July 2016: summer preparation for medical school, unexpected mishaps, and meeting a phenomenal M1 class

We've reached the end of orientation week for M1s here at Loyola. Before I jump into how much I've enjoyed moving in, learning more about Stritch, and meeting the staff, faculty, and my classmates, I'm going to start by sharing a few insane and stressful events that happened over the last month leading up to this past week. 

I was hesitant at first to disclose these misfortunes and expose things about myself that the average person would prefer to keep private. But, if, by the end of this entry, you are inspired and/or encouraged by what you read, it will be gratifying to have prayerfully revealed these personal events which made the month of July 2016 both a troubling and exhilarating time for me.

First week of July

"Incidental finding" on my brain MRI scan

During the last week of June, I participated in a four-hour MRI study through the National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health (NCCIH) on the main NIH campus. The study recruited participants to understand the mechanisms of pain. Basically, they put electrodes in different locations on my forearm, administered varying degrees of thermal stimulations (heat), and studied my body's responses to the pain (through eye tracking, heart and pulse rate measurements, and brain MRI scans). Before they began the study, they took several "baseline" scans, which they then sent to a neuroradiologist to take a closer look at. That's a great benefit of the study. Besides the ~$200 you could earn from just sitting inside an MRI machine for a few hours, you also receive a report from a neuroradiologist who reads your scans for FREE.

Several days later, I received a call from a nurse practitioner with the results of my MRI scan. I didn't even know that I would be getting a call, so that threw me off. When I called her back (I missed her first call), she wasted no time in telling me that there was an "incidental finding" on my scan. 

I asked her to explain. "What do you mean by incidental finding?" She told me, "You have a small focal abnormality in the anterior lobe of your pituitary gland. It looks like you have a tumor." I said nothing. It's very unlike me to jump to conclusions as impetuously (and pessimistically) as I did after hearing those words leave the NP's mouth, but I couldn't help but think, "Dear God, I'm going to die."

"A tumor?" I finally said.

Pituitary adenoma (circled in orange). This is

not my brain scan. Photo taken from:

http://www.mayfieldclinic.com/PE-Pit.htm

"You may have what is called a pituitary adenoma. We cannot tell you if this abnormality is cancerous or noncancerous. For that, you must schedule an appointment with your doctor for a complete neural exam. If you have other questions, you should talk to your doctor. I won't be able to send you this report tonight; I am swamped with a few other patient cases I need to wrap up this evening. I'll send the report in the morning."

I still couldn't believe what I was hearing. Soon I became angry with the NP. How dare she ruin my night by insensitively and inadequately explaining this life-changing news? You tell me I have a tumor, then say you can't answer my questions or send me more information about my MRI scan results because you're busy with other things? What patient wants to hear that? At that moment, my intensified fear of death mixed with rage toward the NP.

One of my best friends shared my frustration about the insensitive delivery of my (possibly dire) medical situation. "Isn't that against the Hippocratic Oath? Aren't you supposed to be....compassionate?" I suppose the Hippocratic Oath doesn't apply to nurses, I thought bitterly. "I would call her back," my friend continued.

"What?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes. I would tell her I didn't appreciate the way in which she delivered the news. She wasn't empathetic. She needs to know that."

I completely agreed, but I didn't call her back. After I'd hung up with the NP, I sat in my bed for about an hour, considering the possibility of having a cancerous tumor in my pituitary gland. I'd read many cases and stories about patients having tumors (both benign and malignant), but I never imagined that I myself would have one of my own. My life flashed before my eyes a couple times and I began to cry. "I'm too young," I said aloud. "I haven't even experienced some things yet. I want to get married, have a family, become a doctor, grow old. God please."

When I finally gathered myself, I went ahead and did a little research on pituitary adenomas. The information eased my troubled mind, making me feel a bit silly about my previous imploring prayers: "Pituitary adenomas are relatively common. Tiny, microscopic pituitary adenomas are found in one in five adults. However, most of these tumors never grow or cause problems. Often, a patient is undergoing a magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) scan of the brain for another reason, and the doctor discovers a pituitary adenoma." However, I couldn't help but become more vexed with the NP. At what point in one's career as a healthcare professional is it ever alright to reveal debilitating news to a patient without giving her appropriate reassurance as well as ALL (if not most) of the information necessary to help her understand her condition? I was only told that I have a tumor, it may be a pituitary adenoma, it could be either cancerous or noncancerous, and that if I had more questions I had to go elsewhere. That is not okay.

My prayers, the support of my parents and friends, and the research I did on adenomas gave me a lot of peace. During this transition period of moving from Maryland to Chicago this month, I have not been able to see a primary care doctor. I will soon be seeing someone here in Chicago to get a more definite diagnosis.

Car accident

That same evening, after learning about my pituitary tumor, I was on my way to meeting with someone at a Starbucks to sell my MacBook Pro when I got into a car accident. I was making a left at a stop light when I realized a few seconds too late that a car was coming (speeding it seemed) from the opposite direction. In those three seconds or so of seeing the oncoming car, I remember trying to frantically decide between stomping on the gas to make it across the intersection in time or swerving enough out of the way (to the right) to avoid a collision before it was too late. I eventually decided to swerve to the right but because I hesitated it was too late. The other car hit the left side of my SUV.

I remember screaming and ending up on the opposite end of the road nearby a power pole. I suffered no injuries, thank God. I buried my head in my hands, not yet having processed the magnitude of what just happened. I turned to get a look at the other vehicle. The person's air-bag had exploded and I couldn't see a face. The entire left side of the car was smashed in and transmission fluid was leaking like blood out of a fresh wound. I stepped out of my car and ran to the other person's vehicle. A couple of witnesses were helping the driver - an older, heavy-set man - out of the passenger's side. He was not able to open the door by the driver's seat. I remember not being able to stop crying, apologizing profusely to the man, and trying to help the witnesses get him out of his car.

Damages to the left side of my car

It was a blessing that neither of us was hurt. Not even a scratch. Unfortunately, though, I was found at fault. Two witnesses saw that the other driver had a green light. If he had a green light, I couldn't have had the green arrow to turn left. I honestly could not remember not having a green arrow. That was the last thing I recalled seeing on the stoplight before the collision: the left green arrow. I couldn't believe the light changed to red so quickly. It had just turned green when I started making the left turn. I must have been distracted, without a doubt. Right before the accident, I was feeling anxious because I was running late to meet with someone to finally sell my computer and use the much needed money. Other thoughts must have been running through my mind as well; I was still shaken by the news about my brain MRI.

After the police wrote up a report, they issued me a citation, which will go on my record. I calmly listened to the officer as he explained the report and citation to me. I thanked him, apologized again to the other driver, then hopped into my smashed car and drove it the rest of the way to the Starbucks I was heading to before the accident.

It took me several days to recover from the accident. The night of, I couldn't sleep. I kept seeing the other car speeding towards me when I closed my eyes. I was so angry with myself. I'd just gotten Olive (my car) in April and already I got into an accident that was MY fault and that would cost me a lot of money for repairs. I didn't know how I would tell my parents (I knew my Dad was going to kill me), how I would pool the money to get the repairs done, or how I would even get to Chicago in a couple of weeks. I couldn't drive my car out west with these damages. 

Eventually, I came to peace with the accident and my responsibility for causing it. I believe that God allows everything to happen for a reason. We don't always know His plan or His purpose in many things, but I've learned to step back and trust Him completely (hey, I trusted Him in the medical school application process and He has done exceedingly and abundantly more than I could have thought of or asked [Eph 3:20]. But anyway, my experience in the 2015-2016 application cycle is another story). What good would come from stressing about what happened anyway? Worrying can't make me go back in time to avoid the accident. I told myself to suck it up, accept the consequences of the situation, and learn from them. Everyone makes mistakes. Now I drive more carefully than ever.

Second week of July:

Brake failure on the highway going home to New Jersey

My position at the NIH finished the previous week on Fri, July 8. This was the start of my two week "vacation" before orientation. Much to my relief and surprise, my Dad was not upset about the accident. (I think for a couple of reasons: 1. he's gotten into a fair number of accidents himself, and 2. I told him about my tumor before mentioning the accident so that he would go easier on me). We agreed that before leaving for Chicago, I would first go to New Jersey to get the repairs done by one of my Dad's friends who charged very little. Unfortunately, because I was on my parent's insurance plan (which was liability only), I had to pay out of pocket. I got a price quote from one repair place in Rockville, MD. It would have cost me around $3800. I didn't waste my time going to any other repair shops in the area. There was no way I could afford what they were charging.

I drove the five hours to New Jersey at the beginning of the week. My car was damaged, but it was still drivable... or so I thought. Everything was going smoothly until I reached the highway. I was still in Maryland at this point. About half an hour into the drive, I realized with horror that my brakes were no longer working. They'd been acting funny since the accident, but they were still functional. Now, on a major highway in Maryland, while going 70 mph, I decided to simply tap the brakes just to make sure they were still working. My foot pressed on the pedal. When the car did not slow, I pushed down further...and further. After pushing it as far as it could go (until the pedal hit the floor), and my car still did not slow down, I began to panic. Thankfully, traffic was sparse and the car in front of me was at least 500 feet away. I pulled over to the right shoulder, took my foot off the gas and waited for my car to slow down.

While waiting for Triple A on the side of the highway, I found myself laughing and shaking my head in disbelief at everything that occurred just over the past week. "Why is all of this happening?" I asked the roof of my car.

Triple A towed my car to the nearest auto repair shop. I had to pay a few hundred dollars to get the brakes fixed. My father was furious about the cost and demanded to speak to the shop's owner, a calm and kind, young Middle Eastern man. My father threatened to report the shop to the Bureau of Automotive Repair. "Dad, come on," I said.

"Make sure you save the contact information of the place," he said, ignoring me.

I never gave him the name of the shop.

I drove with anxiety for much of the rest of the way home. I had to pull over again because my hood was slightly loose and bounced up occasionally because of the wind. I was afraid that a hook would come entirely loose and the hood would fly up and hit my windshield. Oh man, my car was falling apart. Thankfully, I made it safely home later that night.

Time at home

I spent the week getting my car fixed.

My car post-repairs

I also spent some time with my family and a few friends before leaving the next week for Chicago, getting together some paperwork for orientation week, and finishing up a book I'd borrowed from our local library on my mother's library card. It's called Cutting for Stone by Abraham Varghese, which is now one of my favorite books. If you're really interested in medicine, world history (particularly in Northern Africa, some parts of the Middle East, and India), geography, and/or adventure narratives, you will love this book. The following week I began reading Loyola's required book for orientation: Attending Children by Dr. Margaret Mohrmann (a pediatrician who worked at Johns Hopkins and the Medical University of South Carolina). This was a great read.

Being at home this week has also made me more aware of our deepening financial struggles as well as a couple of my family members' ongoing battles with mental illness. I continue to pray for my family and intervene where I best see fit. Throughout the past few years, and even more recently however, it's been a terrible feeling knowing that, for reasons that are hard to explain, I am incapable of reversing my family's financial situation and getting a couple of them the help they desperately need.

Third week of July:

Driving to Chicago

I took off for the ~11 hour drive to Chicago from New Jersey at 8AM on Monday morning of this week. I made sure to get a good night's rest, eat a decent breakfast, and have my cooler (filled with water, snacks and meals my mom made) next to me on the passenger's seat. My car was filled to the brim with my belongings - clothes, books, bed sheets, comforters, pillows, a couple of mirrors, a bunch of appliances, etc. I brought everything with me because I did not have money to purchase a new set of everything once I'd arrived.

At first, the drive was difficult. I stopped three times (or 4?) before 12PM to use the bathroom, get more gas, and munch on something to wake me up. My sister bought me a cassette adapter to hook up to my iTunes playlist, but of course my car doesn't even have a cassette player -___- (it's a 2005 Mazda Tribute). I tried to burn a CD, but it wasn't working out (long story), so I took most of the old CDs my sister and I had in our old bedroom.

I jammed to *NSYNC, Mary Mary, the Glee Christmas album, and some others. (The Celine Dion CD wasn't working). These songs didn't last the entire ride of course, so I eventually played my phone's playlist with the volume on max. I sang at the top of my lungs, hitting some notes, missing others, creating harmonies here and there... I needed to stay awake and keep my mind active. I stopped a couple more times after that to get gas, eat, and use the bathroom again.

I finally made it to my beautiful new neighborhood at 8PM CST (9PM EST) that night.

Last week of July:

M1 Orientation

Loyola University Chicago Stritch School of Medicine

Class of 2020 (with our Dean and Chief Diversity Officer)
The most diverse class in our school's history

This past week of orientation at Loyola has been incredible. There's no other way to describe it. I'm not able to find a website about statistics regarding the most diverse medical schools in the U.S., but I believe that Loyola is among the most diverse. I have yet to meet one person in my class who does not have a unique background (culturally, socio-economically, academically, etc). I don't have the exact numbers (I don't believe they've been released on our website yet), but here's a snippet of what I remember from a presentation given on our second day of orientation: the majority of our class is made up of women (59%), most of us speak more than one language, many students have a Master's and even a PhD, a handful of us are DACA students (Loyola was the first medical school to allow students with DACA status to apply), and nearly everyone has traveled abroad and/or been deeply involved in local and international service.

I've only been here a week but I cannot imagine being anywhere else for my medical education. Loyola is an institution that truly values diversity and importantly (the most important aspects for me), social justice, reflection, and humanism in medicine. Social justice is a core facet of our mission; it is refreshing to be in a community of people who are just as passionate about justice in our world as I am and embrace this mission as much as I do.

During the first couple days of orientation, I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the brilliant people around me. I'm surrounded by exceptional and accomplished classmates; they have worked with top world researchers, pursued higher degrees, traveled to and served in the most historic and impoverished communities across the globe, and done much more.

My student ID badge

"Some of you may be thinking that you don't belong here," our Dean for Student Affairs told us on our second day. "If you are, get that out of your head. You were chosen by our admissions committee for a reason. I can assure you of that. They saw something invaluable in you that you might not yet see in yourself. Believe me when I say that each and every one of you belongs here."

I am blessed to be where I am today. There's no way I could have made it through the mucky mess of this past month (and the past few years) without the grace of God and the peace He's given me. For that I am truly grateful. Similarly, there's no way I'll make it through the next four years without God (and coffee).

~*~

I hope that this narrative of events has touched you in some way. I decided to share a portion of the difficulties I've encountered at this point of time in my life to motivate and encourage others, especially those facing challenges in their own lives. There will be many obstacles and emotionally draining circumstances that you may encounter in your academic, professional, and/or personal life, but do not let them debilitate you. I personally found much comfort and support in my family, friends, and the love of God, but whatever your religion, outlets or support system, take advantage of the resources at your disposal.

Until next time! Our first class, Molecular Cell Biology and Genetics (MCBG) starts on Monday (and so will my dependence on coffee. Yikes).