It occurs to me that as this blog’s resident “fourth year,” I should probably say something about the residency match process. However, I detest boring unpoetic narratives, which is what has previously stopped me from writing this post. So instead, a list:
Last spring: decided that I wanted to be a pediatrician. Met with my advisor and Dr. Harris, the advice-giver slash panic-allayer of the pediatrics department.
June: my “sub-internship” at Riley, a month where I was treated somewhat like an intern, for the purpose of furthering my education slash proving myself.
July: started filling out “ERAS” which is one giant application to be sent out to all the residency programs that I wanted to apply to.
August: took the “Step 2 Clinical Skills” board exam, an exam where we interview fake patients and are graded on our skills. We all must take this $1500 test for the purpose of weeding out the approximately 2% of medical students who have no people skills, which makes no sense to anyone. Spent the rest of the month stalking down faculty members for letters of recommendation. And taking care of tiny sweet babies in the NICU.
September 15: the first day applications could be submitted. I submitted my application.
The next week in September: received some interview offers.
October 26: took the “Step 2 Clinical Knowledge” board exam, which involved remembering and regurgitating much of what I learned in the previous three years of medical school.
November: began interviews. Finished sewing my suit approximately 20 hours before my first interview. Visited St. Louis, Cleveland, and Columbus. Took “Pediatric Therapeutics,” a class structured to prepare us for life as pediatrics residents. We attended lectures, practiced neonatal resuscitation and pediatric life support, and went to the art museum. It was lovely.
December: had a month off of school. Did a few more interviews and spent the rest of the month primarily watching Christmas movies.
January 25: finished up my last interview, at Northwestern. Ate a deep dish pizza in celebration. Trekked around Chicago for a couple days in seventeen-degree weather.
January 27: made my “rank list” for the “match.” Here’s how we are placed at a program: we make a list of the schools we interviewed with, in order of how much we like them. The schools make a list of how much they liked us. This gets fed into a big computer and somehow it supposedly “matches” the lists together in a way that works in our favor. Although many have tried to read the instructions, no one really understands how this works.
February 20: double and triple and quadruple checked my rank order list to make sure I did it correctly.
March 11: received an email letting me know that I “matched” at a program (!!!) though they did not tell any of us where.
Which brings us to the middle of what I believe to be The Longest Week of My Life. My significant other, his small child, and the house that we hope to buy are in Indianapolis. I am biting my fingernails to the quick during the sleepless nights when I pray over and over that I will be here with them for the next three years.
On March 15, “Match Day,” we will all gather in a large room and will, a few at a time, walk up in front of the entire class. We will be handed an envelope which contains the name of the program where we matched. We will open that envelope. Then, each of us will have seconds to decide whether to retreat in tears, or to read that name to the entire class.
Oh well. If it wasn’t agonizing, it wouldn’t be medical school.
