Fixing broken hearts in med school.
The hardest part about med school hasnāt been med school itself. (Although, Iām scrunching my eyebrows up as I write this, so maybe thatās not entirely true).Ā The hardest part about med school has been having a boyfriend.Ā Maybe thatās why I donāt 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 wouldnāt have to worry so much about money. Up until that point, I felt like Iād tried everything, from dyeingĀ 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 wasnāt being rude, he insisted,Ā just being honest. And if I couldnāt take it, then that was my problem.Ā Iād been seeing a psychologist, who eventually, after many sessions, shared that she couldnāt believe how much effort I was putting into this sinking ship. She suggested couplesā counselling. He refused.
Had it been going on for some time? Of course it had, but there was never a āgoodā time to end things (is there ever?). What a laughable concept! āIām a little busy this week, maybe we can break up next Thursday at 7pm?ā To make matters worse and prolong the inevitable even further, I was always determined that there was something that I hadnāt tried yet. It didnāt 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 couldnāt help let a few tears slip during the ceremony. The vows were beautiful, itās 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 didnāt matter how beautiful I looked that day on the outside. On the inside, I couldnāt 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 itād been a long time since we were together, there was no reason to ever justify such outbursts of anger, and assured me that I wasnāt any of those things that Iād listed above. āBut of course, youāre not perfect!ā he added. I smiled and raised my eyebrows at the message, grateful for his candour, all the while thinking that I probably couldāve done without the last comment. Itās 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 didnāt 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? Iād heard that medicine puts a strain on your relationships, but with or without med school, I donāt think I could survive this. Just a week prior, only a few days before my final exams for the year, weād 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 couldnāt 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. āSo itās my fault if you fail your exams?ā 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.Ā It sucks, but everything was clearly crumbling around me.Ā It wasnāt all badāno one gets into a relationship with someone whoās like this at the start. There were many wonderful, fun, whimsical moments in the years we were together, and the guy I left isnāt the guy I first met. Ā In the end we just... Ā werenāt the right fit for each other.Ā So, I may be alone now, but Iām okay with that. For now, I love talking to the patients and hearing their stories, and I love seeing someoneās eyes light up when I ask them how they met the love of their life.
Hopefully one day Iāll get to share mine.
