In many people’s minds, being a medical doctor is the ultimate goal. Though they may not admit it (because it is un-Christianly to do so), the most coveted characteristics of a job to most people are, in no particular order, money and prestige.
I am Asian American, and in typical fashion, my parents (who immigrated to the U.S. some forty years ago) still carry within them a pragmatic, pre-professional mentality about jobs (and correspondingly, school). This, by the way, is the majority view of the rest of the world, even in Europe: liberal arts serve no practical purpose (read: make no money) so you must do something that does. When I was studying in Oxford, I had a friend from El Salvador who was a history junkie; yet, he majored in engineering. When I asked him why, he replied, “Can you imagine if I returned to El Salvador with a history degree? Everyone would say that I wasted my Oxford education! It is a nonnegotiable that I go back home with something pragmatic.” This was also the sentiment of many of my British friends.
Back to my parents: to them, the only acceptable jobs are being a doctor, lawyer, or businessman, because all three of these are (in their way of thinking) sure-fire moneymakers, which require a lot of education to achieve (which is where the prestige factors in). No matter that many lawyers are sharks, many businessmen are slimeballs, and even doctors can be corrupt. These were the “golden three” jobs. When I told them I wanted to go to seminary, they nearly lost it. My dad’s reply was, “I did not send you to Yale [where I went to college] so that you could become a pastor!” Even my mother, who is a genuine Christian, was unhappy with my decision. What finally mollified them is that I went on for a Ph.D. in theology (at Oxford, another prestigious university), so at least they could tell people that their son was a “doctor.” I hate to admit it, but some of their concern was actually very non-pragmatic: they wanted to have bragging rights among their friends.
Be that as it may, this kind of thinking filters down fairly strongly to undiscerning high school seniors, be they born of immigrant parents or not. When I went to college at Yale, I remember during my freshman year that half my freshman class was premed. HALF! And when asked why, most would reply, “I want to help people.” Pardon my French, but that is poppycock (I would use a stronger word if this were not a family-friendly website)! Well, organic chemistry was designed to separate the wheat from the chaff, and by sophomore year many had dropped their premed plans. As the years went on, other premed courses took their toll on people’s GPAs, and by senior year, finally only those who: a) were smart enough; b) persevered enough; c) were crazy enough; finally made it. With banged-up GPAs, no doubt (they probably could have pulled several points higher if they had majored in something in the humanities or social sciences), but they made it.
But wait! Those four years of agony were just the beginning. The race had yet to truly begin. Senior year of college, they were flying all over the country interviewing at schools, and they soon realized it was almost easier winning the lottery than making it into Harvard Medical School (only ONE of my friends in my graduating class at Yale made it to Harvard Med!). They discovered that getting into Harvard Med was not the issue, even just getting in anywhere was an issue! Many of my friends got accepted to only two medical schools. Some only had one choice (one of my friends, when faced with either going to a third-rate medical school or none at all, decided he’d rather go to none at all—so much for four years of premed undergrad!). And a few even faced the disappointment of getting rejected from every med school they applied to, and had to seek out new career options.
The ones who made it past this test were faced with another gauntlet: medical school itself. Two years of cutthroat class work, followed by two years of rotations, led to many sleepless nights, premature graying, and ulcers.
Once they graduate from med school, it still was not over! They must endure several years of residency (very little choice as to where they end up; they can specify preferences, but ultimately where they get “matched” is up to the computer). And they go where they are told to go. During their residency, where they learn their specialty (such as internal medicine, pediatrics, urology, surgery, etc.), though they now have the M.D. degree they are still not referred to as “doctor” but rather “intern,” they are essentially underpaid and treated as grunt labor. Every 3 or 4 days, they must pull an all-nighter at the hospital and are mistreated by both their superiors and their patients.
After they finish their residency—yep, you guessed it—there still is more. Many do a fellowship, where they further specialize (for example, if you did pediatrics, you can go on to specialize in pediatric dermatology). More years of learning and pain, and they are not fully treated as doctors until they finish!
Many people discover, along the way, that all this is overwhelming. But they can’t get off the treadmill. They’ve already invested hundreds of thousands of dollars into this, and the only way they can pay off their school debt is to become a doctor. It’s a vicious cycle. And, as many of my friends have complained, doctors don’t get paid as much as they used to, or as much as people think they do.
Frankly, I’m glad that doctors have to go through these hoops, because they are the ones who take care of our physical bodies when we need to get well. I wouldn’t want anybody who was less than dedicated or skilled to be the one to take care of me. Still, would I want to do what they went through? And would I recommend for anyone to go through this process? Only if you really, really, have a calling, and not just because you want to “help people,” nor if you’re in it for the money/prestige. Unfortunately, people start off with such naïve thinking but find themselves venturing down this inexorable path, from which they can have no retreat.
So what is the point of all this? Thank your doctor for being one of the (smart/dogged/crazy) ones who went through hell and back to become your doctor. Warn any high school senior what they might expect if they choose to travel this path. And above all, we must break ourselves of our idolatry of money and prestige. (I know some of you might be thinking that I’m a hypocrite, considering that I did a Ph.D., but you’ll just have to believe me that that wasn’t the case at all—I will share my story in a future blog).
I feel like I have unjustly picked on medical doctors. But medicine is just a case in point for larger principles. It is interesting, having attended Christian and secular educational institutions, where people tend to want to go. Students at secular institutions often seek the doctor/lawyer/businessman trajectory. Students at Christian institutions often seek a different trilogy of jobs: pastor/missionary/social worker. I would argue, however, that the motives for the Christian’s choices are akin to the secular model: instead of money and prestige, it is piety and prestige. Christians seek out being pastors, missionaries, or social workers precisely because these jobs often don’t make much money, and there is a corresponding sense of piety and sacrifice associated with it. “How holy!” people think, “that Johnny has chosen to become a missionary!”
I want to argue that a sense of calling and job satisfaction are things that people do not think enough about. Both the investment banker in New York City, and the missionary in Papua New Guinea, can be very unhappy while doing what they “ought” to be doing—either making ungodly amounts of money (but having no time to enjoy it or spend it or be with their families), or ministering in circumstances of hardship (doing it out of a sense of guilt, that they must suffer otherwise it must not be holy, even while resenting it). But do they truly love what they do, is it their vocation (from the Latin root meaning “calling”), or are they motivated by voices of this world telling them what they must do, but meanwhile hating it?
Perhaps here’s a good rule of thumb: explore the unexpected. This will keep you from unthinkingly doing what others are pressuring you to do, to be hemmed in by outside expectation. Last year when I was ministering as a college pastor at Yale, I would encourage my students to think outside the box, and choose something other than doctor, lawyer, or businessman. Now that I am a professor at Biola, I do something similar: I encourage my students to pursue a diversity of career paths and not limit themselves only to the obvious “ministry” fields.
P.S. I have many, many, friends who are doctors, so all this information is a synthesis of what I have heard from them. If any of it is incorrect, it’s because I have incorrectly interpreted what they have told me, and for that I take full responsibility.
