Medical School Is SOOOO Easy!
"Now I'm trying to avoid, yeah, I'm trying to avoid a malpractice suit, like a surgeon cutting for the very first time, like a surgeon; organ transplants on my line"—Weird Al Yankovic's "Like a Surgeon"
"Nikkita, darling, it's time to get up," I remember my mother saying to me as I looked over, my eyes drowsy. It was my high school graduation, and I had passed with flying colors in all of my classes.
"I told you, Mother, my name is Nick now! You don't have to call me Nikkita like a little baby…" I whined, and then she helped me get dressed for my big day, and I was proud. Because in just three months I would be on my way to college. I really should have listened to my mother… She kissed me and I walked out the door. Three months later, I was ready for college.
The first four years were so easy; I passed all my classes with flying colors again. All of my professors asked me what my major was, and I said I was majoring in medicine. They thought it would be a rigorous schedule, but not for me. They always encouraged me because I always did so well. But this was no longer undergraduate college. I was headed for medical school.
I'll admit I was nervous at first. I gulped while holding my books in front of the door. I met someone right at the front. His name was Lesley and he was a pretty cool guy. He had a big puffy hairstyle and wore bellbottoms. He said that it was okay, even though this college was definitely bigger than I was used to. It turns out Lesley and I were roommates. Lesley was confused why I was spending so much time studying.
"Nick, you think it's easy, it comes to you naturally like eating corn chips comes naturally to most college students, why do you spend so much time studying?" he asked, putting his hand on my shoulder, "Come on Nick, we can't just waste our twenties acting all scholarly, then by the time we get out of college we'll be middle-aged and not ever have had a chance to party."
I wanted to say that I KNEW this was a bad idea, but Lesley was a good friend, so I took him at his word. The first lecture I attended was done by a female professor named Prof. Sherman. She always talked and I always listened intently. But Lesley had other intentions. He was staring at her well-endowed chest. "Come on, Nick, it's all just pointless bullshit anyway. Now look at those."
"Oh, yeah… Lesley, you are such a bad student," I scolded. And I didn't appreciate the Professor's words being compared to the waste of cattle. I kept listening intently and taking notes; I would rigorously take notes. I took more and more notes until it was time for the final exam. I had studied so hard and worked so hard and the material was so easy I couldn't possibly fail the written portion, but I was nervous about the part that I had forgotten when I pursued this major… the field test.
Ever since my Uncle Randolph was murdered in front of my eyes, I have had qualms about seeing blood. The blood is so disgusting, so horrible, and so unforgivable, that I have to ask why God invented blood. They could just as easily have had dry insides on humans. So, naturally, I was obliged to ask Lesley for help.
"Oh, Nick, if you're so squeamish why did you PURSUE this field?" Lesley asked.
"I… I wanted to learn more about the insides of humans and the wonders of medicines and diseases!" I complained, "I just wanted to LEARN… I didn't think I'd ever actually have to DO it…"
Lesley looked at my pathetic face and said, "I'll tell you what: you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."
I was puzzled. "You let me cheat on the written test, and I'll give you the most stress-free party ever after the field test."
I was shocked. Could it be, my own roommate, Lesley, wanted to cheat off of my paper? It went against all I knew about morality, but I had to let him. It was the only way I might be able to sleep after the field test. So I shook his hand. I shook hands with the man who was going to pass medical school even though he didn't deserve to.
The written test, was as I imagined, the easiest thing I had ever done. My proctor was so impressed with my speed that she had me take the test again in front of her to make sure I wasn't cheating. I wasn't, but Lesley was. The first test I had intentionally left at my desk, and he copied down all of the answers. He turned in his test. She made him take the test in front of her to make sure he wasn't cheating, but he caught a glimpse of my second test and copied all of the answers stealthily. No one besides Lesley could cheat in such a way.
"Pencils down!" called the proctor. This was it… I was ready to enter the field test… and I felt bad for whoever had to be my patient.
"Riviera? Riviera, Nikkita? Could you come in please?" asked the professional doctor, and I just KNEW I was going to fail. But I remembered everything the books told me, and, except for the fact that I vomited directly after leaving the room, I did perfectly fine. I left humming a happy tune, but then I remembered the blood. Blood! All this horrid blood!
Truth be told I was a sick wreck by the time I got back to my dorm. "Oh, you don't look too hot, Nick," Lesley said, as he pulled out a bottle of beer. "I promised you a party and I'm giving you a party. I invited the entire medical unit over, plus some art-and-science graduates and a couple of fledgling lawyers."
"There is NO way that many people are going to fit in this dorm…" I said skeptically. And I was right. Most of them were stuck dancing in the hallway. Many of them were hippies. And all of them compelled me to drink. I had drunk on occasion for all the years it has been legal for me to. But this was different. All of the sudden, I felt like anything could happen.
I must've slept with seven or eight girls on that night, and maybe even Lesley, I can't quite remember. But anyway, the next morning I woke up with a massive hangover. My dorm was wrecked. I was unhappy, but at the same time, I knew how much fun I had had last night.
So I was compelled to ask Lesley for help every final exam, and he would get his tests from me. After the first year, I dwindled from valedictorian material, to in the top 50, to in the middle, to the lower 100, to the last in my class. I didn't notice how badly I was doing. I even failed one of my written tests by the end. I was worried that if it took any longer, I wouldn't graduate. Lesley, without any surprise, was not thankful for my tests. Sure, he was second lowest, above me, but that was only because he did better than I on the field test. But it was finally graduation day, and although my GPA was terrible, I was going to make it out of here. I wasn't a total flunky. I began to for the first time in years realize that maybe the deal Lesley and I had was the reason for my decline in performance. But I couldn't worry about it now.
"Riviera, Nikkita" called the dean. I walked up to the stand, depressed that it was not I but someone hundreds of people ahead of me to make the speech. It was so depressing that I went back to my mother's house and sulked. She asked me what the matter was, after all I had graduated high school with flying colors, I had graduated undergraduate college with flying colors, and I had graduated medical school. The problem was, without the flying colors.
So I sulked for the next seven years, when I finally decided to come out of my shell and become what I had trained for years to be… a medical doctor. My mother… I should've listened to her when she told me to review the material, but I had gone so long without studying, that the art of studying was lost on me. No matter where I went there were always many more competent doctors and then I came upon Springfield.
It was a small town, it didn't have a whole lot of people in it, and boy, oh, boy were the people who were there STUPID! There was but one man to rival me, that one man, Julius Hibbert. Oh sure, everyone always wanted to go to him. But I managed to stay in business and here's how: I had something Julius Hibbert did not; a warm smile, a friendly greeting, and sensitivity about people's feelings. Everybody knew my name. "Dr. Riviera" had too formal of a ring to it, so I had people call me "Dr. Nick." Everybody always greeted my plastic optimism with a ray of hope, which can someday mean that I will become the choice doctor in Springfield… if I get my study habits back that is. Or if Julius Hibbert dies. Whichever is easier.