My thesis, my baby.

The thesis. To the average person, it is a pile of paper with some complicated-looking words on. To those who wrote it, however, it is their child. The product of a 4-year labour of love, an entity in its own right. How can something that you have invested so much of yourself into NOT feel that way?

Pre-thesis, conception, inception, life.

Pre-thesis, conception, inception, life.

The life of the thesis starts at its conception. You meet with your supervisor, you gel ideas together, and the project plan is the result. In order to give birth to a big, healthy thesis, you pour your heart and soul into the gathering and analysis of data , its nutrients. You meet people along the way who will give you advice on the best way to tackle it, how to make life easy for yourself when it finally arrives into the world. But at the end of the day, it will be YOUR baby, and all you can hope for is to do the best you can to get it, and you, to where you want.

From its inception, instincts kick in, and our prime purpose in life is now to nurture the thesis to the best of our ability and watch it grow before our very eyes. We have to protect our new thesis from outside threats, from those things that may destroy it if we let our guard down (a functional social life is its main predator). We willingly give up our own meal routines in order to make sure the thesis gets fed first¬† – after all, without feeding it words it will not survive past its first chapter, a crucial phase of its existence. We develop a serious case of the “thesis brain”, a condition brought upon by bringing this shiny new research report into the world that ultimately consumes so much of our time and energy that our mental faculties cannot possibly hope to contain any other irrelevant information such as how to drink anything without a caffeine content, or how to tell the time.

When the thesis reaches the mid-point, its teenage years, It will scream at you at all hours of the day and night, it will make you feel guilty if you don’t pay it attention, forever looming over you and making you feel like an inadequate, neglectful parent. You feel like your best is never enough for it, and as a result you wonder why you ever bothered in the first place.

The thesis, the monster that looms over you.

The thesis, the monster that looms over you.

But eventually, as it continues to develop, things settle down between you and it, you take a step back, and can see it coming together in is entirety for the first time. You and the thesis seem to reach an understanding with each other, a mutual acceptance, and you finally begin to feel proud of how it’s turned out. After all, this is your baby that you conceived, gave life to, and raised to full maturity. You saw it through to the end, for better and worse. It will make you a Doctor for life. And nothing and no-one can ever take that achievement away from you.

Hasta la proxima,


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