Final Year
It feels strange to write this: I’m entering my final year of medical school. I don’t exactly remember typing my first post about starting this journey, and it wouldn’t be true to say the last four years vanished in a blur. They were full of learning the medicine itself, and of learning how to hold the rest of life together while doing it. And now we’re here. Final Year. I couldn’t be more excited to see what it brings.
A proper reflection starts by asking whether medicine was the right choice—whether taking a massive detour, quitting my job, and returning to education was worth it. The answer is a resounding yes. I wake most days knowing I’m in the right place. Even on the ward rounds where I’ve felt like a fly on the wall, an extra body at the end of a bed, there’s still no boredom, no sense of being unfulfilled. That doesn’t make medicine perfect.
Every day I see people step away from it: to find better balance, to build something different, or because they believe they can have a bigger impact elsewhere. Those are all valid paths. For me, they’re goals I want to pursue within medicine. I can’t picture building a life where I’m not a doctor. It’s hard to know your calling, but when something fits that closely, when you wake up with a fire to keep learning and to be part of it; that’s a pretty good sign you’re where you need to be.
I’ve also seen the shortfalls of the system, people underserved, underrepresented, and let down by our care. That can lead to two routes: you protect yourself and leave, or you stay and try to bend the system into something more humane. I feel called to the latter: to help make the change I want to see, even when the forces around me push the other way.
Looking back, the hardest part hasn’t only been the volume of knowledge or the practical skills. It’s becoming the kind of person who can meet others in their most vulnerable moments. You do that while constantly being examined, while juggling health, relationships, and the rest of life; each throwing up its own roadblocks. Over time I’ve learned that success doesn’t carry you along; if anything, life tries to drag you away from it, through toxic friendships, endless paper revisions, Deliveroo dinners because there’s no time to cook, family worries you can’t set down. It’s easier to get stuck. The work is to rise above it, anxiety and all, and keep moving without letting it swamp you.
When I scan the last few years, it feels like I’ve walked through fire and kept going, knocking down each obstacle that tried to derail me. Now I’m in Final Year. I’m ecstatic. Every fibre of me can’t wait for the day I’m finally a doctor. The people around me—my support system—are the greatest gift of this journey; none of it happens without them. Even as I step into a system that’s struggling, I feel ready and energised to help push for the change it needs.
This might read like a scattered note, but really it’s simple: I love medicine more than I ever have, and I see it more clearly now. As I start Final Year, I’m more grateful than ever for the chance to do this, and for every experience that brought me here. Thank you.
