the hope of healing

As I reflect over the past six months on learning to become a doctor, I think of how my perspective of illness has shifted. As a healthcare worker, you see people at their most vulnerable, when they are in the greatest need. Yet throughout illness, each patient retains their identity as someone who exists outside of the hospital walls—this, to me, has become some of the most important work I do as a medical student. Looking past, reaching out, and seeing people for who they really are and what they really love. Not only seeing those attributes but also allowing people to bring their dignity, identity, and personhood into the hospital room.

I see mothers, fathers, and young people who have faced life-changing illnesses that prevent them from doing what they love in life. I see women in their 50s who have scars from breast cancer or who can’t speak in full sentences because of COPD.

I see a 70-year-old man who had an intracranial hemorrhage that damaged his sense of memory and self; I see his wife transform from a lover into a caretaker, and I hear her yearnings for a husband who once walked 30 miles with her in Europe.

I see a man, struggling with substance use, silently cry out for help behind a composed, stoic face as he searches for a solution to his suffering and pain. I hear him talk about suicide ideation in one breath and his two daughters in another.

I see a girl, near my age, who has been in the hospital for 3 months now, and I see pictures she’s painted posted up around her room with a view that spans the Charles River. It’s a beautiful view, but she wants to see anything else in the world.

I see a mother, with her two toddler sons running around the exam room listening to cartoons on iPhones, as she mourns the loss of her sister to sudden cardiac arrest. She went to sleep and never woke up.

I see a grandmother start crying as she describes the pain she feels after a fall she endured. “You can’t even understand the pain I am in!” Honestly, I can’t. I’ve probably never felt a pain like hers before—physical pain mixed with loneliness, uncertainty, and fear. She’s way stronger than I’ve ever been.

That’s where my fear comes in, the awareness of the fragility of life. I see my mother, sister, brother, boyfriend, niece and nephew, dad, grandparents, best friends, and future children in the faces of all those who suffer openly in front of me. I try to dip into their pain, to feel what they feel if only in that moment—to protect myself—but find myself overwhelmed by the emotion they bring to the conversation. I fear how a single moment can transform everything—the moment a cell becomes cancerous, or a fall becomes a brain injury, or a goodbye becomes the last one.

This confrontation with illness is new to me, and I’m still learning how I will embrace the reality that life is fragile yet somehow malleable. In the context of my own existence, it makes me realize how precious life is right now, at this moment. It encourages me to take walks, read books, call those I love, and, honestly, it sometimes makes me wonder about choosing a career that separates me from my family and hometown. There is no doubt about it: medical training is hard emotionally, socially, and physically at times. There are days of studying unimaginable hours. There are disparities and heartbreaking realities in medicine. There is powerlessness and emotional warfare.

Despite these considerations, being in medicine gives me hope. It gives me an understanding of humanity. Amidst all the suffering, pain, sadness, and illness, people are relying on their providers to give them hope. That is why the woman with breast cancer is sitting in front of me with scars that gave her cure, or the man with the intracranial bleed can walk 2 miles with his wife now instead of being confined to a chair, or that the woman with the toddlers is learning of her genetic cardiomyopathy so that she doesn’t leave her own children behind. They are given hope through the medical system, research, and intervention. More than anything, my patients teach me to have hope. They remind to align my life so that I can do those things that I would being doing if I woke up tomorrow with a life-changing illness—enjoy the sunshine, prayer and community, the arts and humanities. They also encourage me to be a part of the system that provides hope to those who feel hopeless. Yes, I see life as more fragile now than I did six months ago, but I’m also much more appreciative of what it means to be healthy and alive. I hope to continue evolving my understanding of illness, suffering, and death as I meet more people, gain more perspective, and realize the blessing of medical care.

 

identity

What if your identity

Is not found in the big city

But in a small town

Where few people are brown or black

But mostly different shades of white

And every day the sun shines down as they

Continue to fight the good fight

To pay the bills

And maybe some buy the pills

Just to get the thrill

To survive.

Not thrive, because that would mean breaking out

Of the shell that looked like hell

But to others looked like a quiet Main Street

And a few stop lights

And county fair nights

And a simple, little peaceful town.

Sometimes your identity is not in

Prestige and honor and fame

But in the sincere scene of a gathered team

To pray before a game

Or a group gathered to cry

Over a blown out flame of someone loved

Who just lost the fight.

The good fight.

What if your identity isn’t in big city skies

But catching fireflies

In the evening light

And yelling hey to the neighbor who just passed by

And leaving your doors unlocked at night.

I’m learning, though,

Your identity isn’t where you are

It’s who you are

It’s the stories you carry within you

Not the culmination

Of your awards and accreditations

But your soul

Your sense of why

Your sense of who you are.

No matter how far away you go,

Hold onto your identity,

like a rope,

steadfastly.

soul-work

Two days ago, I packed by bags and moved to Boston, MA. The night before was full of tears, happy ones and sad ones, long hugs, prayers, and motivating words. Honestly, I was completely terrified. And I’m working through those emotions and trying to allow God to guide my life, to dictate when and where I need to go to become the person He designed. It’s hard. I’m two days in, and I’ve already had to confront topics and conversations that challenge my thinking and address new ideas that I’ve never seen before. I welcome new ideas, and always have, but I trust that my roots are planted deep in my values—believing that those things that are critical to who I am are unchanging, unwavering. Some of the most important work I’ve been doing the past 8 years or so is establishing who I am, what I believe, what is important to me. It’s truly a dynamic process to lay down our foundations, to articulate what we find meaningful and important in life, and I’ve spent many nights, days, moments, and experiences trying to define those things for me. I’ve made mistakes, jumped into situations that eventually didn’t feel right for me, tried out a habit that was popular but didn’t speak to me, and made mistakes I want to forget forever. But all that soul-work was way more important than anything that I was studying in school—that stuff lingers long after the organic chemistry mechanisms fade into the dark crevices of the mind, never to be recovered. My advice to those younger people: focus on soul-work as much as “real” work. You will be challenged, confused, and overwhelmed as you transition into adulthood (am I there yet?) and that soul-work will root you to what’s important.

I’m doing a program called “Justice, Advocacy, and Activism in Medicine” or JAAM where we’ve discussed topics like racism in medicine, reproductive rights and justice, substance use disorders, abortion, transgender/intersex identities, and many more really heavy and difficult topics to grapple with. I was/am certainly overwhelmed, but I pray every night that God reveals himself to me over the next four years in ways I never imagined or anticipated so that I can better serve those people whose care will be entrusted to me. I pray that he surrounds me with people who will lift me up and challenge me, and that my relationships at home will be fortified because of a shared understanding and belief system. I’m incredibly thankful for Avery, my boyfriend, for being so supportive through everything we go through together and being the person I can debrief with when I need to. He is a wonderful life partner. I’m thankful for my parents and sisters for keeping me stable and showing me such strong love as I left home, reminding me how blessed I am to have people who care deeply for me. I’m thankful for this journey, even though I’m scared, nervous, and uneasy, because I’m also curious, excited, and hopeful.

I think my word for this year is “change.” Change can be hard—it’s supposed to be, though, or it wouldn’t be a transformative process. So much in my life has already changed, and I feel many years older now than I was at this point last year (and I did just turn 23…). I’m ready for the change, for the challenges, for a new adventure, for a purpose that is bigger than myself, for taking care of myself, and for never giving up hope that I can make a difference in some way. I’m immersed in a city that looks and feels quite different from what I’m used to, but I welcome the ways I can interact with its people, bring my own background and belief system, and engage spiritually with this place—hearing people, listening to their stories, meeting new friends, trusting that God puts people and places in my life at critical moments of change. I believe that every serendipitous encounter, conversation, thought, phone call, message or interaction is a part of a mosaic that eventually reveals the plan that God designs for us. That plan may be fixed before we are born or may be one that changes as we move through life—either way, I’m ready. I’m here, ready to learn, grow, change, transform, love, and hope.

thankful for the moment

I’m sitting in a hip, jazzy cafe in Palo Alto, California. I’m sipping on some water because I just indulged in a milk tea with boba that was absolutely delicious. I arrived in California this morning around 11:00am, after leaving my apartment at a shockingly early time of 3:30am (shout out of appreciation to my boyfriend, Avery, for waking up and driving me to the airport). All day, I’ve jumped from plane to plane, city to city, to finally land in this spot. This comfortable spot of sitting in a worn-out leather chair in a young and busy coffee shop in a beautiful city.

It is no accident that I’m here; it took years of hard work, focus, dedication, sacrifice, and perseverance to get to this place. It took planning, purchasing a plane ticket, organizing accommodation, and a lot of thought to get here. Yet, I keep thinking to myself, This must be a mistake. What if I show up to the interview and they say, “Sorry, we have no records of you. It must have been a miscommunication.” At least then it would all make sense. I don’t say these things to self-flatter or to self-deprecate, only to give a voice to my darkest fears in this moment. Tomorrow, though, I’m interviewing at Stanford Medical School and that is a reality I never dreamed of coming true. Flying in, over the beautiful city of San Francisco and after coming in from Los Angeles, I thought about my hometown and how drastically different this is from that. I feel like I don’t belong here, like it is all a big mistake and I’m the butt of the joke, but somehow I know this is where I’m supposed to be.

I’m overwhelmed with appreciation at how far I have come and how beautiful this moment is, like finally letting air out of a balloon that has been way too full for way too long. I never expected this moment, but I know I worked hard for it. I never felt entitled to anything but felt indebted to giving this dream everything I’ve got; I reflect on everything I’ve worked diligently for and how I have sacrificed some of the ordinary joys of a 20-something to make it this far. Those moments lost are worth it, because the feeling of accomplishment in this one is so, so sweet. I reflect back, and I feel grateful.

Grateful for the people who helped me get here, financially, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Thankful for the people who have continuously believed in me, even when I was down on myself. I’m thankful for the people who pushed me to keep going when I wanted to give up. I’m thankful for the people who let me cry on their shoulder when I needed to. I’m not in medical school yet, and I’m certainly not a doctor, but I think it is worth celebrating this moment, no matter what happens in the future.

I have no idea what will occur in the next few weeks, but right now, in a warm and inviting cafe in Northern California, I am so happy. Happy for opportunities, for growth, and for truly having the chance to chase my biggest dreams.

cancer

Today at work I got emotional.

I work in a cardio-oncology lab, and I spend most of my days writing and reading about cancer therapies, cancers, and heart disease. Sometimes, I write and read so much that I dream I actually have breast cancer, and I wake up gripping for reality and feel overwhelmingly thankful that I do not. I read about it so much that sometimes I forget that actual people get cancer, not just numbers and statistics published in journals, and I’m humbly reminded of this when I see patients in the clinic who cling to an unwavering hope. I don’t typically get emotional at work, because when I’m not sitting at my computer planning things or shadowing in the clinic, I’m working with mice that I’m treating with immunotherapy. While I do get attached to my mice and I’m thankful for the role they play in scientific discovery, they don’t typically make me emotional. Sometimes, they even bite me and claw at me and elicit a response very opposite of thankful. Today, though, I had a conference call with the physician I work with and a group of our collaborators from MD Anderson Cancer Center. We all got together to talk because we are interested in understanding why and how the immune system can fight off cancer. We as a cardio-oncology group are interested in the heart, and why some patients develop fatal heart disease when they receive immune-checkpoint inhibitors (a cancer treatment). This is what all of my research projects are focused on, and I’m very passionate about this topic. I think one day I may become a cancer doctor, or a cardio-oncologist, or continue asking questions like these, but that’s too far away for me to speculate. The other group, hailing from one of the most prominent cancer centers in the world, discovered immunotherapy and specifically how the immune system can attack cancer cells in the body. While I was a bit star-struck to be talking to people who have literally saved hundreds of thousands of lives, something every doctor or scientist dreams of doing, I was even more touched by their sincerity and care for patients. I think a lot of times people think humanity is heading in the wrong direction, but moments like these tell me differently. I’m reminded that biomedical research is truly a selfless act of love for humanity. If you have cancer, or if anyone you love has cancer, please know that there are scientists, physicians, pharmacists, students, and every part of the biomedical research industry who are out there working for you. Day and night, there are people thinking of how to combat the disease that maliciously steals our children, parents, friends, and neighbors. I’ve heard people jadedly and suspiciously tell me they believe that there is a cure for cancer that the government is holding it from us. This is incredibly discouraging to me, because I see the hearts of scientists and doctors who are diligently searching for cures and treatments. I see them behind masculine, poised faces, behind white coats and dress pants, behind strong words and distant demeanors; I see people who care for humanity and spend their lives working to cure someone they will never even meet. While most days I just let these encounters go unnoticed, today I appreciated that there is something incredibly powerful and moving in that reality.

experiments

There’s this fleeting moment during an experiment, almost every time, where I stop and think I have completely messed up. I spent the past three days preparing to run an RT-qPCR (real time quantitative polymerase chain reaction if you’re interested) to see if our gene of interest is overexpressed in certain heart tissue. After 15 hours of work, today I put my eyes down, made sure I was ready to go, and began working with the tiniest volumes to prepare the final reaction. I manually pipetted into 96 wells twice (so 192 times). I was so focused on not messing up (this was my first time doing qPCR solo and they gave me the big experiment. . .) but that malevolent little thought rushed in once again. About halfway through the entire process I thought, oh no, you’ve messed up. What was the last sample used? Did you put the right primer in? Is the volume correct? Literally, every worst-case scenario entered my mind. In these often-had moments, I question my process, my accuracy, my proactive thinking, even my basic skills. No matter how confident I am, in these moments I lose all confidence and question things I know to be true. This happened to me today, and I’ve been experiencing this long enough to have mechanisms to mess-up-proof my experiments (like labeling everything, being very intentional in where samples are placed, and using my pipette box as a roadmap for where I’ve already been on the plate). Importantly, I catch my mind while immersed in this doubt and assure myself that I haven’t made a mistake, that I have been very cautious and attentive, and that I am doing just fine. If you’ve read this far despite nonsensical lab stuff, thank you. I realized that this self-initiated doubt is not confined to research but is universal in all of life.

How often am I moving right along, doing just fine, everything is working out, and my mind says to me, Oh no. You have really messed up. You’ve made a big mistake. Everything you’re doing is wrong. I’ll admit, very often. We have experiences, trials and errors, that guide us in life. We make decisions based on knowledge and feelings that we have previously experienced (either in hopes to feel or not feel that way in the future). For the most part, I’d say we are not blindly navigating through life without any guidance (like that cherished from friends, mentors, learning from past mistakes, intentional thinking, etc.). We live like skilled researchers, already filled with the knowledge of how to do our task or with the capability to obtain what we need to know to carry on. It is not that we are taking the wrong path or doing the wrong thing. It is that our minds are telling us that we are. Self-initiated doubt is a destroyer. In the middle of my experiments, it causes me to question what I know is right. In the middle of my life, it causes me to question my actions and pursuits. I so often am living my life, completely satisfied and happy, when that deceptive voice urges me to question everything. Unlike my research skills, I’m not as disciplined to channel my confidence and squander the doubts. This parallel became so clear to me today – doubt creeps in everywhere and to everyone (well, to me at least). Instead of worrying about everything I’ve done wrong or may do wrong, I hope to instead take a note from my laboratory self and remember that I’m capable, skillful, and perfectly fine carrying on in the way that makes me happy. While this example is very specific to my experience, I feel like anyone can think of a place they are skillful (on the court or field, in a job, as a mom or dad, in any hobby) where they don’t let doubt affect their ability to do that skill well. My hope is to live my life a little more like that so the nagging worry and unnecessary questioning don’t invade my happiness and peace of my mind. I guess I hope to live like a crazy scientist that trusts her hand, her skills, and her process – because we all deserve the peace of mind that comes from confidence and self-assurance.

who you are

Your life experiences unquestionably define who you are and guide where you belong in the world. We are each given unique stories – challenges, triumphs, memories, passions – that aid us in figuring out what type of life we are to live. Since I’ve been in college, I have met people from SO many different walks of life, and it has been one of my favorite aspects of moving out of a small town and into a more culturally and ethnically diverse city. The people I’ve become very close friends with come from all over the world and from every background – Russian, African, Indian, Egyptian, Irish, Ukrainian, American, Muslim, Christian, Hindu, atheist, agnostic, poor, rich, sick, and every quality or descriptor in between. The love I have for each of these people is specific and unique to the friendship that we share, and I’m so glad that I’ve come to know them and their story. Along this journey though, I often found myself asking “Who am I? Where do I come from? What characteristics define me?” and yesterday I again happened upon this internal self-discussion after a conversation I had with a friend in my lab. He very casually told me, “Mary, I can finally hear your Southern accent!” which lead down a rabbit hole of conversation on the lifetime struggle of talking with a “twang” and how “cute” it is (Ha). I told him that sometimes people assume others with a Southern accent are less intelligent, less capable, or have certain ideologies. For this reason, I had become accustomed to avoiding phrases that make me sound more Southern. What I have learned though, through encountering others that embrace and welcome their cultural identity, is that I am Southern and I do have a Southern accent. I was raised in a small town and my identity is comprised of those memories that I created as a child. I had this unnerving feeling when I entered college of not having an identity at all, not belonging to a defined “group” with certain values. I often felt like others were very different from me (because, well, they were and still are in many ways) and didn’t share a lot of the experiences I had while growing up. Instead of shaming away from this I began to cherish my own culture. I shared with people what it was like growing up in a small town in Tennessee (as compared to Chicago or Memphis or New York City). I delighted in the fact that I had (and have) certain challenges different from others and that those things make me, me. This acceptance and confidence has permeated into other aspects of my life. Previously at work, I sought to make myself very . . . uniform. I dressed simply and didn’t feel comfortable sharing the intricacies and details of my personality. This was largely in part because I worked with male supervisors and male colleagues and didn’t want to be perceived as less intelligent or less focused on my career. I’ve learned though, by being surrounded by team members that fully accept and cherish who they are, that who I am doesn’t negate my abilities but encourages them. Speaking of my passions and my childhood memories, wearing the clothes that make me feel confident and feminine, and accepting that I am an empowered, capable female, has strengthened my work ethic and confidence, not taken away from it. Yes, I wear eyeliner and like to do yoga. I didn’t take ten AP classes or go to a private, preparatory high school, but I do have the capability to learn and to succeed just as my peers do and have demonstrated that learning is more important than formal education. This is so important, because I really feel like people who may not fit into certain groups need to be encouraged to come from a position of strength instead of weakness. Don’t let the influence of those around you – their maleness (or femaleness), intelligence, appearance, or success – alter the way that you view yourself. What I have learned since accepting that I have a past that makes me better, not worse, and a future that is as bright as the person next to me, is that people love me and appreciate my work for exactly who I am. They like that I can have a conversation about growing up in a small town and how I like to enjoy myself in Nashville. Just because I wear makeup and have my hair fixed doesn’t mean I don’t get called on during meetings to answer hard questions or given hard tasks to complete. I no longer feel like I have no identity because instead of trying to create one that didn’t exist, I accepted the one I already have. There is great power in knowing who you are, growing in who you are, and loving who you are. Not only is there power, but there is indefinite peace.

thoughts on a beach

There are fewer things I want more than to become a physician — truly, when I survey my life for my heart’s deepest desires this worthy role sits at the fundamental core. But then I ask myself, why do I want to be a physician? I have always thought it not only wise but necessary to question every little thing. I was once infatuated with philosophy and while I don’t read it as often as I used to, the inquisitive and questioning nature it taught me never left my mind. So I ask myself – why do I want to be a physician? The answer is complex yet innately obvious to me. There is no short, one-lined answer for my reasons but instead a summation of all my unique life experiences that have lead me to this decision. I have explored other career options that align with my passions: I’ve thought of becoming a professor and teaching chemistry; I’ve considered going to graduate school and being a lifelong researcher; I’ve discussed working in industry as a chemist; I’ve toyed with the idea of being a science writer and journalist. I love teaching others and guiding people to discovering knowledge about themselves through learning difficult ideas and concepts. I think learning is one of God’s greatest gifts to man – I truly believe there is nothing that cannot be learned given enough hard work and time. I am amazed by the human body, the biological systems that work harmoniously within, and the chemistry that, literally, composes all of life and the physical universe. I love reading literature because I get to live through the stories of so many different people, experience their culture and hear their thoughts. I like doing science because it teaches me how to think creatively about the problems that are causing disease and illness. Research brings together the basic science of biology and biochemistry and allows me to do the thinking, the dirty work, and hopefully, discover the solution to a patient problem. But in my searching for the vocation I want to commit my life to, each of the prospective alternatives fell short in a specific and important way. For most, I could not help people in their most vulnerable state. I was missing the intimate and trusting physician-patient relationship that I was attracted to in the beginning. Medicine brings together all of the things I have found myself passionate about for such a long time: passions true to my being, woven into who I am and who I will want to be for the rest of my life. For me, becoming a physician has nothing to do with prestige, honor, or pay. No one in my family is a physician and I’m not being pressured down this career. It has everything to do with using the skills I’ve been blessed with to do the things I love to help others live a healthier life free of disease. I don’t just want to be a physician; I want to be an advocate, an encourager, a teacher, a confidant, a scientist, and a calming, present voice amidst the stormiest times of my patients’ lives. I want to inform and educate others about science and health and learn from those around me in every way I can. I want to write and read and maintain who I am in the long nights and ceremonious mistakes that a life of practicing medicine promises. I want to some day be a wife and a doctor and execute both in the best manner possible. These are the things I envision and hope for my future. So when I feel like my pathway becomes blurred by the constant lull within me to be better, do better, and achieve more I step back and ask myself – to remind myself – why I want to do this. I am journeying this path in life, not for anyone else, but to satiate my unquenchable desire for knowledge and service, challenges and relationships, through triumph and defeat – and that alone makes this pathway my own. I will not lose myself in the circuitous trap of comparison but will instead find myself lying with peace on this beach, reading legendary Nabokov, and dreaming of my future as an endless learner, a trusted confidant, and, ultimately, a healer. 

travels

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to describe the experiences I had when I was away. People talk about traveling, and the impact it has on your life, and you don’t believe them until you actually have that transformation yourself. You grow up in the comfort of your own country with people that mostly look like you and act like you. For my personal childhood, these people were pretty homogenous to me – in appearance and ideology. When I went to college I realized how much I appreciated learning from other cultures and from people that think differently than myself; I adored meeting those people and developed an appreciation for our differences. This December, I seriously sat down with my dad and asked if I could travel abroad for a Maymester. Going out of the country, admittedly, scared me. After some convincing and coercing, I was given blessings to go to Ireland and England. I would be studying public health of three countries and was ecstatic to learn of an area of healthcare I was less familiar with. The spring semester came with its challenges of exams, family life, a new research job, and college in general but before long I had finished my second year of college and was packing to travel across the pond. I can admit that I really had no idea what I was getting myself into – and that is part of the beauty of it all.

It is overwhelming to think of how to write about my experiences. I couldn’t possibly try to start from the beginning to the end, and I’m kicking myself for not keeping a journal going throughout my journey abroad. Truthfully though, I was going pretty much nonstop and would cherish the few hours of sleep I would get each night. I didn’t find time to write. When I think about what I learned on this trip, so much comes to mind. I’ve decided to just write of my experiences as I think of them – so my first one is below!

I feel very deeply that my experiences abroad will make me a better future doctor. Public health is concerned with the health of the masses – not the privileged, or the wealthy, or the exceptional, but of every man and every woman that is deserving of health. A public health perspective is not focused on individual treatment but on ensuring health opportunity for every person. This means that the woman in poverty with a newborn child is just as deserving of health as the wealthy businessman with a nice sportscar. On the first three days of our trip, I learned about the public health infrastructure in the United States, Tennessee, and Nashville. The Commissioner of Health for Tennessee spoke with passion about healthcare for all, not just in the states, but globally. He spoke of not just improving health but health equity. I learned of government programs that aim to improve the health of vulnerable populations – women with children, the impoverished, elderly people, people in rural populations. I observed with excitement the earnest desire that our public health professionals have to alleviate disease and illness and ensure health for all people. I walked the streets of Nashville with a nonprofit organization and talked to people living in homelessness – people I had often passed. I learned of how homeless people are even more susceptible to mental and physical disease than those that have a place to rest their heads. My heart became more compassionate, more understanding, and more heartbroken for the lack of systems we have to care for people that need it most. I thought of how homeless people were stigmatized and criminalized. What I realized most was my own attitude towards them. People – despite color, wealth, social status, illness, or any other factors – are just people at their core. They share the same anatomy, the same biochemistry happening inside their bodies, the same capacity for illness, the same emotional vulnerabilities. People are people, and sometimes as a society, we don’t treat them that way. People are stigmatized for mental illnesses, HIV/AIDS or other STIs, disabilities, and a menagerie of other diseases. In my own country, I noted these discrepancies. As I traveled overseas, I had lectures on public health in the UK and in Ireland. The same problems exist elsewhere, but I do feel these countries have developed more inclusive health systems. Without getting into the (complicated) details of the healthcare systems across the pond, the UK has a single-payer system that is funded through tax dollars and offers coverage to all citizens. The UK also ranks #1 among healthcare delivery, accessibility, quality, and timeliness; unfortunately, they rank second-to-last in health outcomes (second only to the United States). So, of course, the UK has its problems in improving the health of populations but at least has developed a sophisticated and inclusive (for the most part) healthcare system. Ireland has a much more convoluted healthcare system that has a public component where all citizens get a medical card they use to get public healthcare, and a private component where paying citizens can get private insurance and faster healthcare services. Interestingly, the public healthcare services are more desired than the private because of more extensive expertise in the public hospitals. Nonetheless, all of this healthcare talk is really exciting to me and something I want to be more involved in but probably boring for everyone else… The culmination of my experiences abroad lead me to realize that whether or not you believe healthcare is a right or a privilege – you have to believe that health is a right. Every person is entitled to living a healthy, happy life, free of disease and illness, free of disability, and free of pain. The unfortunate truth is that many people don’t live lives that way now and may never live that way. In my future practice as a doctor, I hope to work to ensure my patients have the best medical care with their optimized health always in my mind. I will value my patients as people with equality and integrity – no matter their race, background, income, homelessness, religious belief, or language barriers. I learned much more on my trip (like where the best pubs are in Ireland and where to get the best Americano in London) but of course this was the important, overarching theme that I wanted to write about first. I will forever be thankful for my travels abroad and hope to write of (perhaps more exciting?) experiences soon!

Pushing stones

Find something you think is important and spend your life supporting it. How does one find meaning in the mundane, spontaneity in the ordinary, and purpose in the routine? These are questions I think about often, and I don’t think anyone knows. But I do think some are closer than others. I read a book over Christmas break that impacted me deeply (I wrote about it on here), and what I took away from it was the basic human need to do meaningful work. Some would argue that life should be spent pursuing fantastical adventures, exploring the unknown, living robust and exciting lives…and while this is true to some extent, it is supremely unconventional and sometimes plainly unattainable. I am a person that sometimes gets carried away on these lofty, imaginative thoughts as well, but nonetheless I find my roots and become grounded in the practicality of life. So what do we do when we can’t spend our lives traveling the globe, jumping out of airplanes, investing in nonprofit organizations, saving the lives of homeless people, writing best-selling books? I think my personal answer was revealed to me by a classmate in my European literature class yesterday. We were discussing The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus. While we didn’t read this piece, there was a metaphor that we discussed. This was the vision of someone pushing a rock, up a hill, only to never reach the top. This person spent his whole life, some would say ignorantly, pushing a stone up the hill to never become satisfied in his efforts. In a way, we spend our entire lives doing the same thing. Maybe we are pushing along many stones, exerting ourselves in unnecessary ways, only to find that the end was never our goal. The entire journey is about the stone. What does all of this metaphysical, philosophical jargon mean anyways? For me, really a practical person, it means finding a stone I think worthy of spending my life pushing. Identifying, consciously, what it means to do meaningful work. It means actively engaging in my life in ways that I have been gifted, and exploring the limits of those treasures. Viktor Frankl would say that our fundamental human condition rests on doing and performing meaningful, purposeful work. This may not be a traditional “job”, but instead a cause that we support, a belief we are rooted in, or a purpose we feel destined to fulfill. Or, it may be a traditional vocation where we can utilize and implore our skills, grow, change, and transform. For me, what my stone is becomes clearer every day. Admittedly, there will be (and are) doubts (why should I spend my time doing this anyways?) but whether we are aware of it or not, we are all pushing something. Maybe yours is social media, the opinions of others, and mediocrity. Maybe it is a watered-down version of yourself. Maybe it is what your family and friends want for you instead of what you want for yourself. It really only takes conscious knowledge to change these things, and I have found myself in these examples as well. We are all spending our time, energies, and lives supporting something. For me, I want to be a part of this process. I want to push a stone that allows me to transform lives through my curiosities and my skills. I want to spend my life pushing myself towards fulfilling a greater purpose than I could ever be. I want to care for people in their most vulnerable state, discover new ideas, advance our understanding of the human condition and the science behind it. I want to allow myself creative exploration and the ability to write when I want. I want to permeate love and kindness and grace and hope in the places I share with those I cherish. Simply, I want to dedicate myself and my time to something meaningful. I think everyone does. The important part is to find that thing that makes you light up inside and is worth your time and energy. We all have them, and we will spend all of our lives pushing, supporting, sacrificing, all that we have to navigate that stone up the hill towards what we consider a meaningful and promising life.