MUSC Trip Day 1 of 3: Forever 21

Day one of my three day trip to Charleston, SC.  

I was standing by the baggage claim in a daze, my medical school interview schedule at the Medical University of South Carolina (MUSC) in one hand, and my baggage ticket in the other. 

My eyes were bleary from just having finished Christopher McDougall’s smash hit Born to Run. I watched bag after bag go by. Born to Run was a good read. I watched more bags go by. It made me excited to pull on my running shoes and go for a jog later tonight. At this rate I’d be at the hotel around 4 PM, I could catch the sunset shimmering off the Charleston coast. A relaxing way to usher in my interview tomorrow. The carousel stopped. 

Wait. Did I miss my bag? 

I went around the carousel looking for my bag. I took another lap, progressively growing more frantic until I bumped into two guys obviously trying to interrupt me. 

“Ken, right? The green jacket guy?” 

“Yeah, yeah. You guys must be Chris and Josh, for the MUSC interview? I called a cab over, should be here in ten minutes. … But uh, my bag might have gotten lost.” 

“Damn dude, you should check out the baggage counter.” 

I walked over, and chatted with a woman who was obviously new at the job.

“SO your bag was WHAT color again?” 

“It was black.” 

“OK, OK, hon, your bag is probably stuck in Denver. There’s another flight coming in, we should be have the bag today or tomorrow. You can spend up to $50 buying shirts, underwear, whatever. Oh, and here’s a complimentary toiletry kit. Good luck!” 

“Uh, thanks. So when exactly can I pick up the bag?” 

“Well, we’re not sure exactly. It’s not like FedEx where we can track your bag. We’ll call you.” 

“Uh, ok, thanks anyways.” 

I was not in the mood to deal with this. 

It was Thursday night and I had just arrived in Charleston for a Friday interview at the med school. On Saturday I was flying to St. Louis for another interview. I was nervous enough as it was. I had the most expensive parts, my suit jacket and pants, but I was missing all the other goodies – socks, dress shirt, tie. 

I reluctantly joined Chris and Josh in the cab. 

“Hey man, don’t worry about it. I’ve heard of people interviewing in their jeans.” 

Yeah, I love when my doctor shows up in jeans and tennis shoes. 

And that’s how my trip to Charleston started. 

On the ride to the hotel I learned a bit about my two new friends. Josh was from a up and coming neighborhood in LA, so he had that surfer hipster laid back attitude, but you could see the bags under his eyes. MUSC was his first interview, and he hadn’t been sleeping much. 

Chris’s confidence was obvious from his arrogant tone. He was a seasoned vet who had applied last year but didn’t get in, so he was trying his luck again. This year was working out much better for him, he was at interview number seven, and had one acceptance already. In fact, he was coming from an interview in Chicago. I was jealous. 

Chris, Josh, and I walked into the Holiday Inn we were staying at. Immediately we met a friendly face. 

“Hey are you guys MUSC applicants too?!” 

We learned that the friendly face was Kristin, another applicant, and she had forgotten a jacket. She perceptively recognized three young guys carrying suits were probably here for med school interviews. She would be a good doctor. The four of us joined forces and left the hotel in search of authentic Carolina barbeque, beers, and emergency dress clothes. 

We checked off the first two items at a barbeque joint downtown. We politely and awkwardly tried to get a feel for each other. It felt like a blend between a job interview and a blind date, but the beers helped, and we loosened up as the dinner went on.

I always heard that gentleman don’t talk politics at the dinner table, but not being gentlemen, we couldn’t help but discuss the Republican Debates taking place in Charleston that weekend. Would we see Newt Gingrich? Could we ask him how he felt about funding biomedical research? After we scarfed down brisket, fried catfish, and tender pork, we were on the move again. Four pre-med type A personalities, we may have flaws, but we knew how to get things done.  

Thanks to Kristin’s smart phone, we found the only store still open in downtown Charleston – Forever 21. Apparently, Charleston is no New York, but it worked out perfectly. I picked up everything I needed for just $50 – a steal, and a huge relief. At least I wouldn’t be the guy wearing tennis shoes with his suit. 

With all three items crossed off our to-do-list, we nervously chatted for a second, trying to figure out what to do next. We reached the inevitable conclusion that we’d call for a cab home, and went back to what we had been avoiding the whole night. Our solitary hotel rooms. Left to face our nerves until the morning. 

See you on the other side, 

from ken

Feel free to comment! I would love to hear your thoughts.

The thorny side of idealism: a tribute to MLK and activism

“When I get older, I will be stronger.”
       - K’naan 

-- 

This past week marked the two year anniversary of the earthquakes in Haiti. For those of you who missed it, there was a series of earthquakes in Haiti that killed millions due to a lack of infrastructure and functional government. This was due to a plethora of reasons including selfish leaders and the structure of the global economy. 

-- 

Flashback two years ago at Kenyon: I was inspired by the great problems of the world - global poverty, infectious diseases, natural disasters - and busy planning and fundraising for a service trip to Haiti. My hope was multi-fold: to pad my resume (of course), to see my hero Paul Farmer’s home turf, and to inspire my fellow students (mostly myself) to live for a world bigger than themselves. 

The earthquakes threw a wrench in my plans. After a couple weeks of soul searching, I decided it would be irresponsible to go to Haiti, considering we had so few skills to offer. Instead, I switched gears, - postponing my trip to Haiti for a year when things would hopefully be more stable, and focusing my current efforts on fundraising for Paul Farmer’s healthcare non-profit Partners in Health. 

On the surface, it was more or less a success - I raised some money for Haiti, built up attention for global issues, and had people singing my praises. Logically, I would agree that it was a success. But if you had asked me how I felt, I would have told you I felt like a failure. 

I don’t know what I expected from my efforts. I probably imagined that we’d raise an unfathomable amount of money, or that the campus would explode in a flurry of social justice activism. When all that didn’t happen, I was pissed. I chose to spend more time in the lab, and focus on my research project that was close to being published. 

I went into social activism because of a simple belief – I just wanted to help – but my time as an activist left me with an ugly truth. 

When push came to shove, I chose not to make sacrifice for a country desperately in need. I backed off on my activism efforts, and redirected towards more successful pursuits. I was the same selfish person as the government officials or apathetic potheads. The ugly truth – people never change and the world would never become a less selfish place. 

-- 

Two years later, I still haven’t made it down to Haiti, nor do I plan to. It would hurt too much to go. 

It still hurts to remember how selfish I was. I get a reminder every time I receive an email from Partners in Health asking for another donation. 

At the same time, I can’t bring myself to unsubscribe from those emails. They remind me of a time in my life when I was an idealist – a part of me I really love. And even now, a small small part of me believes that I can be stronger, and that the world can still change. 

See you on the other side, 

from ken 

Feel free to comment! I would love to hear your thoughts.

WY series pt 3: deye mon gen mon

 

All I could hear was Corey yelling at me, “Ken, COME ON, we’re almost there. We can’t stop now!” 

I replied back with a noticeable tinge of fear, “I.. I can’t, dude. I’m really really afraid of heights.” 

He snapped back, “You have to be kidding me! I can’t finish this by myself! We’re so close!” 

I didn’t know what to say. We were climbing Middle Teton, one of the highest mountains in Grand Teton National Park. The only thing on my mind was the deep valley to our side that looked like a long ways to fall. 

-- 

Let me backtrack for a second. While I was in Wyoming I made a couple good friends, Corey and Stephen. We bonded through our long days in the restaurant and our adventures through the Wyoming wilderness. The three of us may never cross paths again, but after Middle Teton we would be friends forever. 

One night in the employee dining hall, we were chatting with our friends over a few pieces of oversalted pork chops. They were bragging endlessly about a mountain, Middle Teton, they had recently climbed – ice axes, glaciers, rock climbing, and all. Throughout the meal I could feel Corey’s competitive edge and Stephen’s need for intensity brewing. As we left the dining hall we were already figuring out how to coordinate our days off to attempt Middle Teton. 

-- 

We arrived at the trailhead with a little less sunlight than we had planned, and as our ride wished us luck and drove off, it started raining. Before we knew it, we heard thunder. Half an hour into the trip we were already at each other’s throats. 

Stephen asked: “Yo, should we stop?” 

Corey grumbled back: “F this!” 

I ignored them, trudging ahead and mumbling under my breath: “I told you we should’ve gone on Wednesday.” 

We went forward with the long climb to the base, switchback after switchback. Before we knew it, the rain had stopped, we had set up camp for the night, and we were catching picturesque views of the Wyoming wilderness. 

The next morning we set out, rumbling over rocks until we made it to the first glacier. It was one of those, don’t-look-up don’t-look-down just-keep-going-climbs, but I couldn’t help myself and I peaked down. We were higher than I thought. 

Sidenote – I’m afraid of heights. I thought this whole adventure could be one of those stereotypical overcoming fear stories – Ken fears heights, climbs mountain, overcomes fear. Instead, it was more like – Ken fears heights, climbs mountain, still afraid of heights. The lesson as always, you can’t win. 

After the glacier we took a well-deserved break. In fact, we took several breaks along the way. Nobody would say it outright, but you could feel the energy of the conversation shifting with every break. We started out saying, “Dude, I can’t believe we’re doing this,” but on later breaks we were saying, “Dude, I can’t believe we’re doing this.” 

We eventually reached a valley where we could see for what felt like miles away and miles down. I was at the height of my fear.

All I could hear was Corey yelling at me, “Ken, COME ON, we’re almost there. We can’t stop now!” 

“OK OK.” 

I leapt, and landed on the ledge by Corey’s footstep. There was what seemed like inches between our feet and an endless fall. 

“See, I said you’d make it!” 

I felt paralyzed by my fear of heights, but my competitive side was fighting. I could feel the two voices going at it, when suddenly Corey jumped and pulled himself onto the next rock. He glanced down at me: 

“You can sit here if you want, but I’m getting to the top.” 

And with that he was off. 

From there it’s all a blur – we were scrambling, problem-solving the safest routes up treacherous rock formations, and at the same time in the midst of a race to the top. I barely even remember the summit, I vaguely recall running ahead of Corey as I sensed the peak coming, but I couldn’t tell you much. 

Looking back, that adventure was an epic victory. I at one time referred to it as the greatest two days of my life. A victory over my fear of heights, over the greatest creations of mother nature, but mostly it was a victory of the thrill of adventure over the boredom of everyday life. 

All I know is, I would never have made it alone.

See you on the other side, 

from ken

Which pond?

“Have you thought about the situation where you got into a top-tier med school and also a good but not-as-good school? Would you go to the best one you got in to, which might be incredibly stressful, or some place you have less doubt you'd succeed in?” 

A friend raised this question to me. The answer?  Of course I've thought about it.

I discussed this idea with a professor on the admissions committee for the residency program at Harvard. Every year, he had his choice of the best medical students in the country, and he picked out the ones he wanted to train in his hospital. A piece of wisdom he gave me: 

“Every year I admit students from Harvard and UMASS. Both applicants are among the best students at their schools. The thing about a school like Harvard, the competition is high and the kid at the bottom is so smart, that the average student gets pushed up. But the best students at any school are the same. There’s something special that makes them tick. If you think you’re one of the best, it doesn’t matter whether you go. I myself, went to Vanderbilt.” 

I’ve obsessed about whether I was with the best or the mean. I’ve also wondered if the theory was even right. 

I went to a small liberal arts college, Kenyon. In the world of liberal arts colleges, Kenyon is mid-tier. Good enough that people notice it, but not good enough to be overflowing with money, nor to pull in the top cut of high school students. 

I have a friend that went to Williams, another small liberal arts college, except for Williams is not mid-tier, it’s arguably the best. It’s a prime mating spot for rich and powerful 17 year olds. 

We have this conversation a lot. My friend and I are basically the same - he might have a small edge over me at standardized tests, I would argue that I’m a stronger writer. Sidenote - If we actually had this argument, he would concede superiority to me, which probably says something, but I’ll pretend it doesn’t. 

Regardless, at Kenyon I found myself among the best. At Williams, my friend was in the upper echelon, but not the best. If the Harvard/UMASS theory was right, we should have both risen to the top. 

Where would I have landed in a world like Williams? My thought is that I would have been left in the dust by overachievers and never stumbled upon enough opportunities to become great.

I felt like at Kenyon, I was a big fish in a small pond. The best example would be running. At Kenyon, our cross country team was around 15 runners. With a small team, I had the opportunity to run in big races with the varsity team. I even picked up leadership skills as a captain. In a world like Williams cross country that carries 50 or so runners and consistently makes Nationals – I would never have gotten those opportunities to grow by sitting on the bench. 

Part of me wants to take my Kenyon-developed self and dive into the competitive pool that my friend went into at Williams. Another part of me questions if my fragile ego would crumble. 

I wouldn't trade my Kenyon experience for the world, there’s a lot to be said about big fish in a small pond – it gives you opportunities to mature and provides protection as you grow - something I desperately needed as an immature 17 year old. On the other hand, now I'm 23, married, and intellectually/socially competent. At some point don’t you have to jump into the shark tank to size yourself up against the competition? 

As always, more questions than answers. My friends, please enlighten me. 

See you on the other side, 

from ken