By Hannah Vedova

I was equally excited and nervous during my medical school’s orientation week. Excited that the career I’d dreamt about for decades was finally beginning, and nervous that I would fail fantastically and disappoint everyone who had helped me get to this moment. As an added complicating factor, friend groups and high-school-style cliques were already starting to form, despite my school’s honorable intentions to assign us randomly into orientation teams. During one of the bathroom breaks, I attempted to strike up a conversation with two of my fellow classmates who looked nice enough. Both turned in unison, looked me over head to toe, and increased their pace without another word. Needless to say, the nervousness was now kicking the crap out of the excitement, and I was starting to feel very alone.

That is, until I was washing my hands and I heard my name bubble up out of the din of bathroom pleasantries. “Hannah?” A classmate of mine I’d never met was smiling at me. “I recognize you from your Facebook photo,” she added in response to my bewildered expression. “We chatted about living together?”

Ah, so this was Isabella. She had mentioned in her bio on the school’s roommate match page that she was a cradle Catholic, and I had messaged her right away about our shared faith. We ended up living with different sets of roommates, but I was relieved beyond words to finally find a friendly face. Little did I know, the Holy Spirit had more in mind than just one random bathroom interaction.

Isabella and I returned to the main lecture hall for our next activity, and another classmate took the unoccupied seat to my left. We continued discussing all things Catholic — patron saints, local parishes, and religious memes — when the lady to my left spoke up and asked where we went to Mass. This was how Isabella and I met Laura, who wanted to know about our planned involvement with the Christian Medical and Dental Association student group on campus. “I think we should actually form a branch of the CMA, the Catholic Medical Association.”

“Yes!” Isabella emphatically agreed. “The Denver chapter is very active and supportive of students.”

As it turned out, there was not a current student section of the CMA at our medical school. So Isabella invited two other Catholics she’d run into, Jacob and Krista, to ice cream one afternoon, and the five of us resolved to be the inaugural members and officers of the new group once we could identify a faculty sponsor.

Without a doubt, this series of seemingly chance encounters changed the course of my medical education. Our fledgling CMA resolved itself to a weekly Rosary, no matter how busy our schedules might appear. We prayed together in the hallways, the lunchroom, the library, and the patio (often to questioning looks from passersby), but I never once regretted that twenty minutes of peace amidst the chaos of medical school. By the grace of God, our shared vision of an authentically Catholic medical witness began to spread. We attended the national CMA conferences, worked with our local guild to start free clinics for underserved patients, hosted webinars and on-campus presentations about women’s health and ethics, sold water bottles and beanies to raise money, and planned monthly Holy and Happy Hours along with other fellowship get-togethers. Most importantly, we lifted each other up through the trials of medical school. Looking back, I don’t remember the doubt and exhaustion as much as I remember our post-exam coffee dates, somewhat unfocused anatomy study groups, random carpooling adventures, and many more tiny, holy moments. The honorable mentions: we created a skin-tight dermatome map costume that Laura sported on Halloween, crafted completely unrealistic patient cases (like my pretend intestinal parasite) to prepare for practicals, and shared our favorite organs and bones (Isabella’s is the ulna, in case you were wondering). Even during our clinical years, as we were shotgun blast across the country for third-year rotations and fourth-year auditions, our fellowship remained strongly intact, knitted together in our love for Christ and the new members He had sent us along the way. Though the credit belongs entirely to the Holy Spirit, I am proud to say that the student section of the CMA at our medical school now boasts almost fifty members across four years and multiple programs.

I can look back on my sorry, nervous self during medical school orientation and catch a glimpse of the very first apostles. In some ways, we have historically returned to that tenuous moment: our world has forgotten many Christian truths, our culture has become one of death instead of life, and our medical climate has grown in hostility towards conscious- or religious-minded professionals. But the apostles did not remain in the Upper Room after Pentecost, and neither should we. I pray that wherever you are in your journey — college, medical school, residency, or beyond — that Our Lord might send you the blessing of fellowship that He sent to me. Sometimes, however, we have to find that community by taking the first step ourselves. A daunting step into the darkness (or the bathroom) it might be, but Christ will not let you fall.