The fluorescent lights of the ICU waiting room became a second home during the eight months my father battled a rare autoimmune condition that no specialist could immediately diagnose. I was nineteen, taking my pre-med classes, juggling between three different specialists, and seeing my dad's body betray him in ways that were hard to explain.
That period taught me more about medicine than any textbook could. I learned what it feels like to sit across from a physician who speaks in acronyms without checking whether I understood. I found out how helpless it was to watch a loved one turn into a diagnosis. I also learned what it feels like to have a doctor on board. My father's eventual rheumatologist, Dr. Alvarez, pulled up a chair, drew diagrams on the back of a lab report and asked him what was most important to him before making a recommendation on the treatment plan.
The adversity was a sustained test of endurance. I had to drop out of one semester so I could take care of my father, so I had to explain to the teachers why my grades were lower, and then build my academic standing up again. I remember I had a specific fear of lagging behind my peers, I remember thinking to myself, this could be the end of my medicine application. I would do problems at his bed by the hospital's WIFI, not sure if they were going to work or if he was going to work.
The discipline of persevering and reflecting got me through. I began to document the questions I wanted doctors to ask my father, and also the times in which he was able to communicate that he made a difference for him. That journal evolved into my current interest in chronic disease management, patient centered. I volunteered at a free clinic as I thought it would be good administrative work but the more I did, the more similar communication gaps and trust issues I saw were those that I had seen in my father's care. I experienced the results of a hurried diagnosis and realized that there was a need to bridge this gap, one conversation at a time.
My dad did get better, slowly and he is healthy now. This experience changed my perspective of what physicians do on a day-to-day basis. The ability to diagnose, be patient, humble, and able to sit down and listen. It also taught me more about myself than I ever thought, I learned how to persevere and thrive academically and personally with true fear and uncertainty in my heart.
I want to pursue medical school after experiencing those years and learning about what kind of doctor I want to be. A person who cares for the whole person, who is clear in her communication under stressful circumstances, who never forgets how it feels to be on the other side of the white coat. Challenges put my will to the test, clarified the challenges and inspired me to see a picture of the physician I am going to be.
