In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.

A few years back, I was contacted by my best buddy from medical school, and over time, we have emailed each other. It has been great to hear from her and to learn more about her exciting professional life, where she worked internationally as a research physician. Additionally, she is more up-to-date about the happenings of my former classmates, many of whom did very well professionally. One became the US Surgeon General for some time.  

In a recent email, she recalled her admission interviews at Northwestern. She had the standard three interviews. One was a senior medical student; the other two were the same physicians who interviewed me. However, her experience was quite different from mine. I’ll talk more about that later. In this post, I want to explore the concept of fate and how you sometimes have to put logic to the side when deciding. Please note that I’m not encouraging my readers to do foolish things. I’m saying that sometimes, “The best-laid plans of mice and men go awry.” But first, some background. You may already know some of this from my previous posts.

When I was in grade school, the nuns labeled me as gifted. In second grade, I couldn’t read because of dyslexia and other central processing problems. Due to the fear that I would be in trouble at home, I developed a method using the newspaper’s funny pages to translate words into symbols. By the 4th grade, I was a slow but very competent reader and scored higher in science than the rest of the students in my entire grade school (which consisted of 1st-8th grade) on a standardized test. I was scoring in the range of a junior in high school in the 4th grade.

I loved science, as it made sense out of the crazy world that I lived in. The nuns were so convinced I was different that they told my parents, “God has special plans for Michael.” Despite this, my dad made me go to a terrible public high school while my siblings had all been sent to private schools. He knew it wasn’t the best place, noting, “If you want to learn, you can learn anywhere.” I am not trying to badmouth my father. Perhaps he was just burnt out from years of paying tuition, or possibly he was reworking his feelings of having to drop out of school in 8th grade so his older brother could attend college. He always noted that he was “Glad to do it.” Was he? He spent the next ten years attending night school. Did I remind him of that situation or possibly his brother?I will never know.

I was a big kid but highly naive. I had truly terrible times at that high school. I did what I had to, but my goal was to get through the years. Despite my traumas, good things also happened. I was quietly angry and sullen, but teachers took note of me. Three in particular went way out of their way to befriend me. Trust me, I did not seek them out. Honestly, I think that someone (something) greater than myself was watching over me. That someone wanted me to learn more than my ABCs. 

The blue-collar neighborhood that I was raised in was undergoing an exodus of whites who were leaving due to real estate agents practicing “blockbusting.” There was a very negative feeling about blacks, and I heard terrible things about them regularly. Before high school, everyone that I knew was white, and 99% of them were Catholic. However, the teachers who befriended me were not. Two were black, and one was a Jew. Thank God for them in so many ways. They went above and beyond to engage with me. They shared parts of their lives with me. They treated me like a person, not a burden. They told me that I was gifted and implied that I could do anything I wanted. Each connected with me for different reasons and did so during a different school year. One told me that I was a gifted listener, another said I was a gifted writer, and the third told me I was a gifted teacher. All three things that I did later in life. They helped me heal from my anger, and their actions gave me the confidence to take control of my life when I entered college. However, their greatest gift was introducing me to people different from me, by showing me that they were not different. I’m not saying that “We are all the same.” I am saying, “We are not that different.” This process eventually made me understand that I had no right to judge another person based on any superficial reason. As bad as my high school experience was, the overall impact of these and other teachers positively changed me. So, was I supposed to attend that terrible school?

These teachers gave me the confidence to do my best when I started college. Here, too, I was given limited options as I was only allowed to attend our community college. However, this also turned out well as I gained many friends and attended school with my lifelong friend, John. By finally taking control of my life, I could focus on myself rather than the expectations and criticism of others. I love learning, and I have a knack for test-taking. My community college was housed in temporary metal barracks-like buildings. It was nothing to look at, but the teaching was good. Here again, I had some very positive interactions with teachers. That may be a story for another day.

After community college, it was time to go to university. My memories are different from reality. I only applied to one school, and I always wondered why I didn’t apply to the U of I, our flagship state college. In my recollection, my friend John had convinced me. However, he has since corrected this misperception. John’s parents died at an early age, and he was going to stop his education after community college as he didn’t have the means to continue further. John reminded me that I convinced him to continue in school, something I do not recall doing. So I picked the school? I am still trying to understand why. However, I enjoyed going to that university. By the way, my friend John graduated college, then went on to graduate school and became a successful school psychologist. It was meant to be.  

We all have strengths and weaknesses. In some ways, strengths are our superpower if we utilize them. My mantra has always been to make the most of my strengths and turn my weaknesses into strengths. I only have one strength going for me. I have an insatiable desire to learn, allowing me to do well on exams. That’s it.  

I’m clumsy, and because I’m blind in one eye, I have no depth perception–no sports career for me. I’m quiet and introspective, and I have difficulty faking it if I don’t like someone–business careers are not in my future. I love learning about obtuse things that only some would find interesting. If I’m into something, I typically know more about it than most (I’m obsessive), so I can only discuss a few topics at a level I would like. Lastly, I process information in ways that are very different from many, so it is not uncommon for others to not “get” what I’m talking about. I’m telling you that I’m a one-trick pony. If you only have one trick, try using it to your best.

How could I negotiate my only trick into a career? To me, the answer was obvious. I would become a university professor. I had the grades and test scores to get into graduate school and even had an area that fascinated me: microbial biochemistry (I told you I was odd). I not only got into grad school, but the school paid my tuition and even gave me a monthly stipend to attend. My plan was moving ahead nicely. I finished my master’s and was about to transition into my PhD work. Everything was going as planned, or was it?

Getting a PhD wasn’t the right thing for me. I fought that feeling with everything in me because it would be the road to my success. This was my one trick; how could I throw it away?

To make matters worse, I started to get an overwhelming urge to leave graduate school after my master’s and apply to medical school. I absolutely could not shake that feeling, which was beyond absurd. No medical school should want me. I was an older student, but like most applicants, I was a white male, so there was nothing to set me apart except my age which was a negative. Most people who apply to medical school start that process in high school. They attend a great high school and then transition to a prestigious college. They work in clinical experiences, as they often come from professional families who have connections. One of my med school classmates told me that he had a subscription to the NEJM when he was a freshman in high school. I only knew what the NEJM was when I was in graduate school. I learned that some used professional writers to help them with their personal statements. One international student was the son of the president of his country; another was an Olympic medal winner. There were unconfirmed rumors that some parents had donated large sums of money.

What did I have? I went to a terrible high school, a community college, and a typical college. Nothing was stopping me from getting a PhD. I already had the basic research and techniques down. I had most of the coursework done. My master’s thesis was very comprehensive (it probably could have been a PhD dissertation with some additions). It would take me two, possibly three more years to complete a PhD.  

What in the world was wrong with me? How could I throw that away? Where were these intrusive thoughts about applying to medical school coming from? How could I get rid of them? I was messing up my life. My decision to go to grad school was so logical, and once again, I was about to abandon logic because of a feeling! I was about to give up a sure thing for something with a 1% chance of success.  

So what did I do? I left grad school after my master’s, took the MCAT, and applied to the seven medical schools in Illinois. I was married to my first wife then, and she was even against me applying to medical school. I got a research job at the University of Chicago to fill the gap year and waited. I felt that I had just thrown my life away. However, the external force was too powerful for me to resist. I honestly had no choice.

OK, I’m just going to say it now. That eternal force was something beyond me or the world. I call it God. You may call it your guardian angel or whatever you like. I was being pushed to do something ridiculous, yet it felt correct. It was crazy.

Let’s get to even crazier stuff. Remember my med school friend, Harriette? She had the same two doctors that I had for interviewers at Northwestern. She also had a senior medical student interviewer (standard practice). The docs grilled her. Her interviews were very stressful, which is the norm.

This is what happened to me. I was anxious (naturally) and had to go to the bathroom (sorry to be graphic). As I was standing there, I noticed that someone had scribbled on the wall, “How to get into medical school.” One of the bullet points said, “Ask insightful questions.” I considered about a dozen somewhat unusual questions and committed them to memory. I guess It takes me longer to void than most.

My first interview with Dr. Berry. He had a stack of my documents in front of him, and in a monotone voice, he would take a single sheet and ask a question like, “Is this your MCAT score?” I would say “Yes,” and he would say “Hmm” and then take the next sheet out. “Is this your personal statement?” I would say “Yes,” and he would say “Hmm,” and so forth. He never asked me a question, which was completely different from other med school interviews I had already had at other schools. This was also opposite from the grilling that he gave Harriette. At the end, he asked me if I had any questions. I asked him some of my “insightful questions.” For every one of them, he said, “That is an excellent question; I don’t have an answer for that.” At one point, he gave me a little sly smile like he was playing with me. The interview, which should have lasted at least 30 minutes, was over in less than 15, probably more like 10 minutes. Things were not going well.  

Next, I had Dr. Green, a big-shot nephrologist. He had an enormous office consistent with his status. He had also grilled Harriette. I entered his office, and he invited me to sit down. I felt tiny in that gigantic office. He did not ask me a single question. He asked me if I had any questions, and I started with my “insightful” ones. For EVERY question, he said, “No one has ever asked me that question. I’ll have to think about it,” and didn’t give me an answer. We sat silently for a few minutes, and on my own, I stood up, shook his hand, and said, “Well, I guess the interview is over then.” I left. There was NO THIRD INTERVIEW ON MY SCHEDULE. I usually interview well. These were the worst interviews of my life.

I had to go somewhere to process my feelings and drove out to Palos to be comforted by my sister, Nancy. I was physically shaking by the time I reached her house. She could see that I was agitated and asked me what was wrong. I told her about my experience, which made no sense. Why were they interviewing me if they knew they would never accept me? Couldn’t they give me a chance? I was an excellent student who scored high on the MCAT. I was willing to dedicate myself to being the best doctor I could be. It wasn’t my fault that I did not know how the system worked. I had no choice but to go to a community college. I didn’t even think about medical school until I had just about finished my master’s degree. I didn’t know that I was supposed to have clinical experience before applying. There was no way that I could do that anyway. I didn’t have any connections. My parents weren’t physicians. Why was I so compelled to apply to medical school? Was this a cruel joke from above?

A week later, I received an acceptance letter from Northwestern. It was my first acceptance.

I applied to seven medical schools, and six of them interviewed me. All the schools that interviewed me either accepted or put me on a waitlist. What? How is that possible?  

We don’t have control over many things in our lives. I have had many experiences where I have carefully planned out a situation, only to abandon those plans and go with a feeling. Strangely, it was the right thing to do.

In the case of medical school, I felt that applying was a foolish waste of time and money. However, I now believe that someone or something felt differently, so I was compelled to do it. Why did 6 out of 7 schools have an interest in me? It makes no sense.

Northwestern was the last school to interview me and the first to accept me. Their interviews were odd and utterly different from the more expected experience that my friend, Harriette, had with the same doctors. In retrospect, it felt like I was accepted before entering the building. How is that possible?

I still don’t get it. Was my higher power telling me to trust in Him? Perhaps He gave me those last impossible interviews to show me that even the impossible can be possible. I don’t know. However, going to med school was clearly what I was supposed to do. It was one of the best decisions of my life. I didn’t know it, but I was meant to be a physician. I can’t even say that it was my best decision because I didn’t make it. Life is full of mysteries.  

Oh, you want to know why I became a psychiatrist despite never taking a psychology class in college? That is another story.

Peace

Mike