The overwhelming frustration and anxiety I've been feeling about the MCAT is poignantly illustrated in this graph. So much so that I may have laugh-cried when I found it. Tis so true guys, tis so true.

You’ll realize that, after so much silence on this blog lately, this post is only forewarning you of even more silence to come, but please bear with me as I embark on this pivotal point in my premed life. The application season is creeping up on me/fellow premeds applying this year, and let me just say that although I’m excited to get this stressful, expensive, and emotionally/mentally taxing process over with…OMG ASKFNISUNSKDHGHAKJDFA IT’S HAPPENING SOOOON.

*end freak-out gurgle*

Dear Blog,

I’m going to keep this short and (bitter)sweet: I’m breaking up with you.

For now, at least.

It’s not you, it’s me. Well, it is you, actually.

It’s said that time is money, but when you’re studying for the MCAT, time is points you could get for the right answers that you studied for in the extra 5 minutes here and 20 minutes there. Time also happens to be extraordinarily precious when your study window is already shrunken to a fraction of what you’d like/need because of other duties, like parenting.

So I’m trimming a lot of my day’s routines to optimize the time in it, which means you are one of its casualties.

Rather than leaving unannounced, I thought an awkward letter to let you know would be more appropriate.

I promise to be back by mid-May(ish), and who knows, maybe post one or twice between now and then.

But for now, go into sweet hibernation as I go on hiatus.

********

And for any fellow MCAT takers, here’s a clever nugget I found via Google Images. God bless memes and good ones at that.

Wish me luck and send me all of your good fairy dust/prayers/vibes/powers/ANYTHING.

Let me tell you a tale of how one girl wrote not one, not two, not three, not four, but five completely different personal statements all for one application package. She did so not because she had two have five of them, but because she [cue mick jagger] can’t get no satisfaction out of any of them.

And let me also tell you that although she’s written plenty of papers, the magnitude of le personal statement carries an air of GET IT RIGHT, EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO BLEED FOR IT as she takes it to be an important part of her medical school application.

This girl also likes to tell her tale in third person.

Back in September, she read forums, sites, blogs and other media on how to conjure up the most magically amazing statement anyone has ever written! One to move the adcom (admissions committee) like no other statement has before! By October, she organized a comprehensive list of “life events” pertinent to her passion for a medical career. This list turned into a quasi-excel worksheet of main points, details, and theses.

By November the girl had her, unbeknownst to her at the time, first of four more drafts she was going write. Oh! The relief of having a draft completed because once there’s a draft, there’s just editing left to do, which is the easy part. Making content is harder than making corrections.

By late November, the girl had reservations about her statement. It just didn’t sit well with her — in fact she couldn’t even look at it, much less read through it.

DELETE. Back to square one.

Throughout December, the girl was sick with a serious case of writer’s block. Regardless of staring at her Detailed Spreadsheet Of Life Events, Main Points, And Potential Theses, she couldn’t get past the block. So she purged her spreadsheet, shrinking it to a fraction of its size and looked at it with new eyes.

Still, it wasn’t until January that she had a breakthrough.

“Aha! ”She thought.

I’ll write about this one major event in my life and spread it out to explain why and how it has prepared for me a medical career!

“Finally, I’m getting somewhere with this!” She gleamed.

After a week of drafting and editing, she sent it out to friends for feedback. Long story (with in a story) short, the more feedback she received, the more she realized she mega-focused on one aspect of her life and decided she hated her draft. She couldn’t even think about it without wanting to throw up.

DELETE. Back to square one.

She let a few topic ideas sit with her for a few days before she started statement number three. Half way through it she could feel her “I hate it bone” acting up again.

After a day or two of trying to make it work,

DELETE. Back to square one.

At this point, the girl was getting pretty annoyed with this personal statement ordeal, especially since this would be the only time she would have to write it (she would be getting personal with the statement’s application mate, a test called the Let-Me-Wring-Out-Your-Soul-And-Leave-It-For-The-Voltures…or the MCAT in the following months).

She pondered over her resume/ CV and brainstormed a new draft. This draft sort of worked. I mean, it had concrete examples and appropriate details, but it didn’t wow by any means. It was essentially her resume extended over a page and a half, with sprinkles of a storyline. But it was the most comprehensive of all of the drafts she had conjured up, so she stuck with it and tried to make it work.

Work, it did not. And she felt it. Or rather, didn’t feel it. And this girl? She has to be proud to present something she’s written, especially to the people who carry the ticket to her dreams.

DELETE. Back to square one.

She spent many nights staring at a blank Word document. It’s believed that no one has ever agonized over a personal statement as much as this over-thinking-girl has.

She consulted a darn good writer she’s gotten to know. Asked for feedback on her paper, confessed she didn’t like her own draft, asked for advice, came across some inspirational words –all in one night.

Dear audience, inspiration finally struck. It struck with the force of a powerful tidal wave and like someone caught in the vigorous waters, she let the current take her.

Instead of trying to formulate a masterpiece, she just started writing. Writing about herself, her family, her passions, and her struggles.

There was a loud POP! as the flood gates of her writer’s block bursted and overflowed that once blank Word document. She wrote and wrote and wrote.

After being creatively constipated for so long, it was quite satisfying to dump all of her thoughts onto virtual paper.

It was one monstrously lengthened paper, similar to this post but less third-person.

The following night she trimmed pounds of fat from it and before she knew it, she had a slimmer, well-rounded, personal-yet-professional piece of statement in front of her. She sent it out to her designated editors and was happy that they enjoyed it much more than the previous three, two, one.

Although many rounds of editing and proofreading await her, the girl was immensely relieved to have this burden off of her shoulders. She slept (figuratively) better knowing it was one less part of her application haunting her.

The End (of the personal statement saga, at least).

Some of the things I miss about undergrad:

Waking up and getting dressed for a day outside of the house. This means that I had an excuse to buy new clothes.

Putting my driving skills to test by getting through horrendous traffic, parking,and sprinting (figuratively, of course!) to class to make it there at least 20 min. before class (read next point/”memory”).

Finding the perfect position/seat in class. Although there aren’t assigned seats, once I find my spot I don’t exchange the seat with anyone for anything. And if someone is in my seat by the time I get there (which is why I try to get to class super early), then I stare at the back of their head and laser beam mean, angry thoughts at them.

How acceptable it was to stalk prey in the parking lot. This means that it was perfectly normal to cruise the campus parking lot(s) until you find someone (prey) walking to their car and then slowly trailing (stalking) them to their vehicle for their spot. For some reason, this never worked non-campus lots.

What was that? You didn’t stalk prey? Are you telling me it’s creepy?

Whipping out my notebook and pen/pencil, the only two things on my desk –nothing more, nothing less. Highlighters, sticky notes, erasers, flashcards —NOTHING ELSE, I SAID.

Cracking open my notebook and gently caressing the clean new page before I tattoo it in notes.

Listening with genuine interest to the lecture; sort of listening for leisure, but noting for knowledge. I think the only classes I involuntarily zoned out in were Calculus II and III because they were Calculus II and III. Nearly four years later, I am still traumatized from these two classes. From the times I was paying attention/awake, at least.

My hidden study spots in the library and other buildings.

Stopping by the campus Einsteins or Starbucks to grab coffee and a snack before going to study.

Sitting in front of the water garden or under the shade of magnificent trees.

Dodging bike riders. And scooter riders. And roller bladders. And golf-cart drivers. And unicyclists. We were a transportation-diverse campus, obviously.

Seeing the campus swarm with students in between classes sections.

As stressful finals time can be, I love the atmosphere. Looking like the living dead with coffee in one hand and clenching last-minute notes in the other. More than anything though, it’s the high of completing an exam and walking out of the room momentarily burden free until the next final.

Running into old classmates/friends and professors. And sometimes avoiding them.

Being with my boys (Saad and Aiman) at the end of the day.

The smell of angst that filled the waiting room at the pre-med advisor’s office. Sadly, there was no antiperspirants for this.

Making difficult decisions:

I didn't make this; it's a meme floating around the internet.

Except this illustration should include mother/wife duties for my experience, but let’s not get technical (although we should definitely get technical about that major detail).

***

College flew by, as did the last 24 years of my life. I’m beyond ready for the next phase of school and look forward to increased coffee consumption, protectiveness of my seat, burden-free highs, and general anxiety in medical school.

OH, MEDICAL SCHOOL.

Are my angst-stained armpits showing?

CAN YOU HEAR ME  ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

As I clean off the cobwebs and dust all over this blog, I notice it reeks of abandonment and neglect.

But fear not, for I am here to tidy up this mess!

Where should I start? Should this be one long (long, long, long) update post in which I tell you more than you care to know? Or should I only highlight the important aspects of the last ten or so days? Should I , oxymoronically, shut-up and talk the talk already?

I’LL DO ALL THREE without knocking you over, hopefully.

The important part(s)

Since the last post:

• We are still fighting THRUSH! Oh my sweet God of mercy and sanity, WE ARE STILL FIGHTING THRUSH. We completed the entire treatment course and were good to go for about a day or two until I noticed the white spots in the back of her throat again, after which I may or may not have sat there cursing the overgrown yeast partying it up in my baby’s throat. I so want to call the cops and complain of disturbance of population control on their ass and squash their party. Just as I figured, it’s probably because of one thing that I forgot to boil or sanitize that reinfected her/us. So anyway, we’re halfway through round two of treatment for this forsaken THRUSH!
  

  Baby girl is clearly SUFFERING. Good thing I bribe her with sweet potatoes -- that she inevitably gets all over her face.

• Saad was here for two whole months and like all good things, it came to an end last Thursday. That’s also partly the reason this blog has withered away. You see, his departure date sneaks up on us –here we are just minding our own business and soaking up his presence when BAM! There’s only a week left until he goes back. We try to do all sorts of family fun stuff/ lounging around in each others’ company during that time, which also means little to no distractions, ie news reading (for him) and self-delcared important internet browsing (for me), including blogging. So essentially, YOU CAN BLAME SAAD and his cruel, cruel departure date attacking us like that.
  • It’s always the worst part of the year whenever he has to go back, but hopefully we’ll be smelling each other’s morning breath in two (if we’re lucky) to 10 week’s time. (You can thank Aiman for this morning breath reference since we’ve watched the Shrek trilogy umpteen +1 times in the last few weeks. He LOVES the movies and we are all completely Team Ogre, so morning breath is the Ogre way to express that sentiment. Just FYI, is all.)
  • It’s been hard playing catch up since he left. In the previous post I mentioned he would come home for dinner and bedtime every night, so going through the bedtime routine along for both kids literally left me out of breath the first night after he left, although it could have something to do with those demonic cookies (scroll down).
• Another excuse legitimate reason this blog was thrown to the curb is that there was a bigger bully on the block who goes by the name, Medical School Personal Statement. He was fierce and totally kicked my butt. I had him under control at first, back in November, and had him all written beaten up. Then! Then that jerk came back with a vengeance and a low blow — my pride. Yeah! He took my pride and spat on it as he said “THIS ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH” and then ran away to the desktop trash can. So I worked out (my only “workout”) and battled him in the last few days, ending this feud once and for all last night. So you see, I had to invest what little writing fighting power I have and get this little “problem” taken care of.

The Extraneous Part(s):

• We rung in the new year with a late night barbecue and our good family friend, Bukky, over. We’ve known Bukky and her family since our Sunday School years and she’s essentially my sister, Sieda’s, “Summer.” We love that girl and we love her in-law-school-brain, which came in handy because (next point):

• Someone drove into our backyard on new year’s day. Sieda, Bukky, and I were on our way to go paintballing (OMG! NEXT POINT!) with a group of girls, and right as we were leaving, we heard a crash in the backyard. My mom looked out the back door and screamed my name — a scream that still makes my blood stop and my heart pound right through my chest. That’s when I knew something serious just happened. When we got to the site, we were all like, “Well, look at that. There’s a freakin’ car in the backyard” and the driver was unnaturally calm about it. My guess is that she was exhausted from work and simply dozed off because no one ran into her and it’s unlikely to just lose control of your vehicle unless it’s possessed, but then who keeps/drives a possessed car, you know?

• Paintballing. I love it. Wait, no I LOVE IT. That’s more like it. Now, you have to understand that I take it very seriously. The group I went with were all newbies, including myself, but it was obvious none of them had ever prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse and were far too forgiving to the other team. Also, you have to respect the fact that once you’re out of ammo, you’re vulnerable, and effectively OUTof the apocalypse. Would you forgive a zombie? I DIDN’T THINK SO. STAY LOW AND RESERVE YOUR AMMO.
  • Paint ball shots hurt so much, I just can’t describe it. My sister and I were on opposite teams, so you know we had to get each other first. It was mutually a personal objective and just plain personal. Well, she got me in my right arm while someone else shot at my left. She doesn’t know it, but in the midst of fire, I played mean, but behind the barrels? After she and someone paintballed me in the arms? I nearly cried in pain, hugging myself as I waited for the adrenaline to numb the pain. Paint balls hurt so much, people. So much.
  • The next day, I was not only branded in six solid bruises, but sore beyond my mind. Because I play hardcore? Perhaps. Because it was the only thing close to a workout I had in a very long time? Perhaps-Perhaps.
  • We went to Ci-Ci’s for a quick and easy dinner afterwards and I was leaking breast milk through my shirt, visible for all the restaurant to see. Did I care? Covered in dirt, paint, and god knows what that giant smudge of green-ish brown gunk on my thigh is? NO, BECAUSE I JUST SURVIVED A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. I sure will have an entire pizza and all of my dessert because I earned it, thankyouverymuch.

That concludes the update blabber, but wait THERE’S MORE.

More of my cynical conspiracy-theory wrapped rambling, that is. What did you expect, now?

So in an explanation worthy of another post, I’ve laid of coffee for a few weeks. I’ll go ahead and admit there are personal benefits so far, one of which is the ability to Just Say No. Like the way they teach you in school to Just Say No to drugs, only I’m not addicted, but I won’t refuse a good cup done right and fancy –perfect blend of creamer, sugar, and whipped cream with a sprinkle of cinnamon or chocolate. Who says no to that?

Luckily, only Starbucks does it as fancy as I’d like or care to do myself, so it’s been easy to refuse the “plain” variety, without any of the above.

But I cheat. I’ll drive up to Starbucks and ask for a DECAF something or another and feel so clever. I just enjoy the taste! It’s only for the taste! And maybe the placebo effect, even if I know it’s decaf.

credit via jasonlove.com

So anyway, I always have a secret fear that they forget to make it decaf and I chug back a fully-caffeinated beverage, which will make me stay up to odd hours of the night and between the kids’ sleeping patterns and my accidental caffeination, I’ll never experience sleep EVER AGAIN.

Today I got a venti iced coffee with the works –whipped cream and all that jazz — in decaf, of course. But it’s 3am and I am WIDE AWAKE (when I drafted this post, at least). Totally wired, even. I mean, I could even work out or something right now, but I’m not fooling anyone; I definitely won’t workout.

No, I’m not obsessing over the possible caffeine coursing my veins, fueling my insomnia. It wouldn’t be that venti iced coffee with the works. No. NO. The barista wouldn’t do that to me.

It could be PMS-induced insomnia, which I will gladly take because at least my PMS comes in a grande or less*.

*That’s a lie; my PMS totally comes in a trenta (Starbucks largest, ginormously gross-sized 31-oz size). That was the part you’d probably not care to know, but welcome to the risk of reading my blog.

*****

Saad has been back home for nearly two whole months, something unprecedented and unexpected in a semester, so that has been a seriously thanked for and savored treat. It’s been surprisingly impossible to coordinate our schedules mainly due to having only one car. I either have to drop him off as soon as the kids wake up and the library opens or he takes the car while we’re sleeping. There are obvious pros and cons either way, but he’s been back for dinner and to help me tuck the kids in every night and there isn’t a con that could ever out-do that.

*******

Aiman is officially in potty training mode and I’d like to point that we’re both still alive. We waited until he was officially three to actively start this certain growing pain if he didn’t train before then. He’s been aware of the concept for a long time, but had zero interest of actually using the toilet, neither were we pushing him to do so. It’s getting better and easier and hopefully we’ll have it down completely by the end of the year, otherwise known as THE NEXT THREE DAYS.

But to note, nothing will really happen if he’s not trained by then. I’ll just have to accept the potty-training-induced influx of laundry, something I might add, I was not anticipating and not thrilled about.

Wish I had some elves to help with THAT.

********

Manaal and I have been on THRUSH! treatment for about a week or so now and let me just tell you it is a pain. The suspension she’s taking smells bitter and she absolutely hates the taste, understandably. After a few doses and her negative/distressed reaction to it every single time, I called her doctor for an alternative or if I could mix it with milk or baby food and he agreed it would be a good idea. So that’s exactly what we’ve been doing and it’s been easier for her to take it.

I have to apply miconazole after every nursing and boil/sterilize anything that she might’ve put in her mouth. So far, so good. Goodness, I’m really hoping this is the last time we deal with THRUSH!

********

My mom, Saad, the kids, and I spent a quiet Christmas together. We don’t celebrate it for obvious reasons, but it would be a lie if I didn’t admit that I love this time of year. From Fall onwards is my favorite part of the year, and something about seeing the houses lit up on our street and the cheery atmosphere of The Holidays just makes it extra pleasant. My two younger sisters and my dad took a trip up to Seattle for a mini vacation/adventurous exploring and that was pretty neat for them. Hopefully we’ll have a big family trip somewhere sometime in the coming Spring or Summer.

********

MCAT studying has officially been halted until the Spring semester when there will be, hopefully, more stability in everyone’s schedule. I say “everyone” because I’m fortunate enough to have my sister adjust her work and school schedule, and then Saad to come back and finish up his semester here, and maybe even my mom-in-law if either of them can’t make it….all for me to get at least 4 straight hours to study.

That’s the plan, at least.

The only thing that’s been consistent with studying is how consistently it’s been a crapshoot. At one point I was even going to bed at 8pm, waking up at 2am and then studying until the kids got up. As you can imagine, this didn’t last long as it’s a crime against your body’s natural rhythm to wake up at that time and then force your brain to focus on equilibrium constants and nephrons, etc. rather than passing out at the table. Or it is against mine.

Personally, I’ve done some impressive eating-my-face-off in the past week or two. One example of this talent of mine is buying this case of soft chocolate chunk cookies from the grocery bakery. There were two rows of big, decadent chocolate-y cookies in each package and I thought Aiman, Saad and I would really enjoy them later that day. Well, after grocery shopping (alone with both kids) I was so freakin’ hungry and tired and thought “Gee! One of those cookies would be a great sugar/energy burst until I can get my hands on real food.”

Let’s just say that the same time the following day, there weren’t even crumbs left in the package.

At first I was simultaneously disgusted and impressed with myself, but now I’m mostly just trying to ignore the extra chine looking back at me in the mirror and denying that my belt latches into one hole over from the one it used to.

image credit: delish-blog.com

Chewy, chocolate chunk cookies are basically the devil.

Pre-Med Syndrome (PMS) is a condition that affects thousands of medschool hopefuls across the nation. If you have one or more of the following symptoms in a mild to moderate degree, you are said to have PMS and more than likely, everyone around you will know it but you.

Common symptoms:

Tunnel vision: Can’t see anything past or around getting into medical school. You call it “focus and drive” while others call it “unhealthy infatuation” …and “annoying.”

Cramping (of the hands): Notes, notes, notes. And then more notes. Tendency to over-note as to not miss details that will inevitably turn up on a test, which leads to the next symptom–

Paranoia: Excessive worry about tests, grades, and general logistics of getting into medical school.

Sleep Pattern Changes: Stay up for 3 nights, blackout/burnout for 2 nights. Rinse and repeat.

Bloating, Water Retention, Weight Gain: A conglomeration of stress, excessive snacking while studying, and aforementioned sleeping patterns.

Mood swings: In a neutral mood until testing times, after which it’s aggression one moment, crying the next, and then plateauing at an emotionless state characterized by a hollow soul. Rinse and Repeat again.

Anxiety: You don’t even know of another way of existing.

Bowel Habit Changes: One of the many joys of stress.

Aggression: Mostly towards gunners and their insatiable need to outdo others.

Symptoms felt by those around/living with/friends of a PreMed, including other premeds:

Aggression, irritability, mood swings, and anxiety of having premeds around because God, they can be such lame-o’s!

The only cure to this is actually a curse in disguise: acceptance into medical school. Acceptance would alleviate premed syndrome, but initiate the onset of MSS (medical student syndrome), an amplified version of PMS, for which there is no cure and consequently, no hope.

GOOD LUCK.

C’mon, that’s funny.

I’m actually trying to come to grips about it being Thursday already because the last memory I have of anything is from last Friday night. And now it’s suddenly Thursday? Of like, the following week?

The name of the game this week is AMNESIA!

Want to play?

As in, let’s not remember that I have to rewrite my personal statement from scratch because the one I already wrote and edited and finally, finally, finally finished just doesn’t float my boat anymore. There’s nothing wrong with the one I have except that I’m simply not passionate about its content and don’t feel like it portrays what I’m trying to get across in it anymore, so I’m getting rid of it. It’s the slash and burn of personal statement agriculture (sort of).

Let’s also forget that my study plan needs revising again, which is a huge pain in the backside. Although I officially decided to study for the MCAT back in September, it’s been semi-serious studying until November, after which things were going to have to get serious-serious. All of that was meant to avoid burn-out, yet instead, the way I’ve been studying this past month has a) not been as effective as I need it to be and b) too tedious, so “burn out” is nowhere near the problem unless you count frustrated burnout.

So it’s back to the drawing board in study planning.

There are some things worth remembering though (take that AMNESIA!). For instance, the fact that Saad has been back for four glorious weeks. He was supposed to come back for only a week before finishing off his semester, but ended up deciding to study for his exams here with us, rather than his lonely apartment. This is making everyone happier all around. It’s been a hectic four weeks trying to get our schedules to mesh with the kids’ schedules and share our only car, but really, it’s all more than worth it.

I also like remembering that my (bugaboo, babyboy, lovebug of a) male child, Aiman, will be three whole years old in exactly nine days. I don’t even know how that happened, and more specifically, I don’t recall giving him permission to grow up this fast, but I’ll let it slide. Hard to believe this time three years ago he was a 39 week old fetus and now he’s a clever little preschooler that sneaks onto my computer and takes these:

I have a slight feeling that he wouldn’t really enjoyed a twin as he plays with the “mirror” effect on my mac an awful lot.

Since tomorrow is Friday and I’ve yet to cross off anything on any “to-do” list, I’ll go and get started on that now. Or later. Or maybe this time next week, if I haven’t been hit by another bout of AMNESIA! and it’s not already then right now.

(It’s not, right?)

Just to quickly comment on our Thanksgiving (especially because of the last post), it was pleasant! Pictures were intended, but the camera was totally forgotten amidst the hustle and bustle of the early day. So, next time!

Now, let’s get to the purpose of this post—two wicked dreams that I obsessed over for a few days…

Ready?

The first one occurred sometime last week. It wasn’t the first time that I had a dream about having multiples as I’ve dreamt that I had twin boys in the middle of the freeway outside of the car, like in the middle of the busy lanes.

That’s a dream I had a long time ago, but last week? It got weird on a biological level. So instead of a “normal” dream of just being pregnant with twins, the dream took place IN MY FALLOPIAN TUBES. Imagine, if you will, being in you own fallopian tubes and seeing the herd? –is that what you call a bunch of sperm?– a “sampling” of sperm zoom by racing towards an almighty, ginormous egg. So to cut some fat from the story, I’m seeing my own egg be fertilized right there in front of me from the inside of my fallopian tube, because I guess…why not?

So like a bright light from the cosmos at the joining of gene pools, family trees, and Oh I don’t know, LIFE, the creation of said LIFE initiated. I was blinded by the bright light emanating from that moment of conception. Eventually, I trail my zygote of an egg as it makes its way down to my uterus. This whole time I –as in my whole microscopic self– is hiding behind random specs of tissue and whatnot as to “hide” from the egg, which I guess can “see” me or something, but just know what I didn’t want to be seen and just kept floating up behind it because I assume that’s what particles and such do, right? Just float around in thy innards.

much like this: fallopian tube and its happenings...

We finally get to my uterus and I see this blastocyst and Oh! What’s this? What IS this shadow creeping up on me? I turn around to see ANOTHER blastocyst arriving at the uterus too. So there I am looking at these two massive balls of cells and shout “HOLY WOWOW!” and then it hits me that I’m –the non-microscopic version– is pregnant with TWINS. Then in my dream’s eye, I zoom out a bit to see the bigger picture and find that not only are there TWO fertilized eggs, which would amount to fraternal twins, but that these fertilized eggs have each split once meaning each egg produces identical twins so there are TWO SETS OF TWINS IN MY SET OF QUADRUPLETS.

I’m just flipping out at this point and repeat “two sets of twins in a set of quadruplets” over and over when I float-bump into something, only that thing, is a someone. And it’s like, what? Who the heck is in my fallopian tube aside from myself. I don’t go around handing invitations to my reproductive organs, you know. So then I see that it’s ME, as in another “me”…my whole microscopic twin. We’re both like “what are you/we doing in my/our fallopian tube(s),” and more so WTF IS GOING ON.

So here I am, teeny-tiny Amira, with another identical teeny-tiny Amira, and both of us looking up at these giant blastocysts which are two sets of twins within a set of quadruplets.

At this point I/we get super queasy and see stars shortly before passing the hell out.

And that’s all I remember. I wish the dream spanned the whole pregnancy and I witnessed the babies developing and whatnot. Don’t tell me that it wouldn’t be amazing to be a fly on the (uterine) wall and behold that magic.

I spent the next day pondering the odds and playing with the ratios in my head: there could be sextuplets with three eggs split once each, amounting to three sets of twins within sextuplets. Or one egg split once and another egg split twice, making a set of four and two identicals. Or 4 or 5 or 6 eggs, each fertilized (and unsplit), making 4 or 5 or 6 unique individuals….Etc.

Where is the uterus room for all of this fancy genetic math, is the bigger question here…

****

Second dream:

I guess this is a little peep into my subconscious anxiety of applying to medical school? Although I’m really not that freaked out, I’ve learned to not really question my brain’s dreaming tendencies. So anyway, it takes place in an abandoned and haunted mini castle. The mini castle is mini in that it’s just a smaller castle, not actually miniature. It was like a haunted mega-mansion, but mini castle if that clears it up …or not. Either way, a group of applicants, including myself, were dropped off and locked inside. The very last thing we were told is: “Whoever survives the night gets admitted (to a medical school).”

Yes. You read that correctly.

Our group finds a room for all of us to camp in for the night and stick together like white on rice because the place is a) haunted, b) haunted, and c) haunted. So because it’s, you know, HAUNTED, we stay close and try to ignore the faint screams/footsteps upstairs (and down the hall and in the room next to us etc) and random chills in the air.

just don't even...

Thankfully since I don’t remember all of the details, I’ll just summarize with this: we were put through various “trials”  of torture, most of which included directly rivaling someone else in the group by the house? ghosts? demons? SOMETHING, and whoever didn’t die moved on to the next round. At one point, I just screamed and was like “GUYS! GUYS! WHAT’S GOING ON! Let’s band together and help each other to survive this shit and make it back to our loved ones and lives! We don’t have to kill each other for this” and cried uncontrollably in fetal position.

Well, my pleading didn’t work as we were hurdled to our next challenge, which wasn’t so much a challenge as it was just down-right from the depths of hell. So for this “trial” members of our groups were pitted against each other in twos, each were given a butcher knife, and told “if you win, you live, and get accepted”

For some reason I can’t begin to explain, I find this hook in the middle of the air, just hanging there, minding its own business and all. You’d think well gee, the place is haunted; it’s obviously some trap a ghost has set to snatch up (or kill) someone. I grabbed it (because I am smyrrrt) and pulled on it as hard as my weakly arms could manage. Then things got ridiculously confusing as I found myself in the middle of serene park with beautiful pathways and an indescribable calm/peace that’s taken over me. I’m standing there completely and utterly beaten to bits with blood everywhere and thinking “OMG, I’VE DIED” and “This PARK is heaven???”

I never made it back to the mega-mansion/mini-castle of terror, but had flashback of the time spent there as I sat on a bench feeding ducks (and where did I get this loaf of bread? I have no clue). Two questionable guys hit on me in my battered state, and then an ear-piercing siren goes off and everything turns deep red. My first thought is “OMG, It was just an illusion, I’m actually going to hell!”

Then everything dissolves and I hear “Simulation Round One Complete” and I’m in this all white, padded room when someone in a suit walks in to explain that I’ve completed a simulated trial and that they’re ready to interview me as part of the admission process.

All I’m thinking is a) where did I put my portfolio case with my personal statement, records, etc. to prepare for the interview and b) I NEED A MOMENT TO THROW UP.

***

And there you have it: a multiples pregnancy witnessed in person (pun intended!) and an emotional interpretation (?) of the medschool application process.

Side note: Once, when I thought I was a creative 17-year-old, I decided that the only thing I’d tattoo myself with would be quotes. If one struck me in awe, then I’d tattoo it to my arm, or whatever, and eventually by the end of my lifetime, I would be an embodyment of wise words and verses of truth. Then I realized I can’t handle the pain of tiny, machine-powered needles repeatedly puncturing my skin for the sake of some words that I could easily JUST EMAIL MYSELF INSTEAD. Because email doesn’t need your skin and blood to know you’re serious. And I appreciate that.

Here are some that inspire me whenever the funk gets me in a fog.

Pressure makes diamonds. –overheard in a conversation.

It’s not how smart you are; it’s how hard you work. –my wise, wise husband, Saad.

Don’t say it’s impossible or that it won’t work out. To think that way is to deny God’s Infinitely Powerful ability to do anything. If He Wishes, He will part seas, split moons, all for you. If you want something, ask  for it. After you ask for it–Believe. –a speaker of truth and friend, Basmah.

Take a deep breath, do your best, and leave the rest (to God). ((or not if that’s not your thing…still rhymes!)) –something I say to myself, from…myself.

Change your entire mindset- studying should be something you want to do, not have to do. Believe this and life becomes much, much easier. –medschooladvice

The single more valuable trait in a medical trainee: Persistence despite failure. –Medical Axioms

The price of discipline is always less than the pain of regret. – Don’t remember where I read/heard this.

Don’t believe in success. Rather than that, believe in the amount of your effort and passion. If you try hard enough that you won’t regret it later, success will come along as a result of that. –Seungri, a Korean pop star from BigBang (Don’t judge me; his words can be applied to anything in life).

What quotes/phrases speak to you?