Comrade Barf

It starts out as one of those tiny Buddha statues meditating quietly on your stomach. Sometimes you look at it, recognizing that it will one day signal your rise out of the depths of basic medical science and entry into the bright tile and vaulted ceilings of the hospital. Throughout the first two years of medical school, you try to ignore the little man sitting on your chest, but quite suddenly you find yourself at the end of it, suffocating under the monstrosity that is a 500 pound fat man. He smiles and laughs and farts as you watch him eat donuts and chocolates and drink soda pop, blissfully unaware of the pain he is causing. You go to bed each night, heart beating a little faster, struggling to catch your breath. In the morning you get up and study, trying to deprive the fat man of his food, but it does no good. He keeps gaining weight, and with each pound gained, you feel a modicum of control slip away. “It is just a test”, you tell yourself. But it is not just a test. It is THE TEST. Of course, the teachers and the school would have you think differently. The school tries to emphasize things like compassion and ethics, all the while trying to make you “well-rounded”. But those are hard pills to swallow. Why? Because the only thing well-rounded is the fat man sitting on your chest and his name is Step.

By Barf