Finding My Rhythm: Healing, Leading, Becoming

The Night a Patient Died—and the Kind of Leader I Swore I’d Become The walls of the county hospital were the color of old dishwater—dingy, streaked with wear, and steeped in fatigue. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like gnats, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and something less clean:…

I was halfway through my third year of surgical residency when a little girl in a pink dress reminded me how I wanted to show up—not just as a physician, but as a human being. My training took place in a large county hospital where I was on call every…

Eventually, I rotated onto the urologic oncology service with the Chair himself. This was it—the rotation I had long anticipated. Not only would I continue my inpatient responsibilities and round with him daily, but I would now step into the operating room as his assistant. For most third-year residents, first…

I remember my first week in the Urology clinic at the county hospital like a fever dream.This was it—my long-awaited start as a third-year resident. I had finally arrived at the specialty I’d trained so hard to reach. I was supposed to feel proud. Ready. But all I felt was…

I still remember that first night on call. The “experienced intern” — smug with his newfound freedom and perhaps a touch of schadenfreude — handed me the pager with a grin that said, Good luck, kid. I didn’t yet understand the weight of what I was holding, but I would…