It was a cool February morning in Mississippi. I had just finished track practice for the day, and yet I still had energy to spare. I rushed to the back wall of the weight room where I had left my bag, tearing my laptop from its sleeve. Most of the team had filed out by that point (as a senior, I was usually one of the last to leave), but I could not wait one more minute. This was the moment I had been waiting for since the day I signed my life away to the pre-medical program at Mississippi College. All the nights of laboring over organic chemistry, MCAT studying, and the endless streams of applications was about to pay off in that one glorious moment.
At least, that’s what I thought before reality decided to put my hopes back in their place, which was apparently sinking beneath my feet. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read those gut-wrenching words in the harsh light of my computer screen: “You did not match to any schools.” Denial immediately set in: there had to have been some delay in reporting results, some reasonable explanation for the misplaced message I was receiving, but multiple reloads of the page did not fix the problem. I put my computer away and began the lonely walk to the athletic trainer’s office (I don’t remember what was hurting at the time, but between the hard training and hours of sleep sacrificed in pursuit of medicine, I was always a somewhat injury-prone runner). A few of my teammates were already there receiving treatment, the same teammates who were always excitedly asking when I would hear back from the medical schools. I could barely look them in the eye.
I will never forget that morning, nor the months that followed. No one died, but in retrospect I think it felt something like bereavement. I certainly progressed through the stages of grief, and since it was track season, I actually took several laps around them. I felt that I had failed to make the most of my potential. I felt a calling, a duty, to pursue medicine, and at that time I felt that it was simply not going to happen. Maybe I was just being a slave to psychology, struggling with the formation of my own identity after having my intended career seemingly stolen away, but the mechanism at the time seemed irrelevant. I was unsure if I could make myself apply again if it meant risking another rejection, but I was not sure what else to do or what else I could have done. What’s the point of trying so hard when it just raises your hopes higher before letting them down again? I struggled with that question as I wrestled with my options.
The ancient Greek philosophers described a concept of telos, which refers to the inherent purpose of something. For instance, the telos of a mask is to cover your mouth and nose to prevent the spread of a dangerous pathogen. You can use a mask for other things if you like, such as adorning your neck, but that is not fulfilling its telos. With my education in the medical sciences and the patterns of reasoning I had been developing throughout my education, I felt that my telos had to be medicine. Perhaps I could find a way to sustain myself for a time doing something else if required, but I knew that I had been made for medicine. Over the course of several months, I found peace with the fact that I might not start medical school right after college, and that was okay; I knew that the call of medicine and the needs of my future patients were so compelling that I would apply again. And again. And again. As long as it took, as many disappointments as were required, I would answer that call and prepare myself to meet those needs to the best of my ability. The issue was not how I felt; it was about fulfilling my purpose.
Our conference championship track meet landed on the weekend before spring final exams, but that was par for the course as far as the student-athlete experience goes. As the bus pulled away, bound for Georgia, I decided to catch up on my e-mails. Surrounded by my track family, for the second time that semester, I could hardly believe my eyes as they overflowed with tears:
“Dear William,
On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is a great pleasure to present you this offer of acceptance to the Long School of Medicine…”
In the midst of a pandemic with all of its associated disruptions, drowning in lectures about strange neuroanatomy and unfamiliar psychiatric disorders, wondering if my brain can hold it all, I try to go back to that moment. I try to remember the immense gratitude I felt for being given the chance to join the ranks of the medical profession, the joy of celebrating with my team, the bright future that seemed just around the corner. In this day and age it can be hard to find hope sometimes, and as a medical student, it is easy to feel a bit helpless. I take comfort in knowing that my classmates and I are fulfilling our telos; that even if I cannot meet with them in person, that I am part of a team of future doctors the likes of which have the power to change lives for the better. I pray nightly for those doctors, and I hope that in the midst of temporary hardship that they would remember how excited we all were to begin medical school and take part in this high calling of medicine. In the end, the adversity will make victory all the sweeter.
About Will Young:
Though I was born in Indiana, most of my childhood memories are from Durham, North Carolina. When I was in the 8th grade my family moved to Nacogdoches, Texas. Under the guidance of several volunteer coaches (one of whom was my dad), I became a competitive runner and gained a love for learning as a student. After graduating in a class of five, I attended Mississippi College in Clinton, Mississippi, where I majored in Biology-Medical Sciences and continued my cross-country and track pursuits as a scholarship athlete, fulfilling a lifelong goal. The summer after graduation, I married my best friend and former teammate, Hannah Chamberlain, and shortly thereafter I began study at Long School of Medicine where I am currently a student. Though I no longer compete at the collegiate level, I still love to run and I do it as much as I can. My faith is very important to me, and I see the San Antonio People Project as a way we can all do a better job of understanding and loving our neighbors, even (and especially) when our neighbors are different than ourselves.