the husband. my better half. my main squeeze. (You will inevitably see me refer to John by all of these titles.)
Oh man, where do I begin? I know it’s in the whole wife job description to love your husband and think he’s the shit and everything but, seriously, my husband is one great kid. Hardly a kid, I guess–we celebrated his 30th this April–but he still has the energy (and attention span) of a four-year-old. But I digress…
In a blog about med school, it would be shameful to not devote one of my first entries to my darling husband, who really is the driving force behind the get-anna-into-and-through-med-school campaign. He’s a doctor himself, a third-year (chief…had to throw that in, I’m pretty proud) resident in emergency medicine, and he loves music, literature, pears, long runs, morning lattes, camping, pick-up basketball, gadgets, stories that depict struggle and end well, and a thick wood table topped with home cookin’ and surrounded by loved ones. He laughs often (and makes me feel hilarious…all the time) and explosively. He’s a total snob when it comes to espresso and olive oil. He fixes my computer, and all the other things I break. He loves to cook (and yes, ladies, he’s definitely taken) and write and ask questions, then publish a paper with the answers. I don’t know how he does everything he does while being a doctor, and a damn good one. Patients and colleagues love him. John’s kind, compassionate, intelligent, well-spoken, patient-focused, and fast. He is my inspiration for pursuing a medical degree.
But enough mushy stuff, I can’t cram it all in, and I’m sure you don’t want to read it. I’ll leave with a quick anecdote:
Saturday, a week ago, John didn’t just drop me off in Philly. He dropped me off, and then proceeded to go around my only slightly unpacked apartment and put together/fix anything he could–a shelving unit, a desk chair, the air conditioning window unit that he bought for me after weeks of searching on craigslist. After an unanticipated extra trip to Ikea and Lowes, John wasn’t on the road to drive back to Boston until almost 11pm, and he didn’t hurry away…he let me cry and take my time saying goodbye and cursing the decision to go to Penn. It was only after I returned to my matchstick apartment, blurry-eyed from watching John drive away down South Street, that I found that he had made my bed. “A bed should be welcoming, it should make you feel good,” John said when I called a minute later.
On Tuesday, I received a big care package in the mail with him, which included my repaired backpack, d’Amico coffee, Netter’s Atlas of Human Anatomy, spices from Boston home, old mail, file folders, a binder, and more…so back-to-school-esque, med student style. Just ripping off the tape from the box was enough to send me into another fit of tears.
In the words of my father-in-law, I could do worse.
anna in med school 