One of the worst aspects of Medical Student Syndrome is the ego. As an overachieving and curious student in the health sciences, the WORST quality would be lack of ego. Who wants an uncertain and hesitant health professional? We need to be sure of ourselves, and prolifically confident. Confident… to a fault? Nah!
Because when it comes to self-diagnosis, how could we possibly be wrong? We were blessed with amazing skills in tracing pathologies. And who do we know better than our very own selves? We’re the brains diagnosing everyone else.
Moral of the story is… I have TMJ disorder issues, and that’s a wrap. I chew my headphones out, experience lockjaw, and hear clicking. If that’s not pathological, then someone revoke my Masters degree candidacy.
They ask typical questions about life changing events, secrets, and stressful situations. It’s like being prompted to rewrite my college acceptance essay. They’re almost as horrifically generic as … as … HOROSCOPES.
Where are the taboo questions? Prompts relating personality types to psychological theories? Questions about culture and education? Language?
Turn to your co-workers, kids, Facebook friends, family — anyone who’s accessible — and ask them to suggest an article, an adjective, and a noun. There’s your post title!
Made my boyfriend give me these three out of order. No surprise.
Somehow, I believe the only truly virile iced beverage would have to be the Arnold Palmer. It is named after a man, for goodness sake. Masculinity does not dwell within its iced-tea and lemonade components, but in its epic reputation amongst mankind, and not womankind. Rarely do you hear a woman request that sugary monstrosity of a Southern drink. Its sweetness is nothing like that of chocolate, a woman’s best friend; rather, Arnold Palmer brandishes the wands of sweet and sour, confusing the shit out of the female taste bud set. But men, who enjoy every flavor from dog treats to Cheetos, wash down their kibbels with a preferred Arnold Palmer.
Arnold Palmer, the golfer. Just look at this shit.
What is more virile than swinging a golf club? Swinging a bat?
And these cans… these cans! They can deceive a man into thinking he is chugging down sweet, sweet beer.
Write about your strongest memory of heart-pounding belly-twisting nervousness: what caused the adrenaline? Was it justified? How did you respond?
I had a lot more youthful angst and pent-up sexual energy, which I feel were converted into intense global anxiety and fear… rendering my teenage years as interesting, to say the least. I had the mind of a worrisome adult, weary of consequences, but the motivation and emotional capacity of a puppy falling down a flight of icy steps. I didn’t like trying things more than once, particularly if I had already met the worst outcome the first time.
That being said, the atmosphere I breathed pulsed with nervous energy. The clouds around my teenagery head were wired with all sorts of fears of failure, fears of judgment, fears of missing a beat. So, “belly-twisting nervousness?” Try every night and morning before an exam; every moment I stepped alongside a handsome boy; every time I had to answer a chemistry question; every time my clothes looked awkward. Whatever minimal food made it to my stomach experienced the lovely field of butterflies, whirlpooling through the hydrochloric acid of my gut until I finally passed out from pure exhaustion.
Justified nervousness? I think I’d prefer to think of it as intangible growing pains.