My Second Life
To start over, first requires a death
My mother is celebrating her 35th birthday, again. And if you recall that I have been practicing medicine for over 23 years you realize that as the saying goes “the math is not mathing”.
But my mother is not a physician and with me here in the US, she can make that claim, that she is only 35 years old easily; my family has Benjamin Buttons Syndrome. And my paternal grandmother lived to be 110 years young, so I chose my parents wisely as far as longevity goes. My mother is the gatekeeper of her private information, and she holds it tighter than Golum did Precious in the Lord of the Rings. Unfortunately, as a physician I do not have that luxury. I did not realize that the moment I added the MD to my name it meant that going forward every aspect of my life was to be laid bare to every licensing board and credentialling committee. This included explaining why I did not work for 6 months beginning at the end of 2015. The reason has a name and it is Elijah and he came in at a whopping 9 lbs 15 oz . He is the light of my life and the reason I know all the Sonic movies by heart.
After medical school, I backpacked through Europe for a couple months before I had to fully accept adulting and residency. I was in Italy for Euro 2000. Every time I go to a new hospital or obtain a new medical license I am asked about those months, “what was I doing, who was I with”. I always joke that I still haven’t told my mother, so I surely am not telling you but if you must know, his name was Antonio and he didn’t speak English, but we spoke the language of love. The truth is, I don’t remember what I was doing because I died in 2002.
Pediatric Surgery is very competitive, and every candidate does research; usually between the second and third year of residency. The research requirement serves two functions: first to weed out those who are not willing to commit the extra time and to roll the dice at the fellowship match and it gives potential applicants who do residencies at less competitive programs a chance to gain a mentor in the field who can help their candidacy. Given that a surgical residency is already 5 years it a significant deterrent.
For me it was a chance to go home to the safety of Canada, having been present in NY for the 911 terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. My research position was at the University of Toronto; the Hospital for Sick Children being the place where I first discovered I wanted to be a surgeon. During my first month of my research fellowship, I attended a family reunion that was taking place in Miami. This was to be the worst decision of my life.
On the 2nd day while crossing the street, I was struck by a car that ran the red light. Florida roads and drivers are horrible and DeSantis can come for me, but I will stand by that statement. I was taken to Jackson Memorial Hospital and placed in a medically induced coma due to the severity of my injuries. My family was told I was going to die and if I did survive then I would most likely be in a persistent vegetative state, living out my days in a long-term care facility. I got a tracheostomy and feeding g-tube and every day my family was asked “what do you want to do” as the numbers on my intracranial pressure monitor continued to raise.
The family legend is that an Angel went into my room (a man they saw enter but no one could identify or find on the CCTV monitors) , and after his “visit” I opened my eyes for the first time in 3 weeks. My first memory was that I needed to go to the bathroom, and I immediately fell on the floor as I had both a broken leg and arm, I wasn’t walking anywhere, anytime soon. And I of course do not remember the events of the accident or those weeks in the hospital in the coma.
I can tell my patient’s families that the only ones that will carry the memory of their traumatic events are you the parents. Your child will not recall them and if you don’t tell them, it will only need be a story to be shared between mom and dad alone at night when you marvel at how far, your children have come.
It took me months of rehabilitation, a vegan mechanical soft diet (disgusting) and 2 additional surgeries to leave that hospital. I returned to my research fellowship and wrote my papers from a wheelchair. But I had to start over my residency over. I chose Parkland Hospital in Texas where no one knew me from before the accident. They say that comparison will steal your joy and I did not want to be compared to a girl I no longer knew and be asked questions by people about events that I would no longer remember. When I felt stronger, I returned to where I began my residency; to SUNY Downstate, who had kept my categorical spot as I healed. (For that I will always be grateful). So, when I matched in Pediatric Surgery, I cried because I thought of how far I had come.
But every time someone asked me why my residency took so long, I stuttered; it was like ripping a band aid off an old wound. I lost job opportunities because I seemed deceitful, and because I had shame at being broken; at not remembering those years lost to someone who chose to run a red light. And shame at having to start over. For not being invincible.
It took me many years to realize that time does not heal all wounds; wounds require care. Because even though I did not recall the accident, I carried what came after: learning to walk again, the scars that I spent thousands of dollars covering up; the time needed for my shaved head to grow hair again and the time needed to become the aggressive surgeon, I was before, I was a dying patient for whom my family was praying for a miracle.
I am about to get a new license and I will have to explain AGAIN what I was doing 23 years ago, and why my residency took 9 years. But now, I won’t stutter or hesistate and will not take responsiblilty for the accident but will embrace my strength and resiliance. I am only 21 years old and this is my second life. This is my change to honor my unknown Angel and be the miracle for which my family prayed.
