so what if i can write grammatically correct sentences, elaborate things nicely, fill the right words into the blanks? so what if i have a good vocabulary, am a stickler for spelling and can read papers with no difficulty? does it really matter that i try to have a decent work ethic when i have zero clinical correlation and can’t remember the appropriate medical terms when comes the occasion for me to recall them?
i’m better off writing than seeing patients, examining them and ordering the right investigations and treatment for them. the last few semesters have just confirmed what i’ve known all along – i am meant to write for a living, not be a doctor. i’m good at writing. not great, but good enough to have a platform to improve and hopefully become great one day. this playing doctor business? it’s like every pass i’ve had is a fluke. i am no good at this.
so what if my grades are average? they’re probably average because i write grammatically correct reports that don’t make my lecturers cringe. the formatting, the fluency of the language has probably covered up the gaps in my knowledge. which is why i screw up at vivas, live demonstrations of what i know. i don’t know much. i only know how to write like i do.
part of me wants to blame my parents, for telling me that i may enjoy writing but i’ll never be good enough to make a living out of it. then again, i was the one who ticked the box marked “medicine” when applying for a course. they never coerced me into it, eventhough my 17-year-old self was convinced that they did. i have to take responsibility for that choice and pay for it for the next 10 years of my life.
i will never raise my children (if i have any) to feel like they have to please me with their choices. sure i can encourage them to follow a profession that will ensure they have food on their tables every day, but to dismiss their instincts on what they’re good at? that’s one sin i won’t commit.