Dreams of Med School

Nov 15 , 2025
By Kidist Yidnekachew

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We are often driven by what brings happiness and validation to our parents and our community, rather than staying true to ourselves. While that drive isn't always bad, it builds strong families and resilient communities, it sometimes acts like an anchor, holding us back from fully exploring who we really are and what we truly want.

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I never stopped being the student my parents and teachers expected me to be. Even now, years into building a life, a career, and a family, I find myself entertaining the audacious thought of pursuing a career in medicine. It’s an idea that flickers to life, often sparked by nothing more than a dramatic scene in a medical show, or maybe just a deep, subterranean wish to finally cash in on the promise of my past potential. But let's be honest: the primary fuel for this fantasy is the unshakeable desire to make my parents proud. They always pictured me as a doctor, and for a long time, I pictured it too. Growing up, I was the typical "top student," and seeing my friends from those years, the ones who seamlessly transitioned into scrubs and residency programs, reopened an old, half-healed wound. Reconnecting with their achievements made me feel, quite simply, like I could have done more. It was a quiet, insidious voice whispering that maybe if I got that MD, I'd finally feel like I was enough.

The truth, the unforgiving truth, is that I don't think I would enjoy my life as a doctor. Sure, the concept of saving lives to have a Godly power is deeply compelling. There is a profound, automatic respect given to health professionals that few other fields can command. Medical school is brutal, and for someone like me, juggling work and children, the commitment level would be insanely gruelling. I want a laid-back life. I want to enjoy my time with my family, not just squeezing them in between 36-hour shifts. I don't want to live to work; I want to work just enough so I can afford a good life, a spacious existence outside the hospital walls. A doctor's life, as I envision it, is one of constant presence amidst pain, injury, and suffering. I don't doubt my ability to cope with the rigorous demands of the curriculum, but living in an environment where I am constantly faced with profound human misery is not an existence I care to experience in my everyday life.

It’s an odd calculus and a sad one, too, that in the modern world, a successful TikToker earns more than a Medical Doctor. Even at my age, well past the point of needing permission to live my life, I still worry about making my parents proud. I guess it’s an Ethiopian thing, or a culturally ingrained mentality that we have. We are often driven by what brings happiness and validation to our parents and our community. While that drive builds strong families and resilient communities, it sometimes acts as an anchor, holding us back from fully exploring our calling.

In a way, taking on medicine would be my ultimate performance, a grand gesture to prove not just to them, but to my younger, ambitious self. I kept imagining the seven-plus years: the energy, time, sleep and financial resources I would invest. It is literally a decline from my existing life. I initially thought now would be a good time to pick up where I left off my education. My children are now in school and are somewhat independent. It felt like I finally had a window of opportunity to work on myself. Yet, this feeling is immediately shadowed by a deep sense of guilt.

Every hour spent studying for an exam is an hour taken from reading to my children, helping with their homework, or simply being present. I start to feel selfish because I would be taking an immense amount of time away from my family for a qualification I might not even practice. And what if I regret the decision five years in? I even figured that if I am going to do it, I might as well go all the way and specialise, becoming a surgeon. But that is a guaranteed ticket to living in a hospital. I find myself wondering if I should focus less on chasing this degree and more on educating my children to become intelligent, critical-thinking adults in their own right.

I am stuck in this loop. But the core lesson in all this is a powerful reminder that sometimes we pursue things because of how they make others feel, or purely out of sheer curiosity, to check our potential. I swore once that I would never study again, and yet here I am, already plotting the next academic leap. In a way, it is like having a baby. When you think of the pain of labour and the relentless exhaustion that follows, you can not imagine going through it again. But then you look at the beautiful result, and in your mind, you are ready to embark on that journey one more time if it means the end result is something beautiful, something that makes your life worth living. Perhaps medicine is that kind of beautiful and yet painful process. And maybe, just maybe, I am curious enough to find out.

Ultimately, this contemplation isn't just about a career change; it is a conflict between two valid versions of my future self: the one who fulfils a lifetime of external expectations and the one who protects the quiet happiness of the present. The challenge lies in untangling the genuine spark of capability and curiosity —the feeling of 'I can do it'-from the social obligation of 'I should do it.' The real victory might not be getting to medical school, but rather the hard-won clarity to decide which pursuit will truly enrich my life and the lives of my children.

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PUBLISHED ON Nov 15,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1333]

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