My recent research into first-year anatomy class in medical school—followed by my unnecessary readings about human anatomy, medical school program formats, and the like—has persuaded me I could have successfully pursued a career in medicine. I would have had to change some of my early-adulthood study practices, overcome my allergy to mathematics and chemistry, and sworn off my early college habit of binge-drinking; but had I done those things, I am confident I could have done what must be done to become a doctor. A successful one, at that.
The research (and the pursuit of interesting but unnecessary related information) came about as a result of a short story I wrote. It was far too short to be submitted for publication and it was not sufficiently meaty to warrant a second look. It had the bones I was looking for, I think, so I opted to pursue it. I’m taking a sabbatical from researching and writing it, but I expect to return to it.
But, the thing is, in doing the necessary and unnecessary research for the story, I discovered how absolutely fascinating human anatomy and medicine are to me. Who knew? I did, once, but I forgot. Now I know again.