A Testament to Faithfulness

Lately, I have been living between the checkmarks on endless to do lists while dreaming of brain pathways, lung sounds, and x-rays. All around me the world has transformed into a Christmas wonderland in anticipation of the coming celebration. Even now as I write this I sit at Starbucks listening to carols and sipping from a red cup.

Between me and Christmas stand four exams and a quiz. Medical school is a lot of hard work (and that is an understatement), but I have been struck more and more, especially lately, how grateful I am to be here, to get to study. The journey to getting into medical school was not easy, and those of you who lived through the years leading up to today will remember how many times I doubted I was called to be a physician. I wanted to write this reflection today to attest to the faithfulness of God that prepared, equipped, and strengthened me throughout.

In the past years myself, family, and friends were exposed to health problems ranging from large sicknesses such as cancer to accidents and injuries such as head trauma and broken bones to more common (or not) things such as salivary gland infections and pneumonia. My exposure to each of these helped to educate me, clinically, but also contributed to my ability to listen, support and care for those impacted by loved one’s health problems, and lean on the Lord for strength when my own was lacking.

While in college, many doors opened for me to pursue leadership roles in programs where I learned crisis management and problem-solving skills, communication skills, and school-life balance. Looking back, specifically, the life skills I learned while helping lead 250 people in Mexico were incredibly important for medical school, and this was not an experience I originally sought out! Rather, the door was opened when what I had planned for myself fell through.

I think it’s funny that we often encounter God the most when the plans we make for ourselves—and are so sure of—do not pan out. I can attest that He has a plan for your life, He wants to use you for His purposes, and He will orchestrate your circumstances so that you are prepared, equipped, and strengthened to take on all He has for you.

The biggest example I can think of, and the greatest blessing in disguise was my not getting into medical school, initially. As I mentioned before, I had doubts about my purpose in medicine; these doubts stemmed mainly from the length of commitment to school and self-doubt that I could not survive what everyone describes as one of the most challenging educations. It was not until the door to medicine initially appeared closed, that I actually realized it was where I was supposed to be.  Looking back, I can the gift I was given by being initially rejected from medical school. I was given instead what I could not have planned for—a year of medical experience which prepared me for medical school in ways I continue to daily discover.

So, I want you to know today is that God’s grace is sufficient for you, and it is His power that is made perfect in your weaknesses because when you are weak it is then that He shows Himself strong. I am so grateful for the grace that has enabled me the gift of studying medicine. I am grateful for the ways God has guided and will continue to guide my life in His perfect will. It will not always be easy, and He does not promise it will be. Rather God ensures that He will be with you, always. I pray you will seek Him first and trust His plans for your life. 

Waves are only Waves

Peace be still
Say the word and I will
Set my feet upon the sea, till I'm dancing in the deep

Peace be still
You are here so it is well
Even when my eyes can't see, I will trust the voice that speaks

This anthem was sung out over me at church this morning (Peace Be Still, Lauren Daigle). Jesus showed up right where I need him, with the reminder to trust him by hold out hope and not moving my line of sight—He’s right here, with us—always.

Medical school is becoming harder and harder (which yes, I anticipated). But, every day I am expected to memorize the various nerves, tubricles, muscles, tendons, bones, and whatever else can be found within a triangular section the professor draws over a given set of body parts… death by information overload? Quite possibly.  

I had much anticipated the arrival of this weekend, and it was full of really good, life giving time with people and events. Often, however, once the things we so looked forward to end, there is a sort of letdown in the aftermath.

Yesterday was no exception for me; I was tired and overwhelmed, once the dust had settled. And this lead me to debate attending church this morning. Isn’t it interesting how the place that can ground and give us that much needed eternal perspective, grace, and joy, is often the first to get thrown aside in favor of increased time, sleep, or fill in the blank?  

I'm not gonna be afraid
'Cause these waves are only waves
I'm not gonna be afraid, I'm not gonna be afraid
I'm not gonna fear the storm
You are greater than it's roar
I'm not gonna fear the storm
I'm not gonna fear at all

Peace be still. Instead of cramming my hour-long slot of Sunday morning with more anatomical vocabulary, sleep, or catching up on chores, I was reminded of good, solid, truth. The truth that my time spent studying will be met and honored, when I give first that time to the one who created it. I can trust that the investment I make in centering my mornings around the Lord and returning to Him at the end of each will not be wasted. Just as the song says, the waves will remain waves, and the anatomy just a test. Jesus surpasses all, and He is with me in this.  

Psalm 77:16

When the waters saw you, O God,
    when the waters saw you, they were afraid;
    indeed, the deep trembled.

The Lord is more powerful than whatever you may be facing. You need only to keep your eyes on him, and He will keep you afloat in the deep.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwCSEsFN1q8

Stop for a Story

I love stories, always have. When I was young my parents would reward me with books and subsequently take them away as punishment. I think this love of story is part of my draw to medicine; my career will be centered around interactions with people. I will have to learn almost all the pertinent information needed to diagnose and treat a presenting condition, directly from the stories told by people I encounter in my exam rooms.

I have recently moved across the country, in order to attend medical school, and I now find myself in a small suburb of Chicago. In my little suburb, there are always events happening. Festivals, concerts, deals on dinner to allow you to try all the restaurants—it’s a fun place.

However, my suburb also moves at a much slower pace of life than I am used to—and I have been learning about slowing down to take it all in. So, today I decided to take my reading homework outside in the community. I eventually ventured toward the public library’s lawn, which I realized was being set up for a concert. I found my bench: in the sun, close to some people but further from the music, and slowly a crowd started to form.

Enter to the scene: Bob.

Now I am not sure how, but Bob was able to figure out by just walking by me and saying hello, that I was a medical student. My bench had remained unoccupied until this point, despite the filling crowd. No less than a minute later, however, Bob sits right next to me—separate only by the water bottle I had set down when I first arrived. I don’t think too much of it, but when I glance from my reading, I know I’m in for a story.

From my initial assessment of Bob, I notice that he is well dressed, older (60s at least), and I quickly learn he knows almost every person in the park by name. Over the next 15-20 minutes, Bob’s story is told to me in small, repetitive, snippets. I assess the repetition is most likely due to the short-term memory loss he retains as one of the only, obvious symptoms secondary to his “massive cerebral vascular accident” (stroke) which brought him to Loyola School of Medicine Emergency Department as a “code blue” (unresponsive patient), 40 years ago.

As I listen to Bob, I gain significant insight into my medical school and the people who work there from a perspective that could only come from a patient. He and his neurosurgeon who was (at the time of his emergency craniotomy) chief of neurosurgery at Loyola, have since become great friends, family even.

Bob tells me that he calls this physician, who no longer is in practice, often—just to update him about his life. He reverently refers to the physician because he feels he owes him his life. He tells me about each of the neurosurgeon’s children, and he also notes all the medical people within his own nieces and nephews. And while I am listening to these snippets of story, he intermittently stops and interjects to say hi, by name, to each of the passersby.

Can you imagine, that the book I was reading for my medical school doctoring class (Patient Centered Medicine) was discussing the inherent necessity for empathy in the medical practice? That I was reading about was discussing specifically, the need for physicians who listen and discover what kind of person has the disease, not just what kind of disease the person has? And that as I read said book, into my world walked a living, breathing example of how this could be lived out? I also was able to see how well the patient could fair after a significant operation (he showed me his scar) directly due to how he was and continues to be cared for, by his physician.

Eventually, one of Bob’s many friends joined us on the bench, and I was able to finish my reading before heading home. But I think the importance of listening to a patient and being with them through the journey of healing will always be somehow connected to Bob. I had previously observed this from the physician side during my countless hours as a scribe, but understanding the impact an invested physician had on a random patient was unique.

Overall, it makes me excited to become a practicing physician—but for now I am grateful that my education will be gained at an organization who produces physicians worthy of telling stories about to strangers in the park.