I have been fortunate enough to
find a home in academic medicine. Most of that time I’ve spent in oncology—working
with residents, fellows, and colleagues on projects, whether they be
chart-based or prospectively designed trials. I’ve lectured a ton, and written
even more. Yet, my experience in academia has also allowed me to help choose
future medical students, residents, and fellows, and this has perhaps been one
of the most important aspects of the profession.
See, each time I am asked to
interview a candidate, the same question goes through my mind: What will make a
good doctor? What am I looking for? I suppose it dates back to when I was in
college, knowing I wanted to be a doctor but not sure I had “the goods” to
become one. I was a good student at a great university (Go Rochester!) but I
wasn’t top of my class, and perhaps worse, I really didn’t like some of the
sciences, like chemistry and (especially) physics. What I loved were the humanities—English
Literature and Religious Studies. But I thought, a doctor has to be human too,
right?
Application time came and went, and among the dozens of applications I
sent out, I only got a handful of interviews. Obviously, this did nothing for
my confidence. I still remember my first interviewer. He was an anesthesiologist
and wanted only to discuss my performance on the Medical College Admissions
Test (MCAT) and my science grades. As I left the room he offered a piece of
advice— “Even if you get in to medical school, you should retake the MCATs”.
Ouch.
Miraculously (to me), I got in to
medical school, but with the elation came the impostor syndrome—the sense that
a mistake had been made, and that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I remember the
first day I put on a white coat—a day that should have been joyful—filled me
with anxiety as I half-expected the dean
to single me out and say, “You there—the short Pacific Islander: a mistake was
made. Come with me, please… and, leave the coat.” I don’t think anyone in my
class knew of this paranoia I experienced (and if they did, they never let on),
but it lasted for the entirety of medical school, even as I placed my doctoral
gown on and walked in my final procession to claim my “Doctor of Medicine”
degree. Frankly, the sense that I was an impostor made me study harder so I
could prove I belonged—to myself. And I did belong. That sense of community
became stronger through residency and stronger still as I finished my
fellowship at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.
When it comes to interviewing, I
have to say, I’ve been shaped by my own experience. I am certain that while a
good transcript is important, it’s not sufficient. In my thirty minutes alone
with someone wanting “in,” I want a better sense of them. How they think, what
motivates them, what are their passions? The best interviews take me to places
unexpected—whether it be discussing the role of palliative care for patients
with sickle cell anemia or the current status of transgender healthcare in
South Africa. I want to learn more about the person sitting in front of me. I
guess, ultimately, I want to see their humanity.
And I think that’s what makes a
great doctor: compassion, empathy, perspective, and curiosity. Just as our
patients are more than a diagnosis, those wanting to enter medicine are much
more than a test score.
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