Interpreting Your Reviews

Abstract

I remember all too well sitting in a large lecture hall in college, anxiously awaiting my midterm exam to be returned. The teaching assistants would gradually wend their way through the classroom, my heart beating ever more strongly. And then one would approach and place the exam face down on the little table that extended from the arm of my lecture room chair. There it lay: several seemingly innocuous pages of paper stapled together. Before daring to turn it over, I would try to read the assistant’s facial expression. Was it stone cold? Was there a hint of a smile? Did they just slightly nod their head in silent approval? And I, taking in a deep breath, usually without another moment’s hesitation, desperately wanting to end the misery as quickly as possible, would flip over the document and read the red scrawl. When an A was bestowed, a sense of jubilation immediately erupted within me. To have achieved such greatness! I was brilliant, the best! But when it was a C, my heart sank and I could feel this sudden warmth of shame immediately envelop me. I was an idiot, a goofball. What in the world gave me the right to even think I belonged at this fine institution or even more could one day lead to a medical school acceptance and a career as a physician?