At noon Eastern time, the NRMP released emails and the results on their website: a simple title ("Did I Match?") and a first line in the email that said, for most of us, "Congratulations! You have matched!" Those who didn't match were notified that they were eligible to begin the SOAP process, an alternate way of finding a position for unmatched senior medical students.
Needless to say, we were all on tenterhooks. Silence would fall around the conference table and then we would burst out again with the same comments: "AHHH!" and "THIS IS THE LONGEST MINUTE OF MY LIFE!" and other frantically hyperbolic statements. At the stroke of 11, we all logged in (or attempted to!) to find out our results. I actually got locked out by the website experiencing thousands of medical students trying to discover their fate at once, but luckily my email arrived right on time with those three sweet words: You. Have. Matched.
The immediate flurry of text messages and Facebook posts then began and after confirming that all five of us in the room had matched, we giggled sporadically and set about telling everyone that it's official: we're going to be doctors of the kind that we chose! For the rest of the day, I kept having moments where I thought, "It's real! It's really happening! I'm going to be an OB/Gyn!"
I knew exactly how I wanted to celebrate. Last fall, I applied for an award called the Warrior Healer award through Med Students for Choice. They pick two graduating medical students who are choosing to dedicate their lives to OB/Gyn and, in particular, to providing abortions as part of their eventual practice. I was selected as a semi-finalist, but the award went to two other (absolutely deserving) women I would be honored to call my future colleagues.
However, applying for the award - and thinking about what its title meant - got me to thinking. There couldn't be a better way to sum up how I feel about my future career: I aspire to be a great Healer, and I refuse to back away from the fight it's going to take for my patients to have access to birth control, abortion, and basic human dignity and autonomy. I have already pledged myself to fight for them, and my residency will be just the first step along that path.
After I passed my first Licensing exam, I got a tattoo as a sort of pledge to myself: medicine will always be a part of who I am and what I do. I picked a symbol that would always be relevant, because as much as I think art tattoos are awesome, I can't see myself committing to a piece of artwork for my lifetime. I can commit to a symbol, however.
I did a lot of searching for a symbol that would encompass everything I stand for and what I am pledging to spend my life doing. The symbol for the goddess Ishtar (and her other incarnations, Astarte or Inanna) stood out as simple and beautiful: an eight-pointed star inside a circle. Ishtar was the Assyrian and Babylonian goddess of love, sex, fertility...and war.
|The design: an eight-pointed star, symbol of|
the goddess Ishtar (aka Inanna or Astarte). Ishtar is
the goddess of love, sex, fertility, and war.
I knew this would be the design for me. I decided to put it on my back: it could be easily hidden and easily shown. I wanted it centered in my upper back, like the badge of honor I felt it would be. My friend Grace went with me for moral support and helped me get the design sized and situated in just the right spot.
|We got the initial placement right with the help of a little tape.|
|Next step: using cool transfer paper to put the design |
on my back! I double-checked in their mirror to make sure
the size and height was how I liked it.
|Not gonna lie, it does hurt a little. Most of the time it's a sort of|
stinging feeling, a little bit electric/zappy. But over some parts of my
back it was a lot more sensitive...I focused on just breathing.
The pain was good, though...I kept thinking: this is for Texas, this is for Missouri, this is for Ohio, this is for South Carolina, this is for Kansas; this is for Dr. Tiller, this is for my mentors, this is for Dr. Phelps, this is for Dr. Carhart, this is for Dr. Torres, this is for all the doctors I have met or know of who do this openly or quietly and hope to retire one day; this is for every broken condom, for every missed pill, for every teenager who didn't know any better, for every mother who can't have another child, for every rape survivor who finds herself pregnant, for every woman who wanted a baby and whose wanted child will never survive outside the womb...I will take this pain for a few minutes to show that I will always be there for them.
That is the power of a tattoo for me: it is transformative; it is identity manifest as art; it is pain transmuted into power.
|Most of the way done! (Thanks, Grace!)|
|There it is! All done. It's hard to see the details in this picture, though.|
|This is the best view I could get...lots of mirrors |
and positioning my phone juuuuust right.