I love my job.
As a doctor, it’s my job to figure out what patients really need. Some need antibiotics. Some need pain pills. But everyone needs love.
During med school I cared for burned children. One of my patients was a 3-year-old with severe burns over most of his body.
I am a woman doctor, but I inherited a patriarchal medical model. A patriarchal medical model rewards male values.
But I am a woman doctor.
It’s Valentine’s Day 1997. I’m at Sacred Heart Hospital admitting a colleague’s patient—an elderly man dying of heart disease. On oxygen, gasping for life, he exchanges no words. His wife—unable to bear the pain of watching him die—leaves the room. So it’s just the two of us this Valentine’s Eve.