Could I Become a Doctor?

On ambition, credentials and choosing nursing

If I had to pinpoint the beginning of my path from journalist to nurse-in-training, it would be an evening in Portland, Oregon in 2017. I’d gone up for the weekend to meet a friend who lives in Seattle. We stayed with other friends of hers, a married couple, and over beers one night the wife mentioned that she worked as a physician assistant.

I’d never heard of a PA before. I asked her a lot of questions and, days later, back home, did some googling about PA school. That led to reading about nurse practitioners, how they differ from PAs, and what it takes to become one.

Before that, the only clinical job I had any real awareness of was doctor. I’d had a longstanding, idle fantasy about becoming a doctor, in fact, though it felt about as realistic as becoming an Olympic skier. I knew about nurses—as in, I knew of their existence and basic role—but I’d never been hospitalized or spent much time in the medical world, so I didn’t have a good sense of what they actually do.

My post-Portland research opened my eyes to the fact that there are ways to practice medicine besides becoming an MD. Still, it took me six more years to reach the point where I left reporting to pursue nursing.

I want to say here that I don’t view nursing as something to settle for. Nurses aren’t inferior to doctors; they simply do a different job—with less medical training and decision-making authority, but equally essential to patient care.

That said, it took me a while to understand the distinctions and embrace nursing as the job I want to do.

Like a lot of Americans, I’m hardwired to equate credentials with success. If you’re going to pursue something, shouldn’t you aim for the top job? It’s not about obtaining the most power or money—it’s about climbing to the top of your field. It’s about expertise.

It’s a snooty brand of ambition you find more in academia than on Wall Street. I went to a competitive NYC magnet high school where my classmates now include several doctors, the COO of a major school district, the Governors Island CEO and Lin-Manuel Miranda.

I definitely struggled to keep up with my brilliant peers, but being there imprinted a reflex: aim for the highest rung, or it doesn’t count.

So when it came to seriously contemplating my second career, I wondered…could I be a doctor? What would it take to become an emergency physician or a psychiatrist? And do I really want to try, or is this just what I think I “should” want?

Thankfully, reporting is one of my best decision-making tools. When I don’t know what to do, I gather information until the answer becomes clear. I set out to answer these questions:

• How are doctors’ and nurses’ jobs different on a daily basis?

• What education is required for each job, and what are my school options for each?

• What would each path cost, in dollars and time? How would I meet those costs?

• What attracts me to medicine, and what do I want to accomplish in this field?

I talked to doctors and nurses. I made the most of my hospital volunteering, observing firsthand what different jobs entail. I even grilled my own doctor during a routine checkup. (“Become a psychiatric nurse practitioner,” she said. “You can do a lot of telemedicine and make good money.” Noted.) I made a spreadsheet of LA area nursing and medical schools, their tuition costs, prerequisite requirements and application deadlines.

Could I become a doctor? Sure, I could.

But here’s what it would take: At least another year of prerequisites, maybe two; preparing for and taking the MCAT; then, up to 10 or more years of education and residency. This would require a lot of sacrifice, uncertainty and financial strain for my family, and if I made it I’d become an attending physician in my 50s. Then I’d pray to stay healthy long enough for all that investment to be worth it.

And you know what? If that’s what I truly wanted to do with my one precious life, I’d make it work. But I believe I’ll be just as happy nursing, or more so. It’s also more feasible, thanks to the existence of accelerated bridge programs and opportunities to become an advanced practitioner over time, while working.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about how unexpectedly ageless I feel these days. While that’s true, time is also real. I’m at a stage of my life where I have a husband and a 7-year-old son. I want to continue being a present mother and wife. I want to protect my mental health too. Unless I were 100% certain there was no other path for me, the all-consuming, decade-long rigors of med school and residency (and accompanying money stress) could be an opening for the creeping depression I take care to manage.

That’s not to say nursing school is easy, or cheap.

After a year and a half of part-time prerequisites and hospital volunteering, I start a full-time, two-year MSN program this fall. Then I’ll need to work for at least a year before pursuing advanced practice. It hasn’t been easy and it’s only going to get harder. Still, it feels manageable and, more importantly, it feels right.

Nurses, I’ve seen, are the ones who spend the most time bedside. They get to know the patients and advocate for them. They can be the glue that holds together a care plan. A friend of mine, for example, told me about her elderly relative’s hospital stay. She said the family was confounded by specialists who came in, one by one, to report on the patient’s liver, heart or latest bloodwork. It was the nurses, she explained, who turned these snapshots into a full picture and helped the family understand and cope with the situation.

When I think about what attracts me to medicine, it’s the opportunity to have that kind of impact. To help people process hospital experiences and feel cared for physically, emotionally and socially, and to work as part of a team.

There are wonderful doctors who do these things too, but holistic care is a place where nurses can really shine.

That’s not to say I’ve completely escaped the prestige trap. One of the first things I noticed when I started volunteering last year was that the advanced practice nurses wear white coats.

Reader, I was sold.