The Lottery

I’ve never gambled in my life. Of course there have been those rebellious quarters that somehow slipped their way into the Vegas slots, and the oh-so-daring girls’ camp 3am poker rendezvous. But really, I’ve never gambled—unless you count medical school.

This morning when the husband left he told me that he was going to be home late. Why? He and a few of his boyz planned to “put in for the lottery” that evening. I’m not really even sure what occurred at this event. Perhaps it was a rowdy Mormon muster complete with caffeinated beverages, ESPN and chip dip. But I doubt it.

They were probably huddled on the couches of a cinder-block student apartment, commiserating about getting “pimped” for information by pompous physicians. I’m sure they were strategizing their medical game plans, sweating over which combination of away rotations, research stints and clinical experience will put their best foot forward come residency interview season (only 9 months away). I’m sure it was nothing like gambling.

“Putting in for the lottery” is merely a phrase devised to make medical school’s subjection systems seem fun and exciting. I guess there is an element of self-direction in there somewhere: the husband gets to prioritize the combination of required months we spend paying thousands of dollars we don’t have to beat his brains over impressing the un-impressables. But even then, nothing is guaranteed. Even if you work as hard as you can, achieving the best scores possible, performing perfectly for every person salivating with fangs bared to rip you apart—even if you do well, no one can promise you that you’ll be offered a position in your dream job.

No, medical school is not like the lottery. It’s more like a raffle (the lottery’s Mormon counterpart). We’re not spending thousands of dollars buying tickets to win an undisclosed sum of money. We are spending thousands of dollars buying tickets to win back the intricate, hand-stitched quilt we spent thousands of hours perfecting.

I’m really glad the husband has a good poker face. He’s under a lot of stress right now as he plots out, prepares for and prays about our future. I can see the pressure building up in his eyes (as well as the pain) as we discuss the months he will be gone during the upcoming year. I probably don’t help all that much. With every mention of his away rotations I know the words “I can’t do anything without you” flash across the lines in my forehead, even though the words that come out of my mouth make me sound like a brave, strong momma.

I’m sure a lot of jobs are like this. I know there are a lot of moments in life like this, when you can’t just fold under the pressure of the unknown. I know we’ll have to lay all of our cards out on the table for this one, and I know that it will be worth it. Everything we do together, with God is worth it—even (and especially) gambling with the future.

So, bring it on. Deal the cards. Let’s see what we have to work with. After all, betting on the husband is a pretty safe bet indeed.