It is bitterly cold, and ahead of me is the Alexander Nevsky Chapel, a symbol of Bulgaria, a monument to religious belief, and its golden domes gleam in the overcast sky. I am limping, an old injury has manifested itself again, and as the snow falls around me, I crawl towards the National Gallery of Art in Sofia. I have truly suffered in the pursuit of art, only this suffering seems to be entirely physical. Old injuries, accidents, the numbness of being perpetually underdressed for the winter, and of course, the physical strain of having to limp along life with an injured spine.
I have always maintained that the philosophy of personhood revolves around the idea that we are a collection of injuries and pathologies, and glib though the reference is to the art of medicine, it bears significance because my line of work is just that, a collection of pathologies and disease history. I stood for a minute before the vast pillars of the National Gallery, the searing pain in my left knee feeling oddly like a sacrifice to the nature of my own stubbornness and with one unfeeling hand I removed my cap.
The exhibition in focus was “Malkovich, Malkovich, Malkovich: a homage to photographic masters, by Sandro Miller”. The exhibit featured recreations of famous photographs, all of whom were modelled by John Malkovich, and photographed by Sandro Miller. If you must try to identify the magic of transformation that is often touted on the big screen, this exhibition is the best example of that. John Malkovich transforms himself into the various models and muses throughout the history of modern photography, including recreating himself as Marilyn Monroe.
After walking through the fascinating exhibit, I decided to walk around the rest of the gallery. Finding familiar comfort in classical art, I wandered through the gallery, watching landscapes and portraits, odes to royalty and the common man alike and I was glad that I had made this journey. There is some consolation in art, and although I am not an art critic by any stretch of the imagination, I have always found that art conveys an idea that is deeper than the paint on a stretched canvas. Art is a utility, much like Erich Broedeker maintained, and art has a deep utility in medical education. A long essay on this very topic is in my drafts, and I hope that the desperate confines of the drafts section are only a temporary holding cell.
It is prudent to ask why I was in Sofia in the first place. Throughout the last 7 years of medical education, I have sat for over 70 examinations. To most of my colleagues in Pleven, examinations are the time when everything is suspended, time itself becomes a strange measure of how close someone is to the examination date, and hours become the measure of topics in subjects. The town itself goes into a form of hibernation where the structure of each passing minute revolves around endless reading.
However, at the risk of sounding grandiose, I have found that examinations have become an excuse for me to travel, and to continue my life. After 7 years of examinations, I find it very difficult to rustle up any sense of urgency. To my colleagues who are just starting their journey in medical school, my only advice about examinations is to treat them much like everything in life; examinations deserve attention, but the rest of your life doesn’t stop. I was in Sofia for the famous IELTS examination, a test of abilities with the English language, and ironic though the notion is to those who know me well enough, it is one of those certifications you need for a thousand different things in the life of the internationally mobile doctor. Language examinations, cross border international regulatory authorities, international examinations in medicine, are all part and parcel of the life of an International doctor and although examinations in themselves are a constant annoyance in my life, they form the foundation of travel in my life. I don’t travel for vacations, I find that I have to travel for my examinations and the vacations are a bonus.
Over the past year, I have travelled to Antwerp, Ljubljana, Frankfurt, Sofia, Veliko Turnovo, Gabrovo, and other little transit areas that I don’t care to mention. Each trip was borne less out of a desire to “explore the world”, but more from the necessity of having to attend a fellowship, training program, or examination. Even two years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined having had the opportunity to travel across the continent as part of my training in medicine. I am often asked about the nature of the life of an international doctor, and after a year of introspection at airport terminals, farewells in hotel receptions, and the passage of time in endless car rides and buses, I have come to only one conclusion: the international doctor is a migratory bird, and our migratory paths are best marked with examination centers. Examinations have become the excuse for exploring the world, and I dare say, I look forward to my examinations with far more enthusiasm than I should.
Traveling is an integral part of being human. We travel to discover ourselves