Don't stop believing

The letter - unopened.

You know that cliche - looks are deceiving? It's totally true. Because to anyone not in medicine or related to anyone in medicine, it's just a simple white standard letter-holding envelope. No special emblem. No fancy wax seal. Nothing. Not even a sticker.

Yet, there I was. Trembling and shaking and unable to form words. All because that simple-appearing envelope held the culmination of everything I have worked for in the last ten years.

Where was I going to end up for residency? That envelope held the answer. My future, quite literally, was in my hands.

I had nightmared about this moment. Had night terrors about opening that envelope and seeing my last choice, or worse yet, scrambling into a program in the middle of nowhere. Despaired that I was going to have to start this brand new chapter of my life without friends and family to guide me along. Worried that I had put non-California programs too high up on my rank list. After all, what's prestige when you're all alone, with nothing but snow to comfort you?

ME

No matter what it says, I need you to be really excited for me.

MARTIN

Of course! 

ME

No seriously. Even if it doesn't say USC, I still need you to be super enthusiastic. And that whatever program I end up at was my number one choice.

MARTIN

I'm gonna start yelling that you got your first choice as soon as you start opening your envelope. Loma Linda? Yayayayayayayayayayayayayaya - you got your number one spot! Arizona? Wooooooo!!! TOP CHOICE!!

ME

Actually, don't say that if it says Arizona or Mayo or Lutheran...........because let's face it. If I end up there, I'm going to be really disappointed.

MARTIN

In that case, I will yell out instead -- Mayo Clinic! YEAH you're gonna be a psychiatrist!!

The truth of the matter is, I wanted my first choice so badly. So badly I had refused to let myself even entertain it as a possibility. And now, here we were. Minutes away from finding out. Seconds away from knowing where I would be training.

I held that envelope in my hands, fingers shaking visibly. The deans started saying something over the loudspeaker, and even though others around me were laughing at their jokes and pranks, I didn't hear a word they said. I was so nervous. And then, the countdown started.

Five.

I thought my heart was already beating quickly, but now it started pounding.

Four.

I felt Martin rub my back.

Three.

This is it. 

Two.

Oh my god, this is really it.

One. 

Go.

My fingers started ripping through the envelope, fumbling with the seal. I had opened a million letters, yet for some odd reason, I could not open this one for the life of me. People around me started yelling and screaming and jumping up and down. And there I was, trying desperately to get to the letter. Panicking, I tore it open.

I opened the first flap. All my identifying information. Name. School. AAMC ID. USMLE ID. And then, more white space.

The answer was just a page flip away.

I looked at Martin, who was gripping my side so hard, I woke up the next day with a possible rib fracture. Ready? I asked as our eyes met. He nodded.

Taking a deep breath, and telling myself that I would be happy no matter where I ended up, I opened up my letter. And there it was.

I started shaking uncontrollably, speechless and totally shocked. And before I could react, I was up in the air -- Martin had picked me up and was swinging me around the room, yelling at the top of his lungs. I started shouting too, as my eyes filled with happy tears.

I did it. Holy cow.

I'm coming home.

And I haven't been able to wipe this silly smile off my face since Thursday.