Everyone has their own timetable

It’s been seven years since I graduated from medical school. Although seven years is by no means a short period, it feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. The feeling that time is accelerating is probably evidence of aging. Indeed, many events unfolded during that time, so it wasn’t merely a brief period.

Above all, there was a year of rest. I had frequently missed school due to multiple hospital stays in my childhood, but that was not by choice. Moreover, upon returning from the hospital, I had to catch up with the missed schoolwork. Therefore, those numerous absences from school during that period led to a sense of urgency that I shouldn’t fall behind my peers. This urgency made me strive not to be different from others.

However, the rest I took after graduation was entirely my choice. I chose to take a slower path than others, based on my own decision, not someone else’s. After that period, I realized that stepping out of the crowd wasn’t as frightening as I had imagined. Everyone has their own life’s timetable, so there’s no need to fret about why I’m falling behind others. It was an unexpected enlightenment gained from a year of rest.

After this hiatus, I applied for an internship at the hospital where I had been treated since I was a child. I hoped earnestly to be accepted but didn’t make it. Then, I decided to pursue graduate studies in pharmacology, thinking I would engage in research. However, what I experienced in grad school was quite different from what I had anticipated. The papers, which were the beginning and the end of the work at grad school, seemed more for the professors writing them than for the patients. Yet, I lacked the courage to leave grad school immediately. Only after spending three years did I finally leave. Now I can laugh about it, but it was a time when nothing seemed to work out for me.

Nevertheless, my time in grad school wasn’t entirely meaningless because I discovered a new path. It was a comprehensive and organic system that allows patients to receive medical help from doctors anytime and anywhere, known today as telemedicine. To me, telemedicine was not just a new form of medical service. Considering that medicine is about healing those who are ill, I believed that telemedicine, which allows patients to receive care comfortably without the constraints of time and space, was the most faithful technology to the essence of medicine.

But at the time, it was merely a conceptual idea, not yet introduced to the world. If someone were to start creating telemedicine, I wanted to contribute, even if in a small way.

So, I did what I could. With the goal of connecting patients and doctors over the Internet, I started a company. As I saw more people around me using smartphones, I immediately connected patients and doctors through smartphones. Anyone curious about their health could ask nearby doctors questions and receive answers through their smartphones in their hands.

However, as time passed, the direction drifted slightly from what I initially envisioned. The doctors and patients I connected were only discussing treatments that were, so to speak, ‘profitable’, such as cosmetic procedures. The company made money, but I was not happy. The work I was doing could be done by someone who wasn’t a doctor.

In contrast, when I met with my classmates who graduated with me and talked to them, they were meeting sick people in the clinic and providing practical help. It was a stark contrast to me. I hadn’t contributed to saving someone’s life. I was just circling around in ancillary areas, not directly saving lives.

That didn’t mean I thought the idea of remotely connecting patients and doctors was wrong. It was just that my capabilities were not yet sufficient for the task. I reflected on what I lacked. Then, I saw two things: ‘clinical experience’ and ‘systematic organization.’ So, I decided that I needed to see patients in person for clinical experience. That’s why I decided to start hospital training, even at a somewhat older age.

I applied for an intern doctor position at a public hospital in Seoul when I turned 33. By the way, at that time, I didn’t even tell my parents I was applying to the hospital. Of course, it’s funny to report every job decision to one’s parents after turning thirty. However, since I was still unmarried and living with my parents at the time, it wouldn’t have been strange to inform them about applying to the hospital, seeing them every morning and evening. The reason I didn’t tell my parents in advance was that I thought it would be quite embarrassing if I failed, even though they are family.

The competition was fierce, but fortunately, I received a notification of acceptance. However, after being accepted, a new worry arose: my age. I had been prepared for this since I applied, but I worried whether being in my mid-30s made me too old among the interns. Normally, if you enter medical school at 20 and graduate in 6 years, you become a doctor at 26. Even considering military service for male doctors, they usually start training before turning 30. At my age of 33, many have already become specialists.

Suddenly, I remembered a senior from my medical school days. There was a senior who was about 5 years older than my classmates who had climbed up without a break since admission, taking classes in the same room. My classmates tried to give that senior every opportunity to mingle with us respectfully, and the senior, having ended up in the same classroom, tried to get along with the juniors. However, as time went on, the senior drifted apart from us like oil and water. Although it’s hard to compare school with a workplace, it was true that I was worried about being perceived like that senior among the interns I started with.

But what I later learned at the intern orientation completely alleviated my worries. The average age of the 22 doctors selected as interns along with me was exactly 33. It’s funny how the human mind works; knowing this fact made me feel so at ease. Although nothing had actually changed, realizing that I wasn’t noticeably older in this group lightened my mood significantly.

Moreover, there were a couple of interns in their 40s among those who started with me. There were also many who, though younger than me, were starting intern training at a relatively late age. I thought I had gone through a lot of twists and turns before starting as an intern, but realizing that others might not see it that way occurred to me. Just as I would casually think ‘oh, okay’ upon seeing an older intern, others probably didn’t view me any differently.

Only after putting myself in the position of observing interns older than me did I re-learn the ordinary fact that people don’t care much about others’ affairs. As long as I’m not harming others with what I do, there’s no reason to be overly concerned about how I’m perceived. Especially when it comes to aging, a process everyone goes through, even more so. Even if others do pay attention, whether I’m affected by it is entirely up to me.

In some ways, it reminds me of passport photos. People don’t pay close attention to whether someone else’s passport photo turned out well. Only I notice the difference in size between my left and right eyes in my passport photo. But if I’m not satisfied with my passport photo, then it’s time to take a new one. I can’t use someone else’s passport photo in place of mine. That’s why it’s pointless to apply others’ timetables to my life.

People have their own life’s timetables. There’s no reason to compare them with others, nor is it possible. There’s no need to be anxious if it’s late, nor to be proud if it’s early. I became a doctor in my 20s and a graduate student. In my 30s, I became the CEO of a startup with 12 employees. Then, I was facing the life of an intern doctor, the lowest rank in a hospital.

At every stage of life, I was conscious of where someone I knew might be. Then, when I belatedly entered intern training, I saw those who were even older than me sitting next to me. Only then did I finally realize how futile it is to compare life’s timetables. At 33, I started intern training at a public hospital in Seoul, writing my own unique life’s timetable.