Dear Dean of Student Affairs,

It is I, Jesus Christ. Lord Savior and rising third-year medical student. As you already know, two years ago, I returned to Earth to resume my passion for miraculously healing the ill. However, upon being apprehended for treating the sick without something called “a medical license,” I had no choice but to enroll in your esteemed medical school.

Can you believe it? As if all of my previous years of experience in curing disease don’t count for anything? Ugh, the struggles of being a foreign-trained medical professional.

With that said, my first two years of medical school have been smoother than my historically-inaccurate hairless white chest. I have integrated seamlessly into the student body and have made many friends. Like Derek from my small group. He used to be in the Peace Corps and lived in Costa Rica, which is so cool. Nonetheless, as I commence the hospital portion of my medical education in the upcoming weeks, I request that a few accommodations be made to address my unique Jesus-related circumstances.

Look, I know what you, like many others on campus, might be thinking. That I only got into this prestigious medical school because my Dad is a big name around here, and also breathed life into Michelle Langsbury, the Dean of Admissions. But I assure you, my medical school acceptance is through my own merit. While my MCAT scores were not the most competitive, I am a self-directed learner with strong communication skills and also I died for your sins.

Below are my commandments, I mean, simple suggestions that you totally shouldn’t feel pressured to follow out of fear of being smited.

First, I would like to take a page out of the White House’s COVID-19 response playbook and employ an alternative, non-evidence-based approach to medicine. The CDC and the New England Journal of Medicine have no value to me as someone who can literally treat a UTI with jazz hands. Is it a tonic-clonic seizure or demonic possession? Hmmm, who’s to say really? Personally though, I’d refrain from the anti-epileptics, in favour of a call to Father O’Malley.

With respect to the OR, it’s a hard pass for me. Standing for prolonged periods of time is not really my scene. It’s why I was “seated” at the right hand of the Father. Hence, I would not fare well upright for a five-hour coronary bypass. Also, I’m not great with blood. Ironic, I know. Unless it’s been transubstantiated into wine. Then I’m gucci.

I was informed that every Wednesday there will be mandatory academic days where attendance will be taken? Just a heads up; even if it appears that I am absent at these engagements, please still have me marked down as present. For I am the Alpha and the Omega. And thus, I am at the three-hour lecture on fibromyalgia and at home binging Indian Matchmaker with Derek and the archangel Gabriel.

Regarding the hospital’s strict scent-free policy, I would like to request an exception to allow my extremely unrestrained use of frankincense and myrrh. This is non-negotiable.

Lastly, I’ve noted that the beds in the on-call sleep rooms are as uncomfortable as fleeting across-the-table-eye-contact with Judas. Please replace them. They’re Dad-awful. And this is coming from someone who restfully slept in a cave for three days.

Oh also speaking of sleep, the power of Christ compels you to excuse me from all 6 AM anatomy labs.

These simple accommodations will not only allow me to become a more clinically savvy physician but also a more competent harbinger of the Second Coming. I look forward to this email request being followed precisely and without question like a bible verse read by an extremely devout Christian.

Regards,

Jesus Christ

M.D. Candidate Class of 2022


And now a quick joke...

“May I have this dense?” the 350-pound groom asked his portly bride on the night of their wedding, which the two had decided would not be a scaled-back affair, but rather one of plump and circumference.