Doctor, Doctor

When I was seven, I was convinced that I was going to be a doctor when I grew up. I wasn't cognitively advanced enough to try to predict what kind of doctor I would be. Actually, I guess I never thought about it. But, those plans failed when I realized 4 years later that in order to become a doctor, I would have to cut open dead bodies. No thanks. I had this recurring nightmare that I would go to anatomy lab, open the corpse bag and it would be my aunt who died the previous week.

Hi Aunt Petunia. Nice seeing you again.