It was nine years since I graduated from college and had been a student. When I started medical school training, I knew that being in class and taking tests would be an academic challenge. I was already in culture shock because I had spent the better of my seven years overseas in a rural African community.

I questioned everything. I knew that despite these things, my most significant hurdle would be that I was a single parent with three children under six. This alone meant that life would be complicated, chaotic, and stressful. However, I knew another thing that gave me the courage to dare undertake the journey. Of all the things I had attempted to do in the past, I had never had to concede defeat. My faith in the success of doing the right thing had seen me through many battles.

I was committed and had set clear boundaries. I would not let any demands on my time breech the time dedicated to my kids. In addition, I had better support from a loving family and classmates than I could have dreamed of. So, encouraged by high MCAT scores despite my long time away from academics, I dived in.

I cannot deny that it was very hard. But, I did okay with much praying and more studying than I ever thought possible. My kids thrived in our new life back in the states. They loved being around their cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandma. We were all learning.

In the first half of my second year, one of my professors showed with snide remarks and facial expressions that he did not think I belonged in medical school, especially not in his class. So it would happen that during finals week, the final in this professor’s class fell on the morning after my youngest child’s school Christmas program.

My baby boy had the role of the red-nosed reindeer. We practiced learning his part and dressing in his costume all week long. We were at the school auditorium early that evening, as requested. I was so proud of him as he performed flawlessly. Unfortunately, getting baths and bedtime stories made it a late night when we returned home. It was too late, and I was too tired to benefit from any study.

There had been other finals during this period as well. So, I don’t need to tell you; I wasn’t feeling very confident when I sat down to take the test at 8 am. There had been inadequate studying during the week and none the previous night. So, I wasn’t surprised to receive an invitation to report to the professor’s office two days later.

The professor gleefully announced that we had failed to pass his test to the group of four students who had not died (I had gotten a D). He continued that a grade of B or better was required to pass with the normal retest. He also reminded us that failing to pass this exam would mean much more than having to repeat his class. In medical school, the types were all linked by year. Thus, we would have to repeat the entire year. In addition to going through all the classes again, we would sit out the next semester. This would prevent us from graduating with our class. We could tell how happy he was to give this news; it was more demoralizing than it had to be.

We were so angry and afraid of failure we decided to study together to ensure we would all pass. We were determined to show him that we could win this battle. So, with seven days remaining, we studied night and day. When we took the test, it was more challenging than the actual exam had been and quite unsettling. We waited in the somberness of the reception room outside the professor’s office for our results. No one spoke, hesitant to talk about self-doubt or fear of failure and trying to think positively.

When the office door opened, the professor was visibly angry as he wordlessly motioned for us to file in. Then, closing the door, he immediately berated us for wasting his time. He explained that each of us had gotten a high score. He told us he was tempted to say that we had cheated and obtained a copy of the test beforehand. But he had proudly told his department chair this morning as he passed him in the hall that he had prevented this from happening. Furthermore, he had typed the test questions earlier that same morning himself.

He had to admit that we performed exceptionally well despite everything. He angrily asked me if I could achieve so well and why I had not done so for the exam. I don’t know why I thought it would help him understand and calm down. I told him the truth about the Christmas program and my child’s importance in my life. He became more enraged and yelled at me that nothing was more important than learning medicine. He added that if I did not get my priorities straight, I would never succeed as a good doctor. I was too shocked and tired to say anything at that time.

Years later, facing complex situations and questioning if I really should continue or not, I remembered that day and what that professor said. I can tell whomever I’m facing that I have succeeded for many years as a good doctor. I have proven this to myself and anyone wanting to look at and listen to my story. I got my priorities straight years ago when I decided that learning medicine was essential to me.

Yes, and there are still some things more important than learning medicine.