Remember why you start, but don't forget you are allowed to stop
"Don't be afraid to pause or pivot. Those are usually the best steps towards progress."
Dr. Omolara Thomas.
My brain was stunned at what I just heard on the loud speaker but luckily my feet sprung into action. I vividly remember standing in line and waiting but the moment of walking across the stage is a blur. I vaguely remember trying to quickly recall the steps that I had memorized while waiting.
One, get the diploma as quickly as possible, so they can’t say they made a mistake. Done.
Two, shake the hand in front of you. Done.
Three, stop and take a picture with the dean. Done.
Four, get off of the stage and don’t fall. Done.
Basking in the glory of successfully completing my mission on the graduation stage didn’t last long. The muffled noises became much more sharp until I heard a shrill familiar voice of someone calling my name. “Omolara Anuoluwapo Thomas, stop right now!”, she shrieked.
My heart sank. She is not doing this. This is not happening. It is a dream.
No, it’s real.
Mrs. Abosede Akingbade Thomas had singlehandedly stopped the medical school graduation of 2004, running to the front of the stage with her booming voice and a single demand. “Stop and let me take my picture of you, now!”, she exclaimed. It was pretty startling to see everyone in the auditorium learn in a few seconds what I had to learn from pretty early in life. Don’t argue with a Nigerian mother, especially one who has a child who is becoming a doctor.
After the additional minute of poses, I am finally released to my seat, both emotionally spent and thoroughly embarrassed. I had never power-walked so quickly in my life, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with every human in that room.
I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was 5 years old. I don’t think I was brainwashed into it, even though that could have been very likely as the daughter of immigrants. I fell in love with my pediatrician who had been a mainstay in my life for years, especially since I was a child with frequent sinus and ear infections. She was a Black woman. At that time, I had little idea about how much of a unicorn she was, especially in the early 1980s.
I write this because for those of us who have studied to become health professionals, there is no level of fulfillment that exceeds graduation day. Given the lack of support in the healthcare system for the humanity of those who deliver healthcare, that joy often fades- quickly.
The joy of graduation day represents the culmination of the sleepless nights, the crazy study hours, the difficult rotations, the tearful moments after exams that you were sure you failed and the worries about letters of recommendations (what did they end up writing about me?) and the general anxiety disorder that developed during match season, wondering if you would not just get a degree but actually train in medicine.
When the feelings of accomplishment feel so well-deserved, the joy feels so permanent. So when you can no longer find it, it frightens you. And, that’s actually okay.
It is not surprising to see how the challenges that arise in our journeys as healers. It is not uncommon to become teary at the worst moments possible (on rounds, anyone?) and endure sleepless nights, wondering if you made the right decision.
Looking back, I have realized in the many years that have passed since becoming a doctor, that the fear, doubt, worry, or even shame that I felt during my career as a doctor was from being steeped in a culture that demanded that we not just practice medicine but define, value and judge ourselves by it.
I had learned to not see my humanity, instead of the fact that I was allowed to be imperfect and fail because of it.
I had learned to believe that I was valuable solely because I was a physician, instead of recognizing that I was valuable as soon as I emerged from my mother’s womb.
I had learned that my worth was tied in how well I could assimilate into being what society’s view of a doctor was, instead of bringing my upbringing, my culture and my gifts to expand what society’s view of a doctor should be.
Sometimes it becomes hard to remember that you were someone amazing before you entered the profession of healthcare were added to your name.
It is my hope that can remember that we aren’t lucky to be in healthcare, but we are the gift to healthcare.
Prioritizing our joy and rediscovering our purpose will mean taking a slightly different oath from the one that you took on that magical day. There is no unique set of words to recite but some of the promises that I wish I had made to myself include: