A True Hero: For Kathy

Exactly three months from today I hope to wake up a "free woman." PA school will be a thing of my past. The last 27 months of my life will be a warm, chaotic memory and one that I will rather gleefully move on from. But it's not an experience I'll soon forget and if anyone were to ask me, "Would you do it all again? Would you go back to school knowing what you know now and how tough it would be?" I would answer, without hesitation, "Absolutely."

Such was the response that encouraged me to go back to school in my early 30s. When I asked a PA I really respected what he thought of PA school he told me, "It was two of the hardest years of my life... and ones that I would gladly repeat."  

I am fortunate to have many influential people in my life and I want to take this space to thank one of them. 

Waking up Here. By Laura Robinson 

I was rather ill a few years ago. I was in the hospital with an immune system melt down, had lost a lot of weight rather quickly, and was sicker than I ever thought possible. Friends, family, and my partner were all very supportive. They were sweet and continued to tell me I "looked great"--even though I knew I was a frightening shadow of my former self. They told me things would "get better". At the same time that I was in the hospital, my grandfather was also dealing with a renewed bout of cancer. We had a very candid talk at the time about what it means to be sick, to not feel like yourself anymore, about wanting to give up. We talked about how exhausting it was to try and be strong for family, for those who continued to show up. It was during a particularly depressing night, after one of the most difficult days of my life, that a woman named Kathy arrived at my bedside. 

Kathy was a CNA (certified nursing assistant) and I'd never met her before. The other nurses caring for me were excellent. They were young and funny and my room became a happening social phenomenon where nurses would stop by and hang out after their shifts because I always had friends around who were equally young and funny. All of the attention was wonderful, but I was so tired and what I really wanted to talk about, with someone--anyone--was the one thing I was having the hardest time dealing with myself. 

I was afraid. At the time I was a freelance writer and photographer and didn't have health insurance. I was afraid I wouldn't get better, that things wouldn't be okay. Kathy had just gone through a difficult medical dilemma with a close family member who eventually ended up passing away. She'd heard about me and wanted to say hello because I was the youngest person on the floor. When you work in the hospital you usually work with older people so a patient in their 20s or 30s is unique. For someone that young to be in the hospital they are often very sick. Kathy arrived at 10pm, a whisper in the moonlight, and sat down beside me and asked me the question I was craving that someone would ask: "Are you scared?" My answer was a resounding "YES!" and Kathy stayed with me for several hours letting me vent out all of my fears and frustrations. She gave me the greatest gift she could have: her attention. 

I never saw Kathy again. I was never able to thank her. What I was able to do was make a decision to be someone like Kathy for someone else down the road. When I recovered, when things got better, and I was discharged, I vowed to go back to school someday for medicine or psychology, or both!

As I begin to wade through all of the ideas in my head about where I want to end up practicing medicine, which patient population and perhaps even what specialty, I came across a rather serendipitous opportunity. Last night I was invited to attend the spring fundraiser for Neighborcare--Seattle's largest provider of primary medical and dental care for low income and uninsured families and individuals. Neighborcare is a 40 year old organization with impressive roots in Washington. The event subsequently brought me back to my roots, reminded me of why I decided to pursue medicine in the first place, and reminded me that people like Kathy are the real reason that we heal. There are pills and prescriptions and appointments to keep, and then there is the greatest service we can provide our patients: our attention. 

Thank you, Kathy. You continue to be an inspiration for me as I move forward with these last few months of clinical rotations. I see nothing but opportunity every day to be of service in the same way you were for me years ago. I am proof of the ripples you created with your kindness.