THE REAPING (...AKA MATCH DAY)

Match Day. It's a 50-year-old tradition that defines the transition between being just another person and a doctor. (Yes, hint of sarcasm, because it's downright crazy that one day you're nothing and the next day you're an M.D.)  I'd been planning on doing a short piece about the nuts and bolts of the Match (and a few personal opinions and grievances) and had an epiphany in the shower. (TMI, sorry!)

Forgive me for the frequent references to the Hunger Games when trying to describe medical school- it has just been such a great analogy.  If you haven't read it, shame on you. You won't get most of these references. And seeing the first movie doesn't count; it didn't do the book justice.

HOW THE RESIDENCY MATCH IS BASICALLY THE HUNGER GAMES' REAPING

• The reaping (Match) is an annual event that takes place in each district (medical school)
• Tributes (med students) are selected in a drawing hosted by the governing body (the NRMP, the company that punches in all the names into a computer and magically makes matches; also, names are literally drawn one at a time to go up on stage and find out your fate)
• The more entries one has, the more likely they are to be selected (in HG, by age, as opposed to the number of interviews a student decides to accept)
• The events are televised and are designed to be a spectacle for the higher powers (med students have to dress up in costumes)
• When selected the tributes (med students) must go up on stage for further humiliation, to accept their fate (in HG, likely dying, in residency, 3-6 years of torture)

I think my biggest beef with the actual day itself at my school is how it's handled (most schools allow all students to open their letter at the same time). At my school, there's a bunch of pomp and circumstance which culminates with each of the 160 students going up on stage and opening his or her letter. An auditorium of a thousand people watched my not-so-enthused expression of resignation when I got my second choice. And then I had to lean forward, look at the audience with the beginnings of a tear in my eye, and announce that I wasn't good enough for my first choice.  (Ok, only like 50 people probably knew.) 

The day is overwhelmingly anxiety-provoking. Everyone in the audience chuckles as students' trembling hands are unable to tear open the envelope. Oh, and my school picks a theme each year- ours was Ides of March, as it was on March 15- a lame excuse for a frat-worthy toga party. So most of my classmates walked across the stage wearing a sheet.

The biggest disappointment with not getting my first choice was that the program had led me to believe I had a great shot at matching there. (Some logistics: students make a "rank list" of all the programs they interviewed at, starting with the one they liked best; programs make a similar rank list of students, then a computer uses some crazy algorithm to match people to programs. It's made to favor the student- if a student puts a program first, and the program ranked them highly, they should match.)  I was told by a lot of people that if I got an interview invitation that I'd passed their application screen (even with my poor board score), and that pretty much they wanted to make sure you were a good fit (and not a psychopath). I fell in love with the program and had a great interview and was told that I was the perfect fit and the epitome of the kind of doctor they were looking for. And then they didn't rank me.

I know I'm in the right place; I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. But I can't help being frustrated, betrayed, and disappointed that I had let myself fall for that program, and then they played me.  But I get to stay in my beautiful city with my soon-to-be husband and life is still pretty darn good.