Category Archives: Medicine

The Perfect Doctor

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I made a promise to myself, early in fellowship, to prioritize art (specifically literature). During the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, I wrote often. I wrote about the shift in the dynamic between patients/families and providers; I wrote about nature; I wrote about friendship; I wrote about the people I missed; I wrote about travel; I wrote about my fears. I read more than I wrote. Literature connected me to worlds outside the hospital and away from times plagued by viruses that were not yet understood. Healing and writing alike had an inherent healing quality.

It would be dishonest to say that fellowship has been easy. There have been challenges (some anticipated, and some that have surprised me) and throughout all of them, I have made an effort to write. These pieces and scraps of pieces have been hidden away in notebooks and tossed into my nightstand. I was nervous to share my work.

I submitted a short story pitch, on a whim, to a call I spotted on X (formerly & superiorly known as Twitter) as a first year fellow. Today, I am happy to share that the short story, inspired by events in medical school, is published in a collection entitled The Perfect Doctor: forty voices on the imperfect pursuit of an ideal.

There is more information about the collection and how to purchase available here. I’d love to hear what you think. Thank you (as always) for reading.

“Celebrations infuse life with passion and purpose. They summon the human spirit.” – Terrence E. Deal

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As a 19-year-old, I applied for a number of health-related internships. I had dreamed of an internship in the health journalism space and ultimately was granted an opportunity at Texas Children’s Hospital with one of my best friends. I had initially been disappointed about my assignment. At that time, I was certain that the best way to disrupt global health disparities would be via journalism. It took one day on the pediatric hematology/oncology ward for me to realize that I wanted to be a pediatric hematologist-oncologist. 

Since that time, I’ve dreamed of ways to intersect my passion for change/advocacy with pediatric hematology/oncology; I’ve watered the part of my soul that is nourished by literature and journalism; I’ve sat through undergraduate and graduate courses that explore global health disparities and integrated those themes into both my undergraduate thesis and MPHTM capstone. 

When I applied for medical school, I shared that I wanted to be a pediatric hematologist-oncologist and that I wanted my efforts to have global health implications. “Geography dictates outcomes” I said and while my interviewers agreed with that sentiment (I mean…it’s a fact), many shared that I would change my mind about my future discipline & others shared that it would be impossible to create an academic career in global pediatric hematology-oncology.

When I applied for residency, I shared that I had pursued a MD/MPHTM so that I would cultivate the necessary skills to become a pediatric hematologist-oncologist with global health impact. “Geography dictates outcomes” I said and the response was variable. Some interviewers shared that my passion was infectious albeit short-sighted. Others echoed what I had heard during my medical school interviews. Others encouraged me to dream. I had the great fortune to have the opportunity to intersect with a global pediatric hematology-oncology legend, KOF, at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. I had the opportunity to spend a month on the pediatric hematology/oncology ward in Gabarone, Botswana which only confirmed my desire to pursue this work. 

When I applied for fellowship, I shared that I wanted to pursue work that would contribute to efforts to improve outcomes after curative therapy (bone marrow transplant/gene therapy) for children in Sub-Saharan Africa. I found myself at a program that was excited about my vision and helped me to design a way to pursue such work as a fellow. 

I have heard for over a decade that my dreams are impossible and at times, I believed that. This grant from ASH has breathed life into my mission and is a “yes” that makes clear to me that this work is worthwhile. My gratitude to ASH knows no bounds and even as I type this, a few tears of gratitude fall. My gratitude includes those who have supported me as I have navigated this journey. Most importantly: my parents, siblings, aunts/uncles, grandparents, cousins. Additionally, my chosen family – the friends who encouraged me along the way and supported me during grant season. Lastly, I have infinite gratitude for all the research mentors who have led by example and taught me how to marry advocacy with academia.

Thank you to ASH and thank you to my tribe. And for the children of Sub-Saharan Africa, this one’s for you. 

Narrative Medicine & Health Policy

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Months ago, I was asked if I would be interested in being a panelist for the AMEC 2021 conference and I answered “Yes!” without hesitation. This conference has been a space for Black individuals in medicine to discuss our experiences, our hopes, and our truths. I’m grateful to speak about two of my greatest loves: narrative medicine and patient advocacy; I’m even more grateful to have the opportunity to be a panelist at my first national conference. Post-conference: I’ll share thoughts and reflections. As of right now, I’m just incredibly excited!

The Human Side of Medicine

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For majority of the pandemic, I worked from home. That may sound like a dream for a pediatric resident who had a front-loaded PGY-2 schedule, but it was anything but that. My plans to go abroad (to Botswana) to engage in global health work were deferred; my projects and events and travels were cancelled. I can’t highlight how nice it was to be involved in the Human Side of Medicine project at that time. I believe strongly in the power of words and the importance of maintaining one’s own wellness in order to be an empathetic and appropriate provider.

Check out the interview here. Thanks for your support!

The Things We Lost in the Pandemic

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She was perched on one of the two chairs at the front desk of the apartment building lobby. There were a myriad of unsorted boxes stacked in front of her. It was a Wednesday afternoon and I was surprised to see her there, but it was another example (albeit a small one) that everything had changed in the space of the pandemic, everything including staff schedules. It was atypical for there to be one individual at the front desk. It was atypical for me to be home on a weekday afternoon. I craved familiarity: she wore the black hijab that was a staple and greeted me with the same upward lilt in her voice — “hey AJ.” 

I was uncertain whether AJ was an intentional moniker or if she had forgotten my name. “Let me get your packages, you had a couple arrive today.” I smiled — it was forced. In the packages were masks that my parents had ordered on my behalf with the anticipation that they would be necessary. I had teased them but they were right. The other packages had the treasures of a good skincare regimen, delicious books, and clothing items for another time and place. 

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