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ART & MEDICINE

Reflections

By Roshni Grace Ray,
UT Health San Antonio, Long School of Medicine

It felt as though I was playing a convoluted game of dress-up. Her mother craned her neck to look at the number. Guilt tore
It was the day before my first day at medical school and I was through her face. “I know it’s very high,” she said quietly, “and in-
volunteering in a high school to provide screenings as part of a back surance has been a problem.”
to school event. I spent some time standing in front of my bath- What do I say to a mother whose child is ill when she cannot af-
room mirror scrutinizing my appearance. My white coat was spot- ford to get help? We spoke about diet and exercise and I guided her
less and stiff, a vivid reminder of my inexperience. to the counseling table. later, when the family waved goodbye, I
On the drive there, I recited the steps to each of the screenings had this unshakable feeling that I wish I was more capable to help.
we were providing: always wipe the first drop of blood when taking As our group of students left the clinic, a child pointed at our
blood sugar, make sure to palpate and place the cuff over the white coats and said, “look, there are the doctors!” I dropped my
brachial artery. head. I certainly did not feel like a doctor.
As I drew near to the school, my first reaction was disbelief. The In the hospital emergency room, a week later, I found myself
line of people made a dizzying course through the grass and wound standing over a man who had been in a car accident. The cuts on
up and down the sidewalks. Children of every age stood in the his face needed stitches and I was the extra pair of hands to hold
scalding sun to receive school supplies and health screenings. A the skin together. A discerning viewer might have noticed how my
sense of panic erupted through me, “I am about to disappoint so knees shook or the light sheen on my face. When we paused to get
many people.” As the day continued, however, my nervousness more sutures, I saw the wife waiting in the hallway.
waned and I found conversation flowed more naturally. She forced a smile, but her knuckles were white.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked, while dis- While I waited, I thought of my mother and how she had waited
tracting a particularly nervous teenager from the needle stick. for my father’s surgery after his car crash. She had told me about
“A doctor,” she said sheepishly. before I could say anything, she the direness of the situation and the panic in hearing he had been
added, in hushed tone, “but mom says it isn’t realistic—too much brought in by helicopter. She talked about the mangled remains of
money.” the vehicle and how, with bated breath, she had waited to hear from
As I began to respond, the display on the glucometer flashed. the surgeons.
Her blood glucose level was right underneath 300 mg/dl and she Would I have wanted my mother to speak to a nervous, uncon-
had not eaten that day. I swallowed my shock. I wrote down the fident physician? I straightened my posture and tried to command
number on her sheet as her mother came over and the teenager was my knees to stay still. I focused on following the fourth year medical
ushered to the next station. student’s instructions and listening to how he spoke with honesty

26 San Antonio Medicine • June 2019