Medicine has been a part of my life since the day I was born. I was born in the hospital my dad was working through the beginnings of residency in. His training was the reason we would move, the reason he was late to recitals (and yet somehow still there at just the right moment when it was my turn on stage) and the center of many memories. Growing up I would follow him around the hospital if he got paged on the way to dinner. I would listen to people’s hearts in their stomach (because I could reach there and thought it was there). I would break nurse diets with my killer girl scout cookie sales. I would sit beside him as he went through stacks of patient charts and dictate into a dictaphone, then later as he started pulling them up on the iPad.
I remember when my grandpa needed heart surgery when I was young. He told his surgeon to send the films to his son for a consult. My brother and I got to go to the hospital to see grandpa’s heart on the hospital monitors, since the hospital was the only place that could run the program on the disc. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Then my other grandpa needed heart surgery and told the surgeon to send the films to his son-in-law. Those films came via email and we could view from the iPad. The progression of technology in medicine alone has been astounding to watch.
So needless to say, it has been around me since day 1. I mean, my mom has a picture of my brother and I in the doctor kits they sell for kids, but my dad brought us masks, hair nets and shoe covers from the OR. So we looked ridiculous if you can imagine. But I was not pushed to medicine. I always thought I would be just like dad, going into medicine. But any time I would have wanted to change career plans, I was told I would be supported.
But I will say, I had to convince interviewers that this was my dream, not his. Sure, he keeps talking about how excited he is to hood me at graduation (I mean really excited) but this is my dream. I don’t want to be in his field anyway (at all). There have been some who think it is expected of me to be a doctor, but if that were the argument, my brother would also be in medical school. Spoiler alert, he is not.
Along the interview trail, there were some concerned as I applied DO. Why is that significant? Well, my father is an MD. What would they think? (And yes, this was a real question at an interview I got) To me, that was an odd question. My father was supporting me as I applied, and was excited when I got into a DO school. To him, he thinks it fits my personality and is confident the school will help me toward my goals. Why was this a question though? Apparently, there are some out there that think if you are an MD and your child goes DO, it is something to be ashamed of. Maybe in some families, but not mine. And now that I am in a DO school, I came home for Christmas break and he wanted me to show what I learned and practice on the family. He was really interested to see how I could improve different somatic dysfunctions he might have acquired from his golf game, or my mom when she did too much in the yard again.
You know what is nice about having family in medicine? They get it. They get the long hours and hard work it takes. If I don’t respond for a few days, no one freaks out. My mom and dad were together throughout his medical training and my mom is the daughter of a doctor. So not only does my father get it, but my mom has seen it firsthand in more ways than one. I don’t have to worry about my mom calling and wondering why I cannot talk when I need to study for a block of exams or my dad asking why I cannot come home. Now, every once in a while, Dad has to remind Mom, but they are very understanding and that I appreciate. I see classmates who have to explain to their parents about these things over and over, so it is nice to know they get it.
I do take advantage of the fact that my father is a doctor. I call home or text for answers constantly. Sometimes, he is faster than any professor email. Come the unit of his specialty, he knows I am calling daily. If I start sending too many, he just calls or FaceTimes because he is tired of typing. During the block that covered his field, he even offered to answer questions of other students via FaceTime. He was where we are once so he knew. I might not be doing as well as I want to be, but I know he gets it and will remind me “But did you pass? Because that is what matters the most.” Or his favorite line, “What do you call the person who finished last in medical school? A doctor.” Other family, they expect high grades and perfection. My father, passing, doing well, and learning everything I can. And Mom would add, be humble and kind at the same time.
You know, I am still not sure who was more excited for my acceptance email, me or my father. I had been applying for so long, I almost gave up. But he kept encouraging me. He had been through it and he seemed to know I could handle it; I just had to get there first. He still encourages me. He understands the lingo, the occasional humor that comes up as I try to learn every possible detail. He understands the struggle and the hard work it takes to get where I am and where I need to be. My father was my first role model and he still is today.
I appreciate everything my father is and does for me. I would not trade him for the world.
