Independence Day

July 4, 2010 is a day that will be forever etched into my brain. It's the day that I truly had a moment to reflect on what 'independence' means to me as an American citizen and as a sister who has a brother commissioning into the Navy in a few weeks. He'll be a "Navy doctor" when all is said and done, and I couldn't be more proud. The Navy will pay for the entirety of his medical education, and I know he's excited. Yet, as "Anchors Aweigh" proudly graced my ears during a church service yesterday, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. My brother, a soon-to-be first year medical student, is willing to make his medical education all about service to his country, and for that, I'm eternally grateful. As I stood with my hand over my heart, I fought back tears.

Since the rocky start that we had to him accepting my wanting to become a doctor, I've talked it out to him. He understands, he's completely on-board, and he teaches me every single day. You see, he spent a year in a Carribbean medical school, but due to some financial issues with the institution, he had to come home for a while and reapply in the United States. He's so excited, and I'm so excited for him. He'll be at a school about an hour and a half from me, so I'll take weekend trips to see him, to help him study, and to just enjoy our time. I love him. So, so much.

Further, I began thinking. Independence means that I, as a disabled American citizen, can become a doctor. And that is the greatest gift I can think of getting. No matter the challenge, Americans live in a country where there has been legislation adopted that protects them and that ensures equality. Though I, and the many others with disabilities will have difficulty that is unexpected or not able to be foreseen, it is incredible to me that there is such a freedom where, in essence, those difficulties don't matter. That is such a blessing and such a reward, and I'm so honored.

Later in the afternoon, we went to see the new version of the film Karate Kid starring Jaden Smith and Jackie Chan. Honestly, it was one of the deepest films I've seen in a long, long time. A scene that stuck out to me and that will most likely creep up in later writing took place after Jaden Smith sustained an injury to his knee during the semi-finals of the kung fu tournament. As he laid in pain on the stretcher, he asked Jackie Chan if he should return to the match, and Jackie Chan said that he didn't think his current condition would permit it. Jaden, the twelve year old that he is, reminded Chan of something he told Jaden a long time ago. He said, "When life knocks you down, you stand straight back up."

I couldn't help but think about that as being exactly the philosophy that medicine has instilled in me. Not necessarily for what it has done for me as a patient but what it has done for me as a future doctor is incredible. I have so, so much to be thankful for, including the patients I will serve, the insights they will give me, and the trust that is instilled in a doctor-patient relationship. See? It's not about me. It's about them.

May you all discover the beauty of independence and the gift of freedom!

Inspiration Beyond Words

There are no words to describe the story I'm going to let these few videos tell you. Just sit back, relax, and be inspired!

Native Inspiration.

For whatever reason, via Twitter or Facebook, it's been difficult for me to find medical students/doctors/medical professionals from the state in which I reside, which is Georgia. It's quite sad, but I'm not surprised. We're behind in nearly everything, so why not be behind in technology and social media as well?

It might be hard for me to write this post without a few tears, so if the keyboard is slick and there are a few typos, please excuse me. Read on, and you'll figure out why.

I had just declared a pre-medical intent. It was the end of February or early March, and as doctors often do on Twitter, many of the doctors that I follow follow this doctor with the handle "doc_rob", so I clicked on his handle to find out more about him.

And then the moment occurs.

I read: Location: Georgia (Augusta).

I breathe, and I take a moment to contain my excitement.

I read again: Location: Georgia (Augusta).

Could it be? I found a Georgia doctor! I really did!

Immediately, I clicked to follow him, and I tweeted him a simple message, which was something to the effect of "Hi, I'm a pre-medical student from GA. Pleased to follow you!" We got to chatting about school and discovered that he is a short drive away from me.

The "awesome-this-world-is-so-small" connection is just the beginning. You see, Dr. Rob has taught me so many things, and I'd like to publically thank him while sharing his lessons with you.

Dr. Rob has taught me, rather indirectly, how to truly love medicine. Each time I read his blog posts, as humorous as they may be, I know. I know that he truly loves his job, his practice, and the life that "doctordom" has created for he, his wife, and their four children. I know that being a doctor doesn't require a lifestyle of seriousness in the sense that a doctor can't have other hobbies. Though his blog is healthcare oriented and one of the most educational blogs on the 'net to date, he has fun. What doctor would give me a Golden Llama Award and cause me to think it was a blogging Grammy or something like that? He has fun. That's most important.

Dr. Rob has also taught me even further to find joys in the simple things. It was a short time ago in which he wrote about why he loves being a doctor. Through the simple, underappreciated action of a hug, he showed his patient that he valued her as a person in addition to his patient. He cared for her as a person and as a patient. In that sense, he not only taught me because I'm a fellow human being. See people for all they are, all they bring, and all they have.

Finally, the last thing Dr. Rob has taught me (for now, anyway) is that anyone can do anything they work hard to achieve. I'm aware this sounds cliche, but it just means more than you know to have "homegrown" support. From tweets to blogs to podcasts, Dr. Rob teaches.

And he teaches from his heart. Thank you, Dr. Rob, for being the intelligent, hysterical doctor, mentor, social media fanatic that you are. I appreciate you more than you know!

Heart As Big As The Hospital

Pictured above is the Columbia University Medical Center. It is, in fact, the place I hope to complete a few rotations during medical school, if not all of them. But you know, it got me to thinking a bit deeper. It got me to thinking that though a human heart is born to love, care, respect, and so much more, the doctor's heart truly is something special and really something that should be as big as the hospital.

You see, our hearts aren't the ones that thrive off of the scientific side of medicine; our heads are simply satisfied with that. Our hearts, however, thrive on seeing our patients healing, responding, and most importantly, thriving. I just noticed that I'm using the pronoun "our" just as though I'm a doctor, but if there's one thing I've learned in my short career as a 'future doctor',' it would have to be the fact that once you're certain that you'd like to enter the medical profession as a doctor, in particular, it doesn't matter how much educaton you have in order to have the same mindset. It's just the heart that's important.

One of my personal doctors, namely, my neurosurgeon, showed me that his heart is indeed as big as the hospital in the late night hours of July 11, 2000.

My parents had gone to the Braves All-Star game that night at Turner Field, and my sister and I were staying with my mom's best friend's daughter, who is now the best nurse I've ever seen. For a week, I had been displaying flu-like symptoms, which, for those of us who are fortunate enough to carry around a ventriculoperitoneal shunt, can be extremely treacherous.

After my parents had arrived home and I had been lying on the couch with a pillow over my face, lying flat on my back, and vomiting incessantly all night long, my mom decided it was time to really evaluate the situation to see what conditions were and how we should handle the situation. I ate, I believe it was a popsicle, sitting straight up in a straight back recliner because I couldn't move my neck due to severe pain, and I couldn't touch my chin to my chest. Which, unbeknown to my ten year old self at the time, is a sure sign for shunt failure. A sure sign.

After eating the popsicle with laborious effort, I told my mom to call the hospital. At the ripe old age of ten years old, I had more body awareness than most do in their lifetime. I knew something was wrong. A brief phone call led to a rushed trip to the hospital that is fifteen minutes from our house.

I vaguely remember the parking lot of the hospital that night. Shortly after we got out of the car, I fainted, cold and lifeless, in my mother's arms. Hurriedly running into the emergency department, she screams, "DOCTOR! WE NEED A DOCTOR NOW!" The doors of the emergency department flung open, and still unresponsive, I laid on te bed in the observation room as the staff prepared to airlift me to my pediatric hospital, which is about fifty minutes from the local hospital. Shortly after the phonecall was made, I became responsive once again, and turned my head to the right. To my right, I saw my twin sister. I heard her screaming, "Please don't let her die!" over the crocodile tears that streamed down her face.

The decision was finally made that I would be transported by ground to the pediatric hospital, and my mother, her best friend, and my sister would follow behind us. Inside the ambulance, it was all I could do to keep from screaming. I was grateful for the emergency medical staff around me, the doctor that came with me, and the millions of intravenous fluid tubes surrounded the gurney, but all I wanted was quiet, The pounding, so loudly echoing inside my head, drained me of my energy. Drained me of my life. Drained me of my soul.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the first person I saw who looked vaguely familiar was my uncle, who lives about ten minutes from the hospital. I remember just the outline of his face and the thick Harry Potter book curled into his right hand. "Hello there, sweet girl," he muttered. "Hi, Uncle Jim," I responded back. "Thank you." While we waited for my mother, many things happened, most of which I only have faint memories. A skinny, dutiful anesthesiologist walks into the room and says he needs to take me back for imaging. Immediately confused, I ask for a radiology technician. Ultimately, she was the one to escort me. Maybe the anesthesiologist meant well, but I wasn't taking any chances without my mother, a backup person who knew my history. Finally, after the CT scan was complete, I see my mother for the first time since the local hospital.

Shortly thereafter, the radiologist had reviewed the scans, we were under the impression that my doctor had been called, and he revealed that shunt failure had been ruled out. Here we go on the battle known as viral meningitis. First stop: The lab. For a lumbar puncture. Meanwhile, my mom was pacing up and down the hall outside the temporary room. Suddenly, she runs into my neurosurgeon. He's headed out of the emergency exit doors as she blurts, "Oh, thank God. You're here!" He stopped, and he asked my mom what she was doing at the hospital. Mid-sentence, he stopped. He screamed, "Where in the world is Erin?" Mom tells him, and he runs.

As the doors to the lab fly open, the needle is inches from my spine. I hear his voice, my cry becomes louder, and he comes to the head of the bed in my line of vision. He takes the needle from the doctor's hand, and calmly, he whispers, "It's okay. I'll take care of this." Grabbing my hand, he smiles. "Hey, little girl. You're okay. Let me take some fluid and then we'll see each other in the OR in 30 minutes. Sound good?" I nod my head slightly.

The surgery is performed, and everything is now revised. I'm feeling well after a night in the hospital, and the door to my hospital room creaks open. I hear a sniffle, see my doctor with his round glasses and sharp grin peering through the door, and I smile. Coming to sit down on the bed, he faintly says, "Wow. I think that was a fluke last night." My mom looks confused. "Why do you say that, Doc?" she asks. "Because no one ever paged me. I didn't know you were here. I woke up at 3am and decided I just needed to go to the hospital. My wife thought I was nuts."

Teary-eyed, my mom responds, "No, Doc. It wasn't a fluke. It was a miracle. You saved my daughter's life."

My angel doctor proved to me that his heart is indeed as big as the hospital, and his heart will be reflected in my own.

Thanks, Angel Doctor. I love you.

The Return of the Blogging Chair

Last evening, my mom came into my bedroom and offered me something. In her mind, she was offering me a green, fluffy, round armchair from her bedroom to fill a space beneath the floor lamp in my bedroom, but little did she know.

She offered the return of the place of my greatest blogging inspirations, the chair that has seen me cry many, many tears and laugh one decibel too loud. Just loud and hard enough, in fact, that my ribs began to ache.

I'm excited for the return of the blogging chair. That means this summer will be filled with more blogging than you can imagine. And, by the way, some of you might need to dig out your own blogging chairs! I need some help! Four guest posts while I'm on vacation next week are up for grabs! Just see my new guest blogging page for more information, and I look forward to hearing your little inspirations from your own little blogging chairs!

Oh, and one more thing! I'm working to start a group blog for attending physicians, medical students, residents, and possibly other health professionals with disabilities. Though I haven't created the official blog yet due to waiting to see whether or not there is enough interest, I have created a Twitter account and Facebook page so that we can start connecting. If you're a doctor or other health professional, please consider promoting the creation of this group blog that I believe will benefit many. We'll be called "Doctors with Disabilities". Yes, I know. It's original, right? But catchy! The blog already has an e-mail account in an effort to manage correspondence! Thanks for your assistance with this promotion!

Here's to many tales from the blogging chair! I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Why?

One of the most infamous questions of my lifetime, and of anyone else's, I'm sure, is simply "Why?" From the age-old rhetorical question "Why is the sky blue?" to my favorite one "Hey you! Why do you walk like that?", curiosity often gets the best of all of us from time to time.

Now, you're in luck. Though I've partially answered to the reasons I'd like to become a doctor, there's so much more. So, today, on this very day, you'll understand the intimacies of the reasons I will become "Erin, M.D." sooner than I think.

I've always come across the fact that people assume I want to become a doctor because it's just what I've known all my life. To give you a simple answer, it'll take just a few abbreviations and maybe some terms.

Well, you have the born at 26 weeks gestation factor, then you have atalectasis, then you have an IVH* with a grade four bleed, and then you have ventriculoperitoneal shunt placement, six revisions in nearly twenty years, Botulinium toxin** injections once every six months for fifteen years, physical therapy four five hours a week for 12 years (that's 3,120 hours, by the way), and oh, we can't forget the orthopedic surgeries.

Even after all of that medical jargon, that's still not the reason why I would like to become a doctor.

People are my passion. Teaching people the ways that they can live as healthy of a life as possible for as long as possible with the highest possible quality is my passion. It's my joy.

Possibility should be synonymous for a career in medicine. Frankly, that's what we, as future and current doctors, are responsible for showing our patients the possibilities. We're responsible for seeing to it that our patients are given a fair opportunity for complete, total healing and complete, total health.

And that, my friends, is why I want to be a doctor!