As I emerged from the campus building, a gentle breeze whisked the smell of anatomy lab from my formaldehyde-laden scrubs to my nostrils. Roughly twelve hours had passed since I had last been outside and I was drained.
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A broken finger is all it took to change my stress level. One broken finger and suddenly I was in a staring contest with depression. I had never been caught in a downward spiral quite like this one. Until this event, I had a pretty good grip on medical school. So, how did a single broken finger have such a drastic impact?
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