As cliché as it sounds, I always wanted to be a doctor (most of my life anyway). Growing up in a Caribbean household with parents who worked in the service sector of society, these things tend to have an influence on who I am as well as my career path. I got exposure to many healthcare-related things as my father used to run a social work private practice and my mother worked as a nurse at the hospital. I would say that I learned about societal determinants of health from Dad and medicine as well as bedside manner from Mom. I can vividly recall having plenty of reading material in the bathroom with the pharmaceutical pamphlets that Mom would always leave in there, meeting and interacting with Dad’s caring co-workers and going to the hospital where mom worked after school some days where I would do my homework in the break room. Being a curious child, I would sneak out and peak into the hallways observing the activity of the hospital floor. I was intrigued by what was going on with the patients and how their diseases were being treated. My vision of seeing myself as a doctor was reinforced by stellar teachers I had in elementary school who were willing to invest their personal time and energy into me. This was the beginning of me truly seeing myself as a doctor.

In elementary school, I was lucky enough to be chosen to play the saxophone as there was a limited number of horns my school was able to loan. I fell in love with music and the saxophone and at one point I dreamed of being a jazz saxophonist. I was always involved in athletics and fell in love with basketball at a young age and as you can probably guess, like most people, had dreams of going to the NBA. There were numerous summers where I would play basketball all day or practiced the sax for hours on end. I knew by high school that professional basketball wasn’t for me because it started to feel more like a job than something I loved doing and let’s face it, my odds of getting into “the league” were slim. I also wanted to be a jazz musician but at the same time desired to make my parents proud.

I started to take my path into medicine seriously in high school. I had a routine meeting with my guidance counselor one day and just happened to notice a flyer on her wall. It said that Columbia University was sponsoring a mentorship program in medicine that would require students to spend their Saturdays on campus if accepted. As I had decided to fully pursue medicine, I figured sacrificing a few Saturdays was a small price to pay. I got accepted and got a great introduction to medicine from medical students and better yet, got valuable career advice: Major in something your passionate about when you get to college; as long as you complete your pre-med courses, you will actually stand out in the medical school application pool. So, I took that advice and ran with it.

I graduated from college with my degree in music and all my pre-medicine course completed. The only thing left for me to do was take the MCAT which is the medical school entry exam. I spent that summer leisurely studying and the took the exam towards the end. Once I got my score back, I was devastated. It was not where I needed it to be. In my vulnerable state, I had to look myself in the mirror and be honest as to why I did not succeed. It was then I began to learn that I had to sacrifice a lot more to take the steps in making my dream a reality. I buckled down, cut out distractions and committed to studying at least 60 hours per week. I also felt that I put in a lot of hard work during my undergrad years and I can’t let that just go to waste. It was at this time I entered one of the most dark periods of my life when my father suddenly became ill rendering me his primary caretaker. Amongst that and studying, I had to make money so I landed a job as a long-term substitute teacher at my old high school. With all that on my plate there were many times where I contemplated giving up and pursuing the music route; I mean it’s not like I didn’t have sax gigs here and there was not able to accumulate more. But that’s not what I wanted; I wanted to finish what I started and make my dream a reality. I remember praying and asking “How much more of myself, my being, my soul do I have to give in order for me to get to the finish line? Why does it have to be this way? Is this what I should even be doing? Are these signs that I should just give up now?” Little did I know that this period of my life would test my limits, my passion for medicine and the love I had for my father. It was during this time I grew tremendously as a potential healthcare worker. Being my father’s caretaker, I was tasked with driving him to and from doctor’s appointments, helping him bathe and dress, cleaning and packing pressure ulcers and communicating with his doctors. It was through this process I was introduced to the field of pain management when I had to take my father to such a provider. I had no idea such a field of medicine existed. Seeing how the doctor interacted with my father inspired me and I was further inspired by learning about the cool procedures they do. Just the thought: an entire field of medicine devoted to helping alleviate people’s pain. This boosted my desire to follow through with medicine. At this point, I wanted to become a doctor more than ever.

I stuck with my study schedule and made more sacrifices to accommodate my many hats. I eventually retook the medical school entrance exam, attained an extremely better score and applied to medical school. But that was not the end of it and after all I’ve been through, I knew there was still a lot more I had to do. It felt like I had to constantly prove something – whether it be to myself, to God, to admissions committees - that I really wanted and deserved acceptance to medical school. Just filling out the medical school applications was a lot of work. I somehow found the time and energy to add writing multiple essays on a daily basis to meet deadlines in addition to everything I was already dealing with. With my applications sent in and on file at various medical school, I decided to attend a American Medical Association conference in Washington, D.C. where I knew admissions committee members would be. I knew that I was a decent candidate on paper but that’s not where my bread and butter lied– my personality, my drive and determination and compassion for people are where my true gifts lied and the only way to truly get that across to another individual was in person. With multiple copies of my resume in hand, I asked my Godfather to drive me to a Greyhound station so that I may make an impression on admissions committees and personally hand them a copy. At the conference, there were droves of students trying to make an impression, but I was one of the few that already had an application on file as most students were looking to apply in the near future. I remember seeing the surprised look on admission committees faces once I told them my application was on file and the reason I was there was to personally meet them and further reinforce that I am “the real deal.” As time went by, I got multiple requests for interview. Each interview request felt like I was getting closer and closer to my dreams. After months of interviewing, I finally received my first decision letter: Rejection. After opening that letter, I felt like I was in a free-fall – one minute I’m in the stars as things are looking more optimistic and the very next minute I was smacked right back down to Earth. Although it hurt, I shrugged it off because there were plenty more decision letters coming. The next one came: Waitlist. The one after that: Waitlist. For weeks, it was a constant rollercoaster of anticipation of opening up the letter only to be quickly disappointed. It soon got to a point that I was anticipating disappointment; all optimism and gone out the window. At my lowest point, I remember speaking to my mother and expressing that I felt like God has forsaken me – I did everything I was supposed to in my life, I always wanted to make my parents proud, treated people with kindness and respect, gave back to my community, sacrificed so much to make my dream a reality just to be rejected. As time wound down, I did not think I was ever going to get off the waitlist. The very next day after the conversation with my mother, I received an email from a medical school while at work at the high school. I opened the email between periods and couldn’t believe my eyes: my very first acceptance. I shared the news with my students who all celebrated with joy. It felt like that not only did my hard work and sacrifice pay off, but I also had my whole community in my corner. It’s true that it’s darkest before dawn and I was wrong about God forsaking me. This whole period was to prepare me for the even longer journey ahead.