Fixing broken hearts in med school.
The hardest part about med school hasnât been med school itself. (Although, Iâm scrunching my eyebrows up as I write this, so maybe thatâs not entirely true). The hardest part about med school has been having a boyfriend. Maybe thatâs why I donât have one anymore.
I moved out of our apartment in January, just one week before starting my second year of medical school. We agreed that me moving out would be best for the relationship. He would take over the lease, and I wouldnât have to worry so much about money. Up until that point, I felt like Iâd tried everything, from dyeing my soul every colour under the sun in the hope that he would fall back in love with just one shade. I tried, I really, really did. But the exhaustion from meticulously choosing every word and placating my tone in the anticipation of the next thing to go wrong, was unlike anything else. He wasnât being rude, he insisted, just being honest. And if I couldnât take it, then that was my problem. Iâd been seeing a psychologist, who eventually, after many sessions, shared that she couldnât believe how much effort I was putting into this sinking ship. She suggested couplesâ counselling. He refused.
Had it been going on for some time? Of course it had, but there was never a âgoodâ time to end things (is there ever?). What a laughable concept! âIâm a little busy this week, maybe we can break up next Thursday at 7pm?â To make matters worse and prolong the inevitable even further, I was always determined that there was something that I hadnât tried yet. It didnât matter though, because it kept happening over, and over, and over. No matter what I tried to change about myself, nothing worked. Not even the happiest of occasions could blunt the edge I was skating on: I was a bridesmaid for my best friend from school, and felt more alive and glowing than I had in months. But despite every determination to keep the makeup pristine, I couldnât help let a few tears slip during the ceremony. The vows were beautiful, itâs true, but I think that part of me was quietly grieving as I grew to understand that the guy attending that wedding with me would never, ever love me in the same unconditional way that the groom loves my best friend. And I knew that he would never want to try, because he told me so. It didnât matter how beautiful I looked that day on the outside. On the inside, I couldnât help but feel my heart sink as it caught up to my head.
My spirit and self-esteem had been slowly pushed further and further into the ground to the point that I believed that maybe he was right. Maybe I am difficult, and stubborn, and dismissive, and unappreciative. In desperation, I reached out to an old ex of mine, a gorgeous Parisian lawyer who was always kind, honest, and made me laugh. He admitted that although itâd been a long time since we were together, there was no reason to ever justify such outbursts of anger, and assured me that I wasnât any of those things that Iâd listed above. âBut of course, youâre not perfect!â he added. I smiled and raised my eyebrows at the message, grateful for his candour, all the while thinking that I probably couldâve done without the last comment. Itâs a shame things never worked out with him; I can only assume he is happy with his life in France, as he very much deserves, but he at least serves as a sobering reminder for how I should be treated. I paused and cast my mind back. Our time together is a memory long gone now, but I still remember enough to know that I missed how I felt when we were together: calm, safe, my cheeks often aching from laughing at his quick wit. All things that I didnât have now. His one small message of kindness after all these years made me realise how miserable I really was.
Because, when I thought about it... could I survive the next 3 years of medical school, plus my training with chaotically unpredictable ups and downs? Iâd heard that medicine puts a strain on your relationships, but with or without med school, I donât think I could survive this. Just a week prior, only a few days before my final exams for the year, weâd had a fight. Another one. No matter my attempts of resolution, they were met with jagged stares of contempt and crushing silence, and so finally, after three days of drowning in an ocean of anxiety, I pleaded for some kind of resolve. I couldnât eat, sleep, or study from the stress-induced migraines, and was a complete mess at the idea that I would lose my relationship and fail my exams. âSo itâs my fault if you fail your exams?â he scoffed. He told me to get over it. I patched things up as best as I could, determined to not let someone who could be so indifferent towards my feelings be my downfall. Miraculously, I passed my exams. But I knew that next time I might not be so lucky.
Moving out bought me one more month. It sucks, but everything was clearly crumbling around me. It wasnât all badâno one gets into a relationship with someone whoâs like this at the start. There were many wonderful, fun, whimsical moments in the years we were together, and the guy I left isnât the guy I first met.  In the end we just...  werenât the right fit for each other. So, I may be alone now, but Iâm okay with that. For now, I love talking to the patients and hearing their stories, and I love seeing someoneâs eyes light up when I ask them how they met the love of their life.
Hopefully one day Iâll get to share mine.
