The Operation Room

“The strong Hispanic values that I grew up around helped me choose what I knew was meant for me.”

Ever since I could remember, I would scream around the house, “I want to be a doctor.” Growing up in a house that could barely hold the smells of Sunday breakfasts of arepas and perico, or the Fabuloso used to clean the floors, I had a mission: to make something of myself someday. Living in a cramped house added to my desire to have a good career where I could make a nice living for myself. Even at the ripe age of four I knew that working in medicine came with money. As time went on, I learned that money was the smallest drive for me to pursue a medical doctorate. 

I was brought up in a family who told me I could do anything in the world as long as I tried hard enough. This stood true to me until my aunt came over for coffee. One early summer afternoon, when I was conducting a surgery on Mr. Walter, my stuffed elephant, Tia (who isn’t truly my aunt, she just married into the family) crouched down to my homemade OR and asked what I was doing. With my huge imagination, but limited vocabulary, I stared straight up into her judgmental  eyes and said, “I want to be a doctor.” 

With her cold eyes, she looked down at me, and simply said, “Pick something more realistic.” 

It was such a sunny day out that the light was pouring into the living room as if it was the bright white lights used to inspect the inside of a patient. At that moment, I felt like Walter, as if I was laying there, being inspected by Tia. I felt so vulnerable. So helpless. She gazed at me for a little longer, then left to grab her dark roasted Colombian coffee from the kitchen. 

Years later, I would still hear her voice in my head telling me, “Pick something more realistic.” Every single time I would choose a course over the summer, I’d make sure “AP” was attached to it, as if it was the salt and butter added on top of an arepa, the sprinkles on top. I would catch myself procrastinating but instantly stop because I knew that in doing so, I was proving her right. Through all the extracurriculars I juggled day by day, I found clear paths into what type of medicine I wanted to pursue: working with children, and inspiring them to be whatever they want to be (musicians or scientists which were my main fields of focus) because that’s how my parents raised me. Balancing all the papers, exams, work, extracurriculars, tutoring jobs, and family life, which is such an essential part of who I am, was like drowning in a pile of paperwork. It was exhausting. However, I pushed myself not only to prove her wrong, but to make sure I’d stand out. 

When the college application opened,  I questioned whether to select “Are you interested in the Pre-Med track?” I told myself that there were easier routes. I could go into business and be a successful CEO of some big company, or I could go into computer science and become a programmer. But the truth was that I have no other interest or passion but for medicine and science. I look forward to going to work some day and operating on others like I once did on Walter. However, unlike Tia, when they are open on the operation table, I want them to know that they are safe. 

I want to make my family proud. With the determination I held within me, and the amount of love and support that my loud, crazy family gave me, I made it my reality. The strong Hispanic values that I grew up around helped me choose what I knew was meant for me. I had to work hard to get further than my immigrant parents did. If they work hard, I have to work 10 times harder. It might not seem realistic to some, but that doesn't deter me from doing what I aspire to do. I checked off that box asking me the question I’ve known the answer to since I was four and said, “I want to be a doctor.”