The stinging starts. It clambers to be brought up into the surface. An inhale stops it from occurring. But the act of inhaling cannot seem to stop the deep throbbing ache that is the product of fear, worry, and want.
“Lord,” the inner self-cried. “I so bloody want to pass.”
It takes a while to figure out the next sentences to this passage. Words were flowing but hardly coherent. The understanding that this is how medical school works is repetitive inside. But then, the question “have I studied enough?” is inappropriate for the setting. Rather, it’s “will I be a disappointment to my mother?” that springs forth.
“Lord, it is only You who knew of our every hearts, of what we are trying to achieve.”
However, let us not forget, hope springs eternal.