Drumming my fingers distractedly, my mind wandered as I flipped through pages of notes from my first week of the heme system. A knock at the door startled me out of my stupor. I immediately tore into the mail my roommate handed me. She left, closing the door behind her. Savoring the distraction, I opened the last piece of mail with relish. This envelope held a plastic card, which I held up and examined with pride.

Suddenly I jumped up from my desk and strode purposefully across my bedroom. I knelt over an imaginary hemorrhaging patient, and flashed my new card. "California Medical Association Member, Sir. Please don't panic, I'm a physician." The mail had just delivered my official CMA membership card. Inspecting the card, I realized that it didn't give me away as only a puny first year medical student. Rather, it declared me as a full member. This gave me a sudden surge of power and responsibility. I was legitimately part of the group Californians trusted with their lives. Still hovering over my bloody patient, I also realized it was a darn good thing he was imaginary. I had no idea what to do for him! I had meticulously memorized all the factors of the coagulation pathway, but I doubted reciting that would help this guy much. I knew that he was bleeding much more than he should be, but did that mean his platelets were low? Or maybe his platelets were fine and he just needed vitamin K? Or maybe I didn't actually know what I was talking about? My dying patient looked up at me sadly as he faded from my imagination. Silently, I promised him it was only a temporary death: I'd be back in a few years.

Standing up, I tucked my CMA card safely into my wallet, returned to my desk, and with renewed resolve, dug into a fresh stack of notes.

Julia is a member of the Class of 2009