Let me tell you something: 3rd year is no joke.
I remember EVERYONE going on about 2nd year ALL THE TIME last year. Not just my peers, but our seniors, the lecturers, the admin lady at the finance office, the bursaries lady…EVERYONE.
All we ever heard was how it would chow us (it did), how we would fail everything (we didn’t) and how we would lose touch with all humankind in our quest not to accrue further student debt (we almost did). And then we got to third year and…
Nothing. Not a sound.
Naturally, we breathed a collective sigh of relief. We’d made it. We were safe. From this point onwards it would be smooth sailing. Of course, having been given the unintentional shock therapy over Facebook of what our first module, Neuro, would hold, there was a slight edge to the carefree greetings on day one.
“You passed, too?” someone would say in jest. “Great!”
“How about this module? Looks like it might be worth attending class,” someone else would say, referencing the thick study guide on their desk.
“Nah, we’ve been through Uro, remember? Four modules in one.”
And so we slowly got comfortable. Those of us who attended class did it more out of habit than interest—although the work was definitely interesting. Not exactly deformed genitalia, but at least the conditions were weird enough to be getting on with—and before we knew it, the end of block test was upon us.
You’d think being slapped, kicked and violated by the first block of the year would have instilled a healthy dose of fear in us. I know for me, the shock of it was immediately replaced by the wonder of clinical medicine. By the time we were back in the lecture halls, I was just counting the pixels on the overhead projections in anticipation for the next clinical rotation.
I’m pretty sure I would have flunked out of third year if a friend of mine hadn’t started noticing my disinterest in academic achievement outside the hospital walls.
I’m grateful for this good friend though, who made sure that I did some studying, even if it meant she had to babysit me through subsequent theory modules for the rest of the year to make sure I got to fourth year. She was a Godsend.
I tried to avoid checking my results until midway through my holiday, and even booked my plane ticket so that I would be off campus long before results were released. But the Administration surprisingly managed to make our marks available two days after our last exam (do I smell efficiency?) and I realised I’d have to check them before I left in case I had to pack my notes for a rewrite.
So I’m a fourth year now! And I’ve somehow managed to make it this far without a single rewrite. Me, who detests studying for tests and exams. The moral?
If I can do it, they need to raise the admissions requirements.
Haha, I’m just kidding.
But not really.