Not just a degree: A damn Rebirth (a story told by the two docs I love the most in this world)

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I grew up hearing stories most kids didn’t.

Stories about broken stretchers, hospital calls in the middle of dinner, newborns saved in the nick of time, and night shifts that made my parents forget what the sun looked like.

My mom’s a pediatrician. My dad’s a dermatologist. I’ve seen white coats hung beside schoolbags. Heard case studies over breakfast. Smelled antiseptic before I knew what it was.

But now—it'll be my turn.

And I wondered: will MBBS at places like AIIMS or JIPMER be the life I’ve dreamed of?
Spoiler alert: it won’t.
It’ll be worse.
And it’ll be so much better.
IT GOES ON LIKE THIS............ 

The War Begins: Year One

You walk in like the main character—aced NEET, carrying dreams and dopamine. Until reality slaps.

Anatomy doesn’t care about your passion. Biochem laughs at your confidence. You’re suddenly in a hall with cadavers, trembling fingers, and the realisation that you're not a topper anymore—you’re everyone.

The nights get long. Sleep is a luxury. Mental breakdowns become routine. There’s a moment when you’ll sit with your face buried in a textbook, wondering if this was a mistake.

But then—you pass your first viva. Touch your first real heart (literally). Answer a question in class without stuttering.

The white coat starts to fit.

The Burnout and the Becoming

Second and third year are a different kind of war. You’re still studying endlessly—patho, micro, pharm—but now the hospital begins to open up to you.

You step into your first clinical posting, stethoscope swinging, legs shaking. A patient calls you “doctor.” You panic, glance at your batchmate, then fumble through vitals like a half-trained nurse.

But each day, you get bolder. Louder. Realer.

You see birth. You see death. You learn how to talk to people on their worst days. You learn when to be soft, when to be stern, and when to simply shut up and listen.

You also learn how to:

  • Sleep with your ID card still around your neck.

  • Diagnose dengue and heartbreak with equal accuracy.

  • Laugh so hard in the mess that the warden thinks you’re drunk.

Before It All—The People and Places I’ll Leave Behind

Before hostel corridors and hospital wards, there’s this quiet little world I’m still in.

It’s not loud, not dramatic—just a few close people who get me. The ones I’ve laughed with in between classes, the ones I've loved the most deeply, solved MCQs beside, sat in silence with when the pressure got too much. We don’t always say it, but the bond’s deep. Leaving them? It’ll sting in quiet ways—when I reach for my phone and remember they’re not two benches away anymore.

And beyond them… it’s the teachers. The ones who saw my breakdowns, my burnt-out silence, my little wins. Who cheered for me even when I didn’t raise my hand. I’ll miss their scoldings, their handwritten notes, their belief in a future I haven’t fully stepped into yet.

And above all—it’s home. The messy desk. The kitchen light at midnight. The smell of my mum’s food. My dad’s half-sleepy advice. The way my room feels when rain hits the window.

No hospital, no hostel, no fest will ever replace this.

But they’ll help me carry it—like a map inked into my bones—wherever I go.

The Hostel Mess Is Home

The hostel is a parallel universe.
Your mattress is half books, half blanket.
Your mirror has more sticky notes than your diary.
You live on chai (coffee for me LOL) and chaos.

There are late-night jamming sessions. Secret birthdays with smuggled cake. Crush confessions whispered in the staircase. Crying while braiding your bestie's hair because she’s failing anatomy again.

You fight with roommates and make up five minutes later. You lend notes. You steal chargers. You survive on each other.

No luxury. No filters. Just raw, real, unhinged friendship.

PULSE and Medico Madness

Fests like PULSE at AIIMS? Oh. My. God. Basically Coachella of Medicine. 

It’s where every medico drops their books and picks up their personality.
Dance competitions, neon paint, K-pop covers, intercollege rap battles.
People confess feelings they shouldn’t. Kiss people they barely know. And still wake up for 8 AM classes the next day.

You’ll wear a kurta for the cultural night and a lab coat the next morning. You’ll lose your voice screaming for your squad and feel alive in ways studying never gave you.

And sometimes, you'll meet people—random strangers from another med school—who just get you. Who ask your name once but leave permanent tattoos on your memories.

Conferences & Travel: The Medico Adventure Arc

You’ll hop trains and buses for medical conferences.
Sometimes to present your research.
Sometimes just to escape the monotony of your city.

You’ll share rooms with four other girls. Sleep on mattresses thinner than your patience. Attend seminars in your formals and dance the night away in your roommate’s hoodie.

You’ll fall asleep in lecture halls and wake up to applause, pretending you heard everything.

But you’ll leave with more than certificates:

  • Memories made in roadside dhabas.

  • Deep talks under hostel stairwells in a new city.

  • A growing belief that you belong in this world of medicine, chaos, and curiosity.

The People You’ll Never Forget

You’ll meet:

  • That senior who scares you but ends up teaching you more than any textbook.

  • The junior who calls you “didi” and reminds you why you started.

  • The boy who flirts during patho practicals and breaks your heart during internship.

  • The girl who brings you coffee on exam day and holds you like home.

Not all friendships or relationships will last. But the ones that do?
They’ll walk with you from your first viva to your final posting.
From shared notes… to shared night shifts.

The Hard Truth

It’s not all glory.

You’ll miss weddings. Festivals. Your cousin’s first birthday. Your best friend’s breakup.
You’ll sit alone in a hospital stairwell and wish your mom was there.
You’ll cry over a mistake.
You’ll face professors who break you and patients who don’t trust you.
You’ll get screamed at, judged, underestimated.

But you’ll also:

  • Save a life.

  • Hold a new mother’s hand.

  • Spot something others missed.

  • Make your parents look at you with that unspoken pride in their eyes.

You, Daughter of Two Doctors

You won’t be a photocopy of them.
You’ll be your own blueprint.

You’ll carry their legacy—but you’ll build something bigger.

And one day, you’ll come home after a 24-hour shift, throw your steth on the bed, look at your old self in the mirror and say:

“I did it. I made it. Not just through med school—but through my own rebirth.”

This isn’t a career. It’s a storm. My take two. 

And I'm about to become the lightning.

Earn that white coat.
Mess it up.
Make it mine.
Because medicine won’t just teach me to save lives—

It’ll teach me to live one hell of my own.



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