?

Of course.

Was I afraid I would make the wrong choice?

Yup.

Even so...

In the end,

I chose to rise.

I chose to pick the life I wanted.

I chose to forgive and leave the pain in that old life.

I chose.

Me.

This experience has been nothing like that.

Though I did choose to marry Jason,

and though it's a decision I have never regretted,

that choice created ripple effects that I never expected.

And one that has stolen away choices I didn't even know I cared about.

He chose to go to medical school,

a process that reminds us over and over and over again,

we are at the mercy of something or someone else.

Mercy of the grading curves.

Mercy of the attending's he's assigned to,

all with different expectations,

all with different ideas of what medical students should act like, talk like, suture like.

Mercy of the attending's that have offered to mentor him,

only to never return his emails.

Mercy of fake patients,

with fake problems,

and fake emotions,

holding power to give him actual scores based on how well he nurtured those fake feelings.

Mercy of composite scores.

{Which no one can ever seem to explain by the way}

Mercy of the evaluator in charge of clinical grades.

Mercy to the Match and your fate being decided by a computer algorithm. 

Lives ever revolving around his life.

His schedule.

His upcoming board exam.

His rotations.

His specialty choice and what that choice now means for our family.

He chose to pursue plastic surgery,

a specialty that only offers ONE spot in Arizona,

{the location of such that has been deemed 'too far' to commute and thus will require a move}

a specialty that requires one of the longest training time of all specialties,

tied for first with neurosurgery.

Read: Six years.

{Seven for some programs that require a dedicated research year}

A specialty that places second for 'Most Competitive Specialties'

when it comes to securing a job after medical school.

He chose.

And because of his choice,

I will leave the life I have built here.

The life I love here.

A life I still want!

And a life that is hard to part with when the future is a gray color of unknown.

No new city to explore.

No neighborhoods and schools to research.

No plans to make.

Nothing to get excited about.

Throw a dart at the map of the United States,

wherever it lands,

is a place we COULD end up.

And sure,

maybe six years doesn't seem like that long.

But when you consider Camden spending 6th-11th grade somewhere,

that somewhere will be his childhood.

The friendships he makes there will be the ones that stick for life.

The memories he creates there will be the ones he remembers forever.

The experiences he has there will be the ones that shape who he will become.

So to me,

those six years,

well, they're important ones.

And sure,

maybe if you're reading this you might be thinking,

"But where is your faith?"

And really,

you are right.

I do forget to add that little gem to the mixed bag.

And I'm working on it.

And when I began counseling to sort through that mixed bag,
pulling each feeling out,
one by one,
giving it a name,
deciding its purpose,
and its place in my life,
I remembered how I had gotten here.

My counselor said to me when I tearfully spoke about all the things I don't want to part with,
"You don't live in a magical neighborhood.
The school your kids attend is not the only one of its kind in the world.
The friends you've made aren't magical friends,
who exist no where else but where you are right now.
You've built a life you love because of who YOU are.
Your friends are your friends because they are drawn to YOU.
Whether you live in New York,
or California,
or Utah,
or Memphis,
you will still be YOU.
And the types of people you surround yourself with now,
will be the ones you find in your new home,
because those types of people will be drawn to who you are.
You'll take it with you.
Your kids will take it with them.
And they'll create connections with special people,
because of who THEY are."

"Remember Lot's wife."
It is a phrase I say to myself when days are hard.
"Remember Lot's wife" I think,
and my mind is brought back to Elder Holland's prophetic,
and poetic words:

"She wasn't just looking back;
in her heart she wanted to go back. ...Before they were past the city limits, she was already missing what it had offered her. Her attachment to the past outweighed her confidence in the future. When we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future.
Lot's wife doubted the Lord's ability to give her something better than she already had. Apparently she thought- that nothing that lay ahead could possibly be as good as those moments she was leaving behind."

They are words I listen to often,
multiple times a week sometimes.
Mostly, with tears streaming down my face,
as I remind myself to dig deep,
and remember the faith in God that is surely there.
It has to be.

So maybe the Lord is asking me to leave a life I love behind?
And maybe I'll have learned what I needed to learn here?
Maybe I need to claim the embers from the glowing experiences,
and bring the best of them with me?
Because maybe,
the Lord is about to give me something better than I already have.

The mixed bag is getting lighter.
As days and weeks pass,
and I unload it a little at a time,
the shade of gray of the unknown seems to get lighter too.

Even though I may have little control over where Jason interviews,
what programs think of him,
where we match,
(IF we match!)
I've realized that even then...
I still have a choice.
The future can still be what I make it.
I can control which paths I take there,
and who I choose to be there.
In the end,
I can choose to rise.
I can pick the life I want by being the type of person I want to be.
I can choose happiness and let the lessons learned in my beautiful life here,
serve me, and others, there.
I can choose.
Me.

What's Next?

Five days ago marked exactly one year until Match Day.

Which, has pretty much been on our minds since the first year of medical school.

And definitely since Jason decided on plastics and our course was set to that trajectory.

What is Match Day?

Match Day is the day when all the 4th year medical students find out where they will be doing their residency training for the next 3-7 years. 

In Jason's case, 

it will be 6.

He will spend this fall interviewing at plastic surgery programs.

Once interviews are completed,

he will rank his programs according to his preference and submit his rank list to an online system.

All the programs in the country will do the same.

They will rank their applicants to this same online system,

and a computer algorithm will "match" applicant to program.

You can watch a video on how this all works here.

Match Day is always on a Friday.

Usually the 2nd or 3rd Friday of March.

The Monday before Match Day,

students receive an email that says whether or not they matched.

But the email does not tell them where they matched.

That's what you find out on Friday.

So if Jason interviews at 15 programs,

he will rank those 15 programs,

#1: First choice

#2: Second choice

and so on...

(and they will rank him,

hopefully!).

So, on Match Day,

we could end up at any one of those places on his list.

Without completing residency,

you can't practice medicine.

So matching is kind of a big deal.

In fact, 

I think most would agree it's a bigger deal than graduation.

Jason's school has a big ceremony every year,

and a big countdown to 9 a.m.

(the whole country has to open their results at the same time)

I've been watching Match Day videos on YouTube since Jason's first year,

and I would always get so emotional thinking of what our experience will be like.

And it's crazy that it's our turn next. 

It will be quite a year.

So much happens in 4th year.

This summer, Jason will do 3 plastic surgery rotations at different programs around the country.

Those he hopes to match to.

We only have one of those rotations secured,

and it's in Memphis,

at the University of Tennessee.

He applied for a rotation at the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale,

and at University of Texas Southwestern in Dallas.

We are still waiting to hear back from those places.

Each of those rotations is 4 weeks.

When those are over,

it will basically be time to apply to residency programs.

That happens in Sept/Oct.

The hope is that he'll get interviews,

and plastic surgery does the bulk of their interviews in December and January.

Once interviews are over,

then it's time to submit a rank list.

And then we wait.

It all feels very stressful,

and frankly,

I have anxiety daily.

It has been incredibly difficult to have faith in God's plan for us.

I love my life here.

I love my house,

my neighborhood,

my ward.

I love my kids' school.

I love their friends.

And their friends' moms. 

I love Navy's and Lily's dance studio,

I love Navy's music teacher.

I love Camden's group of 'sports friends',

who play on the same team every season.

I love Lily's speech therapist. 

It is home.

It will always be.

And even if Jason does get an interview at Mayo,

and even if he gets accepted there,

we will still move to be closer to the hospital. 

And while Phoenix is infinitely closer to family than say,

New York,

it still feels like a world away,

and I'm already mourning the loss of our life here.

I cry about it a lot.

And because we won't know where we will end up for another year,

I feel so stuck in my emotions.

I want to enjoy our year of 'lasts' here,

and I'm trying,

I'm really trying.

Trying to just be still,

and soak up all the memories these next 14 months have for us.

But I also feel the urge to distance myself from the life,

and people,

and surroundings that I love so much,

so maybe come May 2020,

it won't break my heart so much to say goodbye.

I have this mental image of Jason dragging me out of our empty house by my feet,

as I leave nail marks in the walls.

And I can't look forward to our new home,

can't get excited about what our new life has to offer,

because we don't know where that is yet.

If there was ever a time of my life when I felt in limbo,

this is it.

I focused my anxiety on researching anything and everything I could get my hands on regarding  plastic surgery programs,

suburbs of major cities,

homes for sale in said suburbs

moving costs,

school districts,

commute time,

etc etc etc.

And when I realized that it was only making my nerves more on edge,

to the point where I wasn't sleeping,

and feeling physically ill some nights,

I found a new project to focus my free time on.

So far it's working.

If you wanted to keep us in your prayers,

as we face a daunting year of decisions,

and uncertainty,

I would so appreciate it. 

A letter to Navy

You are already half way through Kindergarten.

I wanted to do this on your first day of school,

but life is crazy,

and it's taken me this long to finally sit down and write this to you.

Where do I even start?
How do I even begin to tell you how much I love you?
How amazing I think you are?

How you are kind, and smart, and so talented?

Because I do love you.

Oh my gosh do I love you!

And you ARE amazing.

And you ARE kind,

and smart,

and gosh dang- you are so talented.

When I first learned about you,

I was so excited for Camden to have a sibling,

and for Dad to have a child of his own.

When we found out you were a girl,

I was over the moon.

We knew right away we would name you Navy.

I had the name picked out since I was 15.

I bought adorable outfits with matching bows,

and I could not wait to meet you.

And on December 7th, 2016,

you were born and I heard your sweet cry and kissed your sweet cheeks,

and I thought my heart would burst.

Tears rolled down my face as I smelled you and looked at you for the first time.

I had a daughter.

You were mine.

And we were all completely smitten with you from the very beginning.

You were a happy baby and totally content with life.

I loved dressing you up and got your ears pierced as soon as I could.

As you grew, 

you maintained your happy nature but completely soaked in everything around you.

You knew numbers,

and letters,

and colors,

and shapes,

before you were even 2.

I didn't teach you that.

Somehow you learned it on your own.

You started talking then too,

and it was like your vocabulary exploded over night.

You were speaking in full sentences,

and I could have pretty grown up conversations with you just after your second birthday.

You were so fun at that age.

You would say and do such funny things.

Sometimes,

after bedtime,

me and Dad would hear you playing in your room,

knowing you weren't asleep.

We would let you come in to our room and hang out with us because you made us laugh.

We loved those nights with you,

and Dad especially treasures those memories.

If I could have frozen you at that age forever,

I would have.

This was also when you stopped napping.

But you were never grumpy,

and I loved having you as my little buddy 

as we ran errands together.

I loved spending my days with you.

When Nana got cancer,

you were such a bright spot in my life when things were so hard and sad.

You made me happy,

and  I was so grateful to be your mom then.

When you started dance just before you turned 3,

you immediately loved it.

And you were already such a natural at it.

I loved watching you in class.

And YOU loved watching you in class,

inching your way closer and closer to the mirror throughout class.

You became a big sister when you were three and a half,

and the bond you and Lily have is something YOU have created.

You have loved her and included her ever since the beginning.

You are kind to her.

You teach her.

You help her.

You treat her like a friend.

And I am so proud of you for that.

She copies everything you do,

and you are such a great example.

I hope as she continues to follow in your footsteps that you always model what you do now:

Kindness.

As you have grown,

and have ventured into different activities,

you have shown dedication.

You put your mind to something,

and you work at it until you get it.

You persevere.

In dance,

in gymnastics,

in school

and in music.

You have talent in these areas yes,

but you work hard at them,

and I love to see you at work.

You taught yourself to read,

to tie your shoes,

to add and subtract.

And you never want help with things.

When you were just 2, you would say,

"No, NeNe do it."

So you would practice buckling your own carseat,

or putting on your own clothes,

or writing your name,

until you could finally do it all by yourself.

Even now,

when you come across a big word reading,

you don't want help until you've sounded it out yourself first.

When you have to do math problems on the computer for homework,

you use paper to cover up the pictures because you don't want to use them to help you solve it.

When you are practicing piano, 

or teaching yourself by ear a new song, 

you don't want me to show you which note comes next.

You'll do it again and again until you get it right.

Your drive to learn and accomplish and achieve astounds me.

And the brain you've been given will do amazing things if you continue to pursue your passions and work hard as you grow.

Your teachers can hardly keep up with you!!

Navy,

you are a great friend.

I hope you never lose this quality.

A couple months ago,

I went to your school for an awards assembly.

Before walking in to the gym,

another mom stopped me and asked if I was your mom.

I told her yes.

She said,

"Oh my daughter loves Navy.

She says Navy is the only girl in the whole class that is never mean to her."

I was so proud of you.

That meant more to me than the awards you were getting that day.

Those that know you, 

love you.

And even though I hate that you are growing up,

I love the person you are already becoming.

You are a natural born leader. 

You command attention without even realizing it sometimes.

(Though sometimes, you really do COMMAND our attention-

especially when you want us to watch you do something)

You are learning at lightening speed,

and I can't wait to see what you do with all of it.

I can't wait to watch you develop your talents.

I have been your mom for 6 years now,

and I could never imagine my life without you in it.

I am so grateful Heavenly Father blessed me with you,

and I absolutely love being your mom.

You make me proud every day,

and I think you are a pretty incredible person.

Don't ever lose your confidence.

Your ability to make friends.

Don't lose your happy spirit,

or your spunk,

or your tenacity.

Keep your dedication to the things you love.

Explore new things and develop your talents.

Stay true to who you are,

stay kind,

keep your passion, 

and your bravery.

Navy Lee,

I love you so.

And I cannot wait to see who you become.

Love,

Mom

The imminent future

The end is in sight.
Some days,
it feels like FOREVER before graduation.
Other days,
it feels like I'll blink and this will all be over.
Even still,
we are on the down hill slope of this 4 year mountain we were crazy enough to start climbing.
And that feels exciting.

Jason is already half way through his required rotations.
12 weeks of internal medicine.
Done.
6 weeks of pediatrics.
Done.
6 weeks of family medicine.
Done.

9 more weeks of surgery,
then 6 weeks of OB/GYN,
and 6 weeks of Psychiatry.

And then Jason takes boards.
Again.
Step 2 this time.
Remember Step 1??
{I have PTSD from those days}

But anyway,
after boards it's on to 4th year.
4th year means:
Electives
Away rotations
Applications
Interviews
Submitting a rank list
Match Day
Graduation

Woah.
4th year is going to be a ride.
But let's back up a sec...

See away rotations above?
Those are electives he gets to do at other programs around the country.
The strategy is that you do an elective in the specialty you are wanting to pursue after medical school.
You choose locations where you would hopefully want to train,
and do your elective rotations there.
That way,
when you apply there,
they know and remember you,
and are more likely to offer you an interview.
Away rotations are four weeks long.
J is hoping to do 3.
June, July, August.

That may seem far away,
but applications for these rotations are due by the end of the year.
We are down to the wire.
We need to decide on a specialty,
make plans,
and lists,
and start seriously talking about our future.

For a year and half Jason has thought he wanted to do urology.
He shadowed a few urologists during his first couple years of school and totally loved it.
We {okay, I} had researched everything there was to know about urology residencies.
Which programs were the best,
how to best increase your odds at securing a residency spot,
etc, etc, etc.

But then Jason did his official urology rotation.
I've heard it said that when people are trying to choose their specialty,
they know which one to pick because during that rotation,
they came home HAPPY.
Tired yes.
They always are.
But tired and happy.
Excited.
Fulfilled.
Enthusiastic.
I fully expected this from Jason during his two weeks of urology.
He did too.
And well,
he just wasn't.

Urology wasn't fulfilling him,
and he didn't know why.
He wasn't excited,
or fulfilled,
or giddy,
the way he thought he should be.

He started doubting everything.
He wasn't enthused about the future,
or medicine.
He wasn't sure God was listening.
He needed guidance and reassurance,
and he wasn't getting it.
Cynicism crept in.
If modern day miracles are true,
where's mine? he wondered.
He retreated to dark places in his mind.
I saw him withdraw.

I prayed so hard.
"God, you know his mind.
You know the way his logical, unemotional, rational decision-making brain works.
You're the only one that can help him.
Help him make sense of everything in the way HE understands the world.
Let him know you're there.
Reassure him.
Comfort him.
Guide him to his miracle."

The choice of specialty is heavy.
Not only are you sacrificing 5-7 years of your life for grueling surgical training,
it's also the rest of your life.
He didn't have long to make a final decision.
Applications due by the end of the year remember?
Time was not on our side.
His head, heart, and gut,
were all telling him different things.
And the weight of it all,
was sucking the life from him.
He ended his urology rotation with little clarity,
and so much uncertainty.

And then he started plastic surgery.
At the end of his first day he called me to tell me he was on his way home.
"I have something to tell you." he said.
"But I want to do it in person." 

I washed dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher,

as he sat down on the bar stool looking stoic.

"Something happened today."

My stomach lurched.

"Okaaaaay." I hesitated.

He told me about the patients of the day.

Burns,

cancer,

trauma,

reconstruction,

cosmetic,

congenital.

All different.

Different problems.

Different body systems.

Different genders.

Different ages.

Different surgical solutions.
Intricate, delicate, complex surgical techniques.

All beautiful outcomes.

Four patients.

That's all it took.

After four patients the thought entered his mind,

"Could I do plastics for the rest of my life?"

And then it happened.

{Insert his miracle here}

The sprit filled his entire body. 

Joy.

Excitement.

Enthusiasm.

Fulfillment. 

H A P P I N E S S.

God heard.

He listened.

And lovingly answered his struggling child.

J recounted how that same strong confirmation came back to him throughout the day

whenever he would stop and think about doing doing plastic surgery as a career.

Every. Single. Time.

Affirmed over and over.

This was it.

Still loading dishes,

tears streamed down my face.

Not only because he had made a decision,

but mostly because he felt Heavenly Father,

and knew that he was capable of getting direction and inspiration from God through the Holy Ghost.

It had been a long time since his belief in that was reassured.

Long enough for Satan to creep into his thoughts,

chiseling away tiny slivers of faith in Jason's pillars of spiritual truths.

The weight lifted was visible.

His excitement contagious.

With my still-wet hands {and cheeks}, 

we hugged for a long time in the kitchen.

Our course was set.

New goals in sight.

And after a few really hard weeks, 

I finally felt like medicine wasn't going to ruin everything.

Or steal away the Jason I knew and loved.

With this new development,

and with renewed faith,

we make new plans for the future.

We don't know where plastic surgery will take us.

We won't know until March 2020.

{Match Day}

It is a six year surgical residency.

And it will, no doubt, be challenging.

But this I know,

God is in charge.

He knows me.

He knows Jason.

He knows the 3 amazing little spirits he entrusted to us.

He knows the paths that will strengthen us,

refine us,

humble us,

the ones that will test our faith,

and the ones that will restore it.

And {hopefully} we come out the other side of medical training better,

resembling more of who He wants us to be.

Half way?!

In my last post,

Jason was four weeks from taking Step 1.

It was a long road to that exam,

but we survived and Jason did great!!
The anxiety leading up to the exam,

and then to finding out his score was intense!

After his exam,

he had to wait 3 weeks to get his score back.

We knew the email would come at 8 a.m.,

and I knew I wanted to be with him when he checked his score,

or at least be able to see his face via Face Time.

But on the day that his score was supposed to come in,

he had to be in a simulation class at 8 a.m.

They are in small groups,

practicing procedures on the simulation dummies,

and it would have been noticeable if he was either late,

or video chatting.

He had a half day that day,

and selflessly said he would wait until he got home to look at his score with me.

-1 p.m. it is!

But...

I couldn't wait.

At 7:59 I logged into his portal and looked at his score.

And then I cried.

I was so relieved, happy, excited, grateful, humble.

I knew I wanted to surprise him in some way,

so I bought some balloons,

butcher paper,

and some paint,

and me and the girls made him a giant banner with his score on it.

I recorded his reaction.

It was pretty great.

I felt a little bad for asking him to wait to look at his score,

and then I felt a little bad that I looked without him,

but it was totally worth it.

And he even said,

it was way better than finding out at school via his phone.

Wouldn't you agree?

 

Now that it's over {finally!},

and he's also done with his last block of his 2nd year,

(which was a dream by the way-

there were no tests during this block,

which meant no studying,

which meant lots of family time,

which meant happy mom),

we are officially half way done!!

Today is his first day of third year.

Third year marks the start of clinical rotations.

He will do 6 'core' rotations this year,

the same 6 that every other third year medical student in the country will also do.

Internal Medicine (12 weeks)

Pediatrics (6 weeks)

Family Medicine (6 weeks)

Surgery (12 weeks)

OB/GYN (6 weeks)

Psychiatric (6 weeks)

He will be at different hospitals and locations for each rotation,

and even multiple ones during the longer ones.

For internal medicine for example,

he starts at Maricopa Medical Center in inpatient,

then he will be in Show Low for a month,

and then finishes at St. Joes in outpatient.

For his surgery clerkship, 

he was able to choose some electives,

to gain some exposure to other fields of surgery,

and to break up the long rotation. 

He will be doing urology, plastic surgery, and trauma,

in addition to the required general surgery.

The electives are 2-4 weeks long each.

Rotations are a way for students to get an introduction into different areas of medicine,

so that by 4th year, they can hopefully narrow down what kind of doctor they want to be.

In 4th year, 

he will have to do an emergency medicine and neurology rotation,

but then the rest of his time will be spent taking elective rotations,

and apply and interviewing for residencies.

I have heard mixed things about MS3.

Some say it was the hardest year,

some say it wasn't so bad.

This is where the hours get long,

and the students are exhausted.

But this is also where they are putting to practice everything they've learned 

the last two years.

The patients are real,

they have actual problems,

and they will play a role in their care-

which is completely more fulfilling than cramming knowledge into their brains at 12 a.m.

Some 'real world' application to all those long nights of studying.

He will be gone for 4 weeks while he's in Show Low.

Which will be during summer.

Which will be when my kids are out of school.

Which means...

SOS.

But we will survive.

I remember his long weeks on call with DeWitt Equipment-

especially during the summer.

And it was all okay.

It was always okay.

And if one rotation feels hard and long,

the next one usually isn't as intense-

so hopefully,

with some luck,

I'll make it through summer with some dignity,

and maybe even a few shreds of sanity remaining.

In case you want to know...

Jason is taking a big test in one month.

Scratch that.

A huge test.

The USMLE Step 1.

Or just Step 1.

Or just Step.

{It's also called boards}

It's been on his mind since he started school basically,

and studying for it began at the beginning of second year.

USMLE stands for United States Medical Licensing Exam.

It's a three step exam for medical licensure in the U.S.

Step 1 is taken between second and third year of medical school.

It's a one day, 8 hour test.

Seven 60-minute blocks.

And the score determines a lot.

Like, a whole lot.

In fourth year,

Jason will start applying for residency programs,

and it is known that the score is what the residency program directors say is their most important criterion in selecting graduating medical students for their program.

(Because it is the only standardized measure of all applicants)

And sure,

there are other factors that hold weight on the application.

Letters of recommendation.

Grades on rotations. 

Research.

But for the most part,

there is an "average" step 1 score for most specialties,

and if you score below that average,

you may have to do some other things to beef up your application.

If you're TOO far below the average for that specific specialty,

well... you're sorta out of luck.

It's time to find interest in another field of medicine.

Several months ago,

we hosted an internal medicine resident

interviewing in Arizona for gastroenterology fellowships.

He said he went into medical school KNOWING he wanted to pursue orthopedic surgery.

But because he didn't score high enough on Step 1,

he had to choose something else.

It took him a long time to come to terms with giving up his dream of orthopedics,

and of being a surgeon in general. 

And that he still has moments where he wishes he could spend his days in the O.R.

It's kind of crappy that so much weight is put on this ONE test,

especially if you're initially drawn to a specialty that tends to be more competitive.

However,

the good thing about taking the test now,

is that Jason will know his score before he starts rotations.

If there are specialties that would maybe be a stretch to match into,

he will know that beforehand,

and be able to keep his mind open when being exposed to other fields of medicine. 

Okay, back to Step.

The more competitive the specialty, the higher the averages:

Orthopedic surgery (245)

Urology (243)

Plastic surgery (245)

Dermatology (247) 

Neurosurgery (244)

And I'm sure there are others I am missing.

{A passing score for Step 1 is a 194 by the way,

and the national average is 228.}

Most of the competitive fields are surgical.

Most, but not all.

(i.e. dermatology)

And Jason,

like the gunner he is,

wants to pursue surgery.

And at the moment,

 is semi-considering urology.

He is open to other surgical fields,

and even non-surgical fields if he finds what he loves outside of the O.R.,

but he says he is making urology his goal because it is competitive,

and he would need a stellar step score.

So he's setting the bar high for himself.

Jason takes Step 1 on March 6th.

A little less than 4 weeks from now.

He studies 9-10 hours a day away from home,

comes homes and spends a little time with the family,

and once the kids are in bed,

it's more flashcards and videos and review.

We are in full study mode over here.

A even I'm starting to feel the stress of it all.

It's very hard to be in a place of no control.

I honestly would be okay with whatever field of medicine he chooses,

surgery included,

if that's what made him really happy.
My hope is that his score will give him the ability

to choose what he loves- no matter how competitive.

25 days and counting!

(a normal sight around here)