The first day of classes this year, and I’m not in any classes. It’s 7:30 Sunday morning and I’m sitting in a giant conference room, yawning a lot, picking at my name tag and looking around grouchily. The very accomplished speaker stands at his podium and goes on about how I and those sitting with me are like family now, and we should get to know each other sooner rather than later. He shuffles us. He goes on about how close we’ll get in the next couple of semesters. I look around and find I’m literally surrounded by people who I’ve TA’d last year.
I know their names well enough. I’ve graded their homework and collected their quizzes. I just don’t know their faces.
But today, I shook hands and recited names to myself as I mingled among friends who had already formed their own cliques in the past two years. I guess I’ll join one eventually once my acquaintances in a given clique reaches some critical mass. But for right now, I’m only up to one or two people here and there.
And frankly, I’m not sure how they’re feeling. From what I hear, they were at each other’s throats three months ago. But now we’re all in the special club and can finally let our guard down.
After more speakers, some freshmen year-esque ice breakers, there was a catered lunch with faculty where the food wasn’t actually that bad. Now that we’re sorta-almost-technically grad students they’re not gonna cut corners and assume we’ll eat freshmen-level food.
After lunch my group was herded into buses and taken into the woods next to the airport by a wildlife major. That sounds very scary now that I look back on it, but it was just more team-building. To people I went to middle school with, I’ll can just say: Lorado Taft. To everyone else, I will say: cliched summer camp activities.
Fast forward to the second day. They make us come in formal dress for no other reason than that we’re going to have to dress up a lot in the future. I sit there in another giant conference room, yawning a lot, picking at my name tag and playing with my tie. More speakers; more faculty who sincerely hope to be our mentors. An old R.Ph with a J.D. (who I will call “Dad”) rails on about how people who drink to make themselves stupid are stupid. I was muttering that people also drink for the euphoria. But considering how we are all wearing either ties or heels, I’m guessing euphoria is not on the itinerary today.
I did perk my ears at the curriculum overview. Dosage forms and patient counseling.
The orientation closed with a solemn divulgement that the amount of pharmacy jobs in the state has dropped precipitously in the past twelve months as the supply of PharmD graduates has increased thanks to the 25 pharmacy schools opening in the last ten years. So much for the competition being over.
As I sit there, surrounded by 159 excited PharmD students, I can’t help but continue to feel such gnawing, persisting guilt. My spot in 160 means someone else couldn’t be here. I don’t want to become a pharmacist; I never wanted to become a pharmacist. Others did. Others who weren’t so welcome from the waiting list. I only applied because I was too afraid of failing at pre-med. I didn’t have the confidence I have now.
But I’m here now. And I can’t cede this spot to anyone else. But I can go to med school and become a kick-ass MD with a PharmD.
And I will.