We have all come to medicine from a unique place and use our backgrounds and upbringings to help us become the best physicians possible. One of our own SheMD Editors, Morgan Sweere, visits the blog today to share some of her own story.
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Bright fluorescent lights are important to me. Bright lights have allowed me to work hard and learn for most of my childhood. Bright lights are where I learned a lot of lessons from my dad. Not the kind of bright lights you find in the OR, though. No one in my family is a physician. I think many medical students can relate to this: having no one to relate to. In that way, at least.
I grew up on a dirt race track.
I stayed on the track until the street lights came on. I grew up with the thrill of the race. I waited every week for those bright, Friday night lights in the pits as my dad rounded corners in that #38 dwarf car. I craved the exciting, minute-to-minute changing, fast-paced environment of the race tracks. I grew up watching my dad work hard. I watched and helped in the garage, often for months leading up to the racing season each year. Medicine is a profession full of people who love to learn, in all aspects of life, and I am no different. I learned early that hard work contributes to success.
I also learned, though, that nothing worth having comes to you easily.
I was 15, and I wanted a red convertible. I sat in the shop staring at a dark green ‘97 Jeep Wrangler.
He stood behind me and muttered, “If you can fix it, you can have it.” It was not quite what I expected as a young teenager. I discovered a “living” vehicle is much like the human body—everything is connected. Each part has an intricate design and action, and they all work together, each performing their unique tasks. If one part isn’t working, every other part is affected. You can use the “symptoms” as well as your “physical exam” to help find the problem. While my friends spent their summer at the lake or mall, I was elbow-deep in grease and oil next to my dad.
I think you learn a lot about who you are when you do something you don’t think you can do. Only in hindsight did I realize that while researching and learning each intricate step of bringing the jeep back to life, I was also learning to be self-sufficient and reflect on each step of the process. I will never forget the first time the engine roared to life with every pop of the clutch. I had never been so proud. As the school year began, many students showed up in cars they’d received as gifts. I realized my dad had taught me several skills that money simply can’t buy.
Ultimately, smooth driving doesn’t make you a skillful racer. It’s stressful, scary, and difficult. You’re gonna wreck. And lose. A lot. When I think about it, it’s really the skills I’ve learned outside of the hospital and in the garage or on the track that I’m going to bring most closely to my medical career. Life, and racing, are really hard. Being in medical school is hard. Just like the race track has obstacles, so do medicine and life. You have to make the best decisions you can with the knowledge and information you have, often in a split second. You have to run your race, and nobody else’s. You have to continuously get out there on the track and fight to improve, even if you’re scared or if you don’t think you’ll win. Winning is about the hard work, the struggle, the hope, the never giving up on your dreams. Working on cars and racing have helped prepare me for the hard work of medical school but also given me the ability to fight and the ability to figure out how to reach my goals. Sooner or later, your work and your decisions will speak for themselves. You’ve got to get out there and try, because you never know who is looking up to you and watching. Make your efforts count like you are racing, racing to save someone’s life, because ultimately, you will be doing that.