The road to becoming a doctor has been testing my patience since the day I submitted my application — so much so that I’ve had stress-induced acne blowups, I’ve been diligently checking my spam folder the first time in my life, and I’ve had my Blackberry with me at all times like my life depended on it so that I don’t miss any calls or can check my email whenever I want. And while I do count myself extremely lucky to have gotten an acceptance, I still have roughly 2 weeks to hear back from the 4 schools I’m waitlisted at.

Waiting is not exactly my strongest point.

I’ve slowly been losing hope at getting off my waitlists as June 15th creeps closer, so out of desperation I recently sent out a letter that goes a little something like this to my top choice school:

To the Committee of Admissions:

Your school is so badass that I want to learn doctor-ly things from you. Please, please, please, please accept me off your waitlist. I am so desperate to be accepted that I would so eat a poop hot-dog to be part of your entering class. (I think.)

Tamisa

I’m not sure if this will help me at all (knowing my luck, probably not), but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. In the meantime, I’ll return to making wishes on eyelashes and every time I happen to see 11:11 on my clock.

I’m slowly preparing myself for the one I’ve been accepted to, however, and medical school seems more and more real. Up until now, it seems like it’s only been a figment of my imagination that I’ve been accepted somewhere — I’ve been telling friends and family that I’m going to become a doctor post-college, but I’ve never truly believed or felt it. If that makes sense at all…but seeing my bank statements indicating that I’m $130 poorer from a campus parking permit and RSVP-ing for my white coat ceremony makes it more concrete. THIS IS SO SCARY, GUYS.