A Letter to my Classmates | The valedictorian speech I would've loved to say...
Good afternoon to the Dean, Deputy Dean, Chairperson, Members of staff, specially invited guests, parents, guardians, spouses, and finally, the graduates of the Classes of 2024 and 2023. I am aware that there might be peers beyond these years, and we celebrate you nonetheless.
It would be remiss of me not to acknowledge God first and foremost for the ability to stand before you today, greeting you not as a student body but as a congregation of colleagues, young professionals, and newly minted doctors. Standing here, I see the result of five years of sacrifices—more for some—to arrive at this moment. We all know it hasn’t been smooth sailing, and many times we found ourselves in uncharted waters. Thankfully, we had people like N.M., K.B., T.G., and S.M. who embraced the responsibility of being a voice and representation for us to the staff. They, too, faced challenges but served selflessly once given the mantle.
We often joke about how our group seemed to be the guinea pigs; there always seemed to be something new during our student experience. Permit me to take a walk down memory lane—consider this a trigger warning for PTSD. We started with FMS Fest back in September 2019, the natural progression of the UWI Med life experience. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we filled Amphitheater A (Amphi A) at the start of the semester. It was during Semester 1 that I learned why, if you were running late for a certain lecturer, upper-class peers advised staying away from the amphitheater (cough, cough, he’s the person you go to if you pick up an abnormal blood smear). Before we knew it, it was time for our first spotter, and we couldn’t have been more anxious. However, some of my colleagues would agree that a good game of fours could help with any pre- or post-exam jitters. They might also say that a cold one at Urban is exactly what Dr. Harry would recommend when he jokes about Liver Function Tests (LFTs) on a Friday.
Regardless of how you spent your Thursday afternoons—whether at IVCF (like me), Rotaract Club, Leadership Council, etc.—there were many opportunities to form community and embrace the aspects of university life that you enjoyed, which challenged your ability to reach out and serve others.
It was mid-term of Semester 2 when the pandemic became a reality, and the dynamics of our journey changed yet again. Navigating the online hiccups and transitioning to "Corona University" was a steep learning curve—a sentiment I’ve heard expressed by lecturers as well. But we survived—both the pandemic and this degree. I could spend all day describing how online lectures, problem-based learning (PBL) sessions, and skills training went. To sum up the experience: either you thrived on the convenience of being home, taking naps in class (only to wake up and find yourself alone in the Blackboard Collaborate Room), or enjoyed the lack of pressure during PBL sessions with multiple screens open. Not having to pick an outfit, sit in traffic, or find a parking spot was pure bliss.
Alternatively, being confined to your house with your loving family (no sarcasm—or maybe a bit), staring at a screen for more than six hours a day, with no in-person gatherings among friends, and inconsistent exam formats over time may have taken a toll on you. Despite these stresses, innovative ways to create community and find unity in the challenges presented by the pandemic emerged. This is just a glimpse of our student experience because no words can truly capture the loss and hurt brought by the pandemic. Many friends and family members succumbed to COVID-19 and its complications. Even after the pandemic, some of those who began this degree with us are no longer with us. I cannot imagine how difficult this day is for you, but I also cannot imagine how proud they would be to see you today.
Let’s skip Year 2, because honestly, my GPA is still on life support after RESP in Semester 1. The orthopods would agree that the anatomy we learned in Semester 2 has diffused out of the blood-brain barrier and is no longer with us.
In Year 3, the pathology and clinical relevance started to take root, sparking curiosity. Connections were forming, and so was the foundation of our preclinical sciences. This was also the year we truly understood that almost anything and everything could be learned on the internet. Preparing for our skills assessment without in-person skills training seems wild in retrospect, but we did it, thanks to YouTube, Geeky Medics, and, of course, the skills lab. Let’s not forget the old reliable, McCleod’s. In the end, we were competent enough to head to the wards in Year 4.
It’s hard to describe Years 4 and 5 as anything other than a family affair. There were times when things were going well, other times when we were angry with each other; there were laughs, shared trauma, and even road trips to the Southland. Memories were made, tears were shed, and shots were taken (in every sense). We persevered and came out victorious—tried and true, like pure gold, sharper and better. We walked away with stories but, more importantly, with bonds that transcend time and circumstances. We survived new exam formats, mock exams, and final MBBS. Truly, it wasn’t an easy feat, but it is now the first of many to come in our careers.
I would like to take this opportunity to implore the next generation of doctors in this room. While it seems like we have far to go—and we do—it is of great importance that we recognize the system we are about to be plunged into. It’s a system we’ve been exposed to as students over the last two years, one whose pitfalls we’ve seen, and one we’ve occasionally been told to escape. But I urge you not to become the very system you once scorned. It’s said that one person cannot change the system alone, but can you imagine what over 200 people could do if they resolved not to give in?
I recently attended a conference where a seasoned and acclaimed professor pleaded with the audience to treat their patients with love—to ground every interaction in love. He explored the difference it made in survival versus survivorship, but imagine the difference it would make in day-to-day interactions and outcomes. Yes, as students, we know that some patients are difficult, but today, I ask that we extend grace: lovingly inform and advise, lovingly treat, and lovingly outline boundaries. In essence, do everything in love.
We have the unique opportunity to add to the solution or perpetuate the problem. So, I urge each of you to choose each day which side of the equation you will represent. In the words of Virgil, “Go forth as a conqueror and win great victories.” Great victories look like showing up daily, maintaining your integrity, extending grace in your interactions, and demonstrating tangible love to all those you are called to serve. It’s a series of small decisions that create big impacts in the lives of those they touch.
So again, graduates of MBBS 2024, “Go forth as conquerors and win great victories.” May God guide and keep you along the journey of your career, wherever it may take you. May you never question the impact you have on the health of your patients. You have worked so hard to get to this point—do not doubt your ability now. Ask for help when needed. Admit fault where applicable. But keep going, and learn from every patient and every situation. Congratulations on coming this far—there is still far to go, but do not be discouraged.
God bless, and thank you for listening (or reading, in this case lol).
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