Medical school is finally over.
Sure Justin is still working on his paper, but it has already been submitted for the necessary credit, he's just at this stage of finishing up some more research and getting it published (above and beyond the necessary, but why not since the research is that significant?).
I am so glad the class celebrated their success a month ago when they were finished with their last rotation (save a few gluttons for punishment). No one cares now, except the families.
Most of the students, at least the ones we know, are looking at this graduation as a long and final three hours sitting-as-required and listening-as-required.
Justin, who dreads being the center of attention and looks forward to these events with the anxiety of a shy kid going to the first day of kindergarten, is all funky about it. I keep telling him I'll do all the arrangements, that it is my graduation. And I adore being the center of attention.
Besides, medical school kicked my ass and I am so happy to graduate from it. All those late nights. All those pep talks before a test or a new rotation. All those parties where the people spoke a different language and I learned some new words and some medical procedures from the insiders point of view. Not to mention our mutual survival of me--the second elective wives club woman--who got so sick and financially unsupportive in the midst of it all.
I am graduating from medical school. It's an event for the families to celebrate. And I will be celebrated. With a toast to Justin.
Thank God it's almost over. A month after the work ends the idea of graduation loses its luster.