Repost of a post I wrote for the Global Health Diaries, the blog of the Global Health Program at the University of Vermont Robert Larner M.D. College of Medicine and the Western Connecticut Health Network. Find the original post here.

When I joined the Peace Corps in Paraguay, we had two mantras: resilience and flexibility. Those words would take on an infinite number of meanings during my service. Spending twenty-seven months living and working in a new language and culture challenged me more than anything ever had. It also allowed me to forge some of the deepest friendships I’ve cultivated, and it pushed me to become a better self. 

Resilience is a word tossed around frequently in medical school, just as in the Peace Corps. The two endeavors have in common a series of obstacles to hurdle. However, “flexibility” faded from my vocabulary when I became a medical student. I first brushed the word aside when I began my premed classes, for which I measured exact amounts in my science labs. As I entered medical school, each minute became precious and tests with multiple choice answers almost erased the idea of flexibility from my mind. Then, COVID-19 arrived. School moved entirely online and everything that had been normal for medical school became a memory of the good old days. 

It’s been about nine months since my classes went online. My friends who work in the emergency department, where I worked before medical school, look tired. Their faces are chapped from wearing masks and face shields. They haven’t been able to see their coworkers’ facial expressions since the pandemic began. My classmates and professors look tired too, on Zoom. My parents, siblings, and friends also look weary when we chat on WhatsApp. These past nine months have been nothing but a test in both resilience and flexibility. 

Resilience is defined in many ways, but I think of it as the ability to endure and still find joy in the little things of life. This past Thanksgiving, I was cheered to see the Zoom collages of families and atypical feasts a Thanksgiving without travel cultivated. I’ve been amazed at how well Zoom can connect us for classes and how easy it makes project planning. While I miss my classmates’ physical presence, I don’t feel disconnected from them because I know they are in their homes studying for classes and STEP (first medical board exam for medical students) just as I am. What’s more is that we can Facetime or WhatsApp at any time. When time is scarce, video calls do afford the benefit of decreased travel time. 

I am surprised to see how flexible medicine can be. Physicians are finding ways to deliver healthcare to their communities even with COVID-19 limiting their options. Those physicians in global health have had the unique opportunity to look at home with a new eye and explore how global health is not only going to different countries but, also, working with communities of new arrivals in their own country. The rise of Zoom has also opened a door for students and physicians across the globe to share ideas and have conversations we might not have had before COVID-19 limited our ability to travel. 

As we look forward to global news that a vaccine to COVID-19 may become available relatively soon, I dream to start my clinical years on time and physically in the hospital. 

Even with the good news, however, I know that we cannot easily predict what will happen in March when my clinicals start. The expectations I have for clinicals, therefore, are largely from watching the students who started their clinicals last spring because they showed that despite setbacks, medicinal learning can adapt to the ongoing challenges of a global pandemic. And while my colleagues, friends, and family look exhausted after these months of weathering the COVID-19 storm, I see the power of their resilience and I am grateful to remember that the adventure of life requires flexibility as it unfolds. As I transition from the primarily academic to the more clinically-focused years of my medical training, remembering flexibility is important.