At some point during the hoop-jumping of my premed undergraduate life, I came to the quite striking realization that I can, indeed, take myself too seriously. And all was good. I stopped obsessing so much, worried less, gained a little life-insight, and my stress and anxiety levels decreased. I’m starting to think I’m less Type A than I thought. Maybe I just became Type A because it was easier than dealing with some of my issues. So it goes.

But now that I’m in medical school, and will most likely be responsible for others’ health, well-being, and lives , am I taking my classes too lightly, or is this very analysis proof that I’m still over-analyzing and taking myself too seriously (yet again)? I just wonder to what degree my memorization of epithelial cell histology is going to affect my outcomes as a doctor. (Okay, just writing that last sentence made me realize I’m being a little anal here, but I’m not stoppin’ now.) These what-ifs just keep entering my head, but at least my logical side is starting to counter back (okay, you might not remember what a hemidesmosome is in 10 years, but my grandparents’ generation were probably never taught that they existed, and they’re doing fine; there will also always be books you can read if you really do need to recall what a hemidesmosome does).

Update: And then, after reading about Hermes’s shift , I’m reminded that medicine is creating enough of its own problems. A professor mentioned on Friday that around 20% of visits to Stanford’s ER are due to drug side effects, interactions, or complications. There’s still a lot of improvement to be done, whether I learn that the basal lamina is made out of collage type IV or not.

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