Interviews

Muhunthan Thillai susses out doctors to be

It was that time of year again. Would-be doctors turn up to be grilled. Usually by four chefs at a time. And all because they want to go to medical school. I went through the process four years ago. This time however I'd be playing for the opposition.

The only thing I remember about the clinical student on the panel at my interview at St Mary's in London was that she didn't say anything. She just sat there and stared at me. I remember wondering whether it was because she couldn't think of anything to say or whether it was because she'd had some sort of accident. I decided that I'd be more interactive if I ever got the chance to fill her shoes.

I spent the whole morning thinking of questions to ask. I dismissed "Why do you want to be a doctor?" as too ambiguous. "Tell me about recent advances in nanosurgery" was too hard, and "How would you change the NHS?" was too big a topic. The standard opening gambit of "How did you get here today?" was likely to lull them into a false sense of security.

I turned up at the appointed hour and was shown to an empty room with a stack of forms from the Universities and Colleges Admissions Service. I had an hour to read through the applicants' forms, and, to be truthful, they all seemed pretty good. Lots of grade As and A stars at GCSE. Lots of good grades predicted at A level. Everyone had spent three weeks in a nursing home and everyone had seen a "major" operation, which always turned out to be the removal of a cyst from someone's foot.

Two and a half minutes before the first interview, two of my fellow panel members turned up. Dr Green introduced herself, and Dr Blue just nodded. Dr Yellow, they said, would be late. Dr Blue started eating his blueberry muffin in a paper bag, and Dr Green explained the system to me. I couldn't ask any questions. I was horrified; my morning deliberating and conjugating was wasted. But I could answer any questions (some weird paradox here) as well as have an equal say in who got chosen.

It was also my job to call the first applicant in. Big Mac, as I think I'll call him, was your extreme scientific type. He wanted to be a doctor because he loved to treat disease; the microscope was his sword, and the stethoscope would be his submachine gun, he said. His summer was spent at Harvard, completing a three month project in paediatric nephrology. This guy probably knew more about medicine than any of us did.

He was calm, well spoken and confident. He would definitely pass his exams and no doubt discover some rare tropical form of river fever. But would he make a good doctor? I thought not, but as he was the first applicant, and I wanted to be nice to everyone anyway, I agreed with Dr Green and Dr Blue and gave him a thumbs up.

 
(HONEYSETT)

Next up was Whopper with extra cheese. Mr Whopper was very casual, very hip, very happening, and very "Hey I want to do medicine cause it sounds cool--know what I mean, man?" His grades were decent, but he had little in the way of work experience. His main outdoor pursuit was building up his abdominal muscles--he even volunteered to show us (honest) and asked Dr Green if she'd like to feel his abs (OK, I made that bit up). Needless to say he didn't make the grade.

Then came a few good but not outstanding candidates, all of whom were given offers. During the tea break, Dr Yellow (who had turned up by now) discussed golf with Dr Blue while Dr Green checked her mobile phone five times for voicemail. Biscuits were passed round, and we discussed the various merits of positron emission tomography scanners, none of which I pretended to understand.

After tea came Fillet o' Fish, a quiet girl from the countryside. She had the grades, a glowing reference from her school, the work experience, but what she didn't have was anything else. Her one and only hobby was reading. No sport, no music, no chess, no stamp collecting. Nothing, nada, zip.

After the interview the entire panel were split over what to do. Dr Green was very anti-Fillet: "She won't contribute anything to the medical school." Dr Blue was undecided: "She seems OK, I guess," and Dr Yellow could only muster "Mmm." I decided that I would have to fight her cause.

True, she may not play the violin or be the goalkeeper for her local football team, but she'd make a good doctor, I said. They looked at me. "Why," said Dr Blue. Because she seems very nice, she seems compassionate. You don't need a doctor who can play the violin, you need someone who will treat you and look after you when you're ill. Unfortunately my pleas fell on (comparatively) deaf ears, and Fillet o' Fish was rejected.

The last candidate was Chicken McNuggets. She was absolutely outstanding. She had the grades (11 or so A stars), she had the work experience (everything from visits to general practice to a week in surgery), and she had the social activities (everything from mountaineering to playing the drums). But most of all she had compassion.

McNuggets had visited a nursing home every weekend for the past three years. For the past two years she had cooked dinner for an elderly man at his home every single Tuesday night without fail. But most of all, she lived alone with her grandmother, who was quite ill. She had been her sole carer for the past three years.

This piece of information was on her reference (I doubt anyone will be able to recognise her from this as I have changed much of the information) and was actually something she did not discuss with us. During the interview she was calm, confident, well spoken, and slightly on the quiet side.

McNuggets was the sort of candidate most medical schools would die for. I think we were all honoured that we had been one of her choices, and she was given an instant thumbs up. In fact, at the end of the afternoon, I wasn't too bothered about the rejections we had given. True, it is sad when you have to reject someone, But you do it in order to make way for those people who would make good, hopefully even great, doctors. After all, that's what it's all about.

Muhunthan Thillai, third year medical student, Imperial College School of Medicine


studentBMJ 2000;08:45-88 March ISSN 0966-6494