"Surviving life’s plot twists with yarn, loud worship music, and a stubborn streak of hope."

When I started my Medical Office Administration course last September, I was blown away—okay, let’s be honest, alarmed—at everything in front of me. I felt overwhelmed and scared, wondering how I’d make it through the classes, let alone co-op at the end. What I didn’t expect were the life lessons tucked between the textbooks, assignments, and placement.

Patience seems like a lifelong lesson I keep circling back to. I’m the type who likes to get the important tasks done first so I can relax and deal with the “less important” stuff later. But if I can survive waiting for the laptop to update when I’m supposed to be logging into class, I figure I can survive almost anything. Patience feels like an art form: you’re cruising through your tasks and then wham—life throws on the brakes. Suddenly, you’re waiting on someone else before you can move forward.
Just last week at my co-op, the office manager told me to “sit tight” when I asked what I should do next. My brain froze. What does “sit tight” even mean in an office setting? Do I literally just sit there twiddling my thumbs? Do I straighten things up even though everything already looks tidy? I didn’t want to touch something important and mess it up. Honestly, I felt like I was back in high school, afraid of being picked on just for existing.
Then there’s organization—wow. As I’ve been scanning records, making profiles, and verifying health cards, it’s clear how crucial it is in an office. The ladies I work with are juggling phones for two businesses, slotting patients into the right schedules, calling people back, processing referrals, filing pathology reports, and navigating what feels like fifty screens at once. From the outside, I thought a doctor’s office was busy—but being inside feels more like stepping into a storm and trying to hang on without being swept away.

At one point, I even asked if there was a script for answering the phones because two of the women say the exact same thing when they pick up. (The phones even have slightly different rings—somehow they know which is which without asking. Witchcraft, I swear.)

Communication is another big one. Clear, kind, professional communication isn’t just for the workplace—it’s for life. On my first day, a couple of the women told me they were “laid back.” And yes, to a degree, I’ve seen that. The office doesn’t feel overly rigid, and I don’t feel out of place wearing scrubs most days. There’s a friendliness among them—asking about kids, weekends, life in general—that softens the edges of the busyness.

I’ve also learned that confidence can be built, and growth isn’t always comfortable. Once I’m shown how to do something on the computer, I start to feel confident—whether it’s scanning reports for hours or pulling out staples with my nails. But I’m still hyper-aware of everything going on around me. I remind myself: Tanya, you’ve never worked in an office, never used an EMR system, and you can’t read minds—so stop trying to predict everything before it happens.
Another humbling discovery? I talk to myself. Out loud. To laptops, to staplers, to no one in particular. (Apparently, I run my mouth more than I realized.) At least I’m learning to keep my non-relevant, “comical” thoughts inside before they escape into the room. Small victories.

Still, it’s hard not to feel like the “free help” who isn’t really part of the team. I know that’s just how placements work, but it stirs up that old fear of not being included.

And yet—these lessons aren’t in the syllabus, but they’re shaping me just as much as the textbooks. I’m learning what professionalism looks like. Yes, I’m picking up forms, software, and procedures—but I’m also learning patience, confidence, and maybe even how to be a little more human along the way.