Match Day is coming! Once again, the most exhilarating, depressing, fun, horrifying, and thrilling day of the medical calendar is upon us.
This is the day when tens of thousands of impending med school graduates find out what specialty they will be locked into for the foreseeable future and where they will be learning said specialty, like a massive Clue game board.
Dr. Johnson will do pediatrics in Virginia with a unicorn headband.
Dr. Flanary will do ophthalmology in Iowa with a loyal scribe.
For most US graduates, it is a joyful experience, the culmination of 3+ years of study, tests, and sleepless nights. For some, the match is a disappointment as they end up matching at their 3rd, 4th, or 5th choice, far away geographically from the dream program at the top of their list.
For others, the match is the worst day of their lives, as they process the words “Sorry, you did not match.”
To that point, I don’t think I have advice that can sum it up better than this video I made a few years back. The gist of it is: yes, this really sucks – but you are not a failure.
I was lucky enough to avoid such a moment – but I did have two match days, one markedly more stressful than the other.
The first was the ophthalmology match, when I was assigned to an ophthalmology residency program. However, ophthalmology residency is only residency years 2-4. I still needed a year 1 intern year match, which requires a separate application process (ERAS, just like the rest of medicine).
If none of this makes sense to you, you’re not alone. Basically, I had to apply for ophthalmology residency (match #1) and intern year (match #2). Ophthalmology and Urology are the only two specialties with an utterly separate match system from the rest of medicine. I don’t know why. It’s one of the only unifying characteristics between them, along with the fact that we both see a lot of balls.
The ophthalmology match happens in January, and it’s much less of a spectacle, which is ironic considering that much of my professional life now revolves around spectacles. There was no party, no balloons or cake. I preferred it that way. My stress level was through the roof. I wanted to lock myself in a room and let the pain/triumph wash over me alone. Should the match not go my way, I did not want anybody to witness my shame.
I sat down at my laptop, opened the Match Day email, and breathed a massive, astronomical sigh of relief when I saw Iowa next to my name, my second choice. Michigan was number 1 only because something had to be number 1. It took a lot of work to differentiate the two programs.
Ultimately, the decision came down to which community had a better ultimate frisbee scene. I’m not kidding. Ann Arbor barely edged out Iowa City in quality ultimate.
Seriously. Ultimate frisbee was a key factor. Yes, that’s me.
With my ophthalmology future secured, I could rest easier in anticipation of match day #2. The competition for an intern year spot was much less competitive. Every academic hospital in the country has grunt work; every year, they need a new supply of grunts. My only wish for match #2 was that I didn’t end up in a general surgery intern year, a notoriously difficult year that wouldn’t help me at all in my quest for ophthalmology mastery.
Match Day in March is an incredible experience. Few events rival the joy and excitement of masses of students learning their career fate all at once. The atmosphere is electric.
Dartmouth Medical School (my alma mater) did match day a little differently. They packed all the students, faculty, and family into an auditorium, and one by one, each matched student walked up to the front of the room and opened their match day envelope in front of nearly 1,000 people.
That’s right, we all found out our match day results in front of a massive audience. Some students were obviously disappointed in their match. Maybe it was the bottom of their rank list, or just not their dream program. You could see it in their eyes.
You might be thinking, “Why make it so public? Why make match day as terrifying as possible?” Well, first of all, you could opt-out. You could open your envelope somewhere else, away from prying eyes.
However, those who chose to open their envelope in front of a packed auditorium filled with friends, family, and supporters would be greeted with the most thunderous applause and full-throated yells they had ever heard, regardless of what name appeared on that envelope. That’s what I’ll remember the most: the supportive cheers and one thousand hearts bursting with joy as each location was read. It was beautiful.
I’ll also remember my walk-up music. Each student chose music to play as they walked up to the microphone to read their envelope. Most chose popular music of the day in 2012. On the other hand, I recorded myself narrating my walk through the crowd to the front of the room.
“Here comes Will Flanary…walking to the front…where’s he gonna match?…excuse me, can I squeeze by you real quick…”
Because, of course I did.
