Metal trays. Heat lamps. Serving spoons. Each food scooped into it's own little compartment. All of a sudden I'm back in elementary school when my biggest worries were counting the ticks on the mysterious analogue clock till recess and who I would sit by for lunch. But I'm not in elementary school. I'm sitting at a table in the Rift Valley Academy cafeteria of Kijabe, Kenya with an orthopedic surgeon and his family for Sunday lunch, anxiously pushing my food around out of it's tray compartments. Reorganizing. I attempt to keep a calm face as I listen to the advice of a practicing physician who has spent several years on a medical school admission board and I feel thoughts race frantically around my head. Reorganizing. For the past 6 months, I have been fighting with myself in a horrible ping-pong match of what to do with my immediate future. Team A: For better or for worse, apply this cycle to medical school. Team B: re-take the MCAT (the brand new, twice a...
My journey and development as a flawed human and an international humanitarian physician. Oh, and I happen to have red hair. ;) Let's go.