(To read Melissa's bio, go to the Founding Leader's page)
One Saturday Afternoon
Why do I want to become a doctor? Is it for the: Prestige? Money? Fame? Fortune? Rarely do people ask me if I want to become a doctor because: of the long hours, or seeing patients suffer, in pain, alone, observing death. Seeing toxins flow through the tubes rush into their veins, killing cancer cells, destroying organs, hindering their quality of life. Or to see babies welcomed by the world with intestines bulging out of their skin, uncontrollable seizures, abnormally sized hearts, cleft palates, missing digits, fatal genetic diseases, neurological impairment. To watch them drowning in their own sorrow staring into my soul with faint whispers, "Why me, doctor? Why me?" I am terrified, in shock, in pain for my future. Accumulating over $200,000 in debt. Go through therapy for malpractice. Lives are in the palm of my hands. Am I really good enough? Second doubts...
On a Saturday afternoon, I held a child, wrapped in tubes, battle scars on his chest from his previous encounter in the OR. He wrapped his hand around my finger, looking at me with his big round eyes and smiled. A smile that brings light out of the dark times. Away from the physical pains and mental sorrows. A smile that makes all the reasons right. A smile that explains to me, why I should become a doctor, and why I need to be one. I want to see that child grow up. Run around the playground. Swing on the monkey bars. I want to give him those opportunities. I rock him back and forth, singing my out-of-tune lullabies. We both fall asleep together. On a Saturday afternoon.