When I was a toddler, I used to tell people that when I grew up, I wanted to be a “baby doctor.” I supposed I had a passion for healthcare and for caring for the youngest patients even as a child. Sometime in early elementary school, I decided instead I should be a teacher. Throughout my teenage years, I prepared to become a teacher, taking child development classes in high school and working at a daycare after school and over breaks. Also, during my teenage years, I was on the patient side of health care, as my sister took a long journey to a diagnosis of a rare neurological condition, and a desire to pursue a career in healthcare was in the back of my mind. As I finished high school and started college, with pressure from my family who saw healthcare work as more noble and profitable, I had decided I was going to pursue it in one way or another. Since I started college in fall of 2019, I had the opportunity for one shadowing shift, which was with an occupational therapist, before COVID suspended shadowing. Unsure of my path forward, I talked with a family friend who had just finished her psychiatry residency. She recommended I work toward physician assistant school. With only a theoretical understanding of the profession, I dove into that plan. I got my first undergraduate degree as a double major in Chemistry and Psychology, having been told that those were competitive degrees to get into PA school. While I was studying, I continued working at a daycare and attended night classes to get my emergency medical technician license. I then transitioned to working as a patient care technician in the emergency department. I loved the pace of this work, but I missed my students from the daycare. I also loved the nurses who I worked with. I loved learning from them and found myself wishing for the ability to perform many of their tasks. As we finally got a handle on COVID, the hospital where I work opened shadowing opportunities, and, having already applied to PA schools, I immediately shadowed a PA. I went into the experience extremely excited, but I came out feeling disappointed. There was so much time at the computer and so little time with each patient. I was pessimistic in what should have been an exciting moment - receiving my first PA school acceptance. I had also arranged to shadow the mother of some of my daycare students, who was a neonatologist. My real “aha moment” was my day in the neonatal intensive care unit with her. I loved the routine that was sprinkled with unpredictable moments. Like in the emergency department, I was thrilled with the high acuity of patients. I also saw what I missed from my daycare days: the ability to care for the same children each day and build relationships with their families. I knew this was where I belonged. I talked to the neonatologist, and she mentioned that there were very few PA residencies for neonatology because the positions usually favored neonatal nurse practitioners. This is when I made my decision. I would be a NICU nurse. It would give me the time at bedside and the long-term relationship with babies and families. It would also give me the option, if I wanted it in the future, to return to school and reach that provider role. Since then, I have had additional shadowing and internship experience with NICU nurses, and I am happy to say that I am confident in my decision.

When I was a child, I saw several family members battling with addiction. I was very fortunate to see all these family members recover and become outstanding parents, to my cousins and to me. This background gave me an understanding of how devastating addiction can be for a person and their family, but also the hope that with proper treatment, resources, and immense dedication from all involved (and only with all three of these things), a positive outcome is possible. In my work as an emergency room technician, I have seen countless people in the pits of their addiction experiences. I often do not have the fortune to see these people in recovery, living the fulfilling lives they deserve. Instead, I too often see them again and again, when they are unable to complete rehabilitation or inpatient treatment and find their way back to us in times of crisis. While obtaining simultaneous degrees in Psychology and Chemistry, I obtained certificates in Neuroscience and Addiction Studies. These helped me understand both the biological and social aspects of addiction and how these play into potential treatment modalities. More recently, in response to my lifelong desire to help people, I returned to school to obtain my Bachelor of Science in nursing. I am also currently completing an internship in maternal and child health. As part of this internship, I see pregnant and new mothers who are experiencing addiction. I get the tragic but fascinating experience of watching doctors titrate substances to wean babies who are born addicted while trying to balance their health, growth, and comfort. I also get to see the scary but sometimes beautiful things that mothers go through. Last year, we had a mother whose daughter was in the neonatal intensive care unit for withdrawal. The daughter was temporarily placed in foster care with a family member, but there were plans that she could discharge home with the mother if the mother completed a rehabilitation program. While the mother had previously not been able to complete rehab programs, she was told that this time she could pump at rehab, and if the breast milk came back without substances, it would be given to her daughter. The intense desire to give her baby breast milk, even if she was not yet able to hold her while she ate, was what this mother needed to graduate from an inpatient rehabilitation program. This beautiful story stuck with me because, as I have seen in my family, this mother drew strength from knowing that her child needed her to be healthy. When I become a nurse, I want to work with this unique population. I want to be there for vulnerable babies, providing medical and emotional support while they go through a withdrawal journey painful enough to break strong adults. I also want to be there for parents experiencing addiction. Finding yourself in parenthood is scary to anyone but it can be especially terrifying when you are struggling yourself to make it through daily life, or when you are told that your baby will be taken away. Due to the moralization of addiction in our society, these parents are often treated with incredible disrespect by their healthcare team, which only furthers their internal agony. Parents in this situation need respect, because, with dedication from themselves and their medical and social support, parenthood can provide new opportunities for addiction treatment. I want to be the nurse who gives that respect and is part of a turning point for these patients.

When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. I also had to act as a liaison between my parents, who are separated and seem to disagree on medical decisions just to spite each other. At countless appointments, I was in the room with one parent, the other on the phone, with a specialist giving options for invasive tests or shot-in-the-dark treatments. I was embarrassed for healthcare providers to watch me moderate my parents’ irrational anger, and I realized that what we lacked was trust. My parents did not trust each other, and this caused them not to trust the practitioners or their suggestions. Through trial and error, I learned that trust is built on empathy and mutual understanding. My parents were argumentative because they were scared for their daughter and did not feel that their concerns were being heard. As Dr. Roy Benaroch said in his Great Courses lecture on emergency medicine “We don’t see people at their best, we see people scared and upset, sometimes defensive.” My family was scared, and the nurses and other medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. I want to be a nurse to channel my energy into caring for families who are struggling. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free in the medical gym to work on his rehab while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most patients feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which make investment in treatment impossible. I have a passion for forming connections of understanding and trust which I hope to bring to my future roles. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I learned to communicate with children in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across language and cultural barriers. Through working with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, are experiencing reality different from mine. Through medical volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with and caring for a diverse group of patients and families.

My mother raised my sister and I as a single mother. When I was in middle school, my mother left a string of jobs in the service industry and went back to school to get a degree in public health so that she could help people. She worked tirelessly to be a student, an employee, and a mom, and this showed me that if you put your energy toward a goal, you can achieve it, no matter how difficult it might feel. My mother gave me her strength and perseverance. I want to be a nurse to channel this strength into caring for families who are struggling. When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. Single-parent families often rely on extended family for support, which gives me perspective on treating a patient system, not just a patient. When my sister was sick, my whole family was scared. The nurses and other medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free in the medical gym to work on his rehab while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most patients feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color, people who do not speak or read English, and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which make investment in treatment impossible. I have a passion for forming connections of understanding and trust which I hope to bring to my future roles. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I learned to communicate with children in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across language and cultural barriers. Through work with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, are experiencing reality different from mine. Through medical volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences, and my intense belief that there is always a way to work through challenges as my mother did, have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with and caring for a diverse group of patients and families and addressing the unique challenges that face each of them.

When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. I also had to act as a liaison between my parents, who are separated and seem to disagree on medical decisions just to spite each other. At countless appointments, I was in the room with one parent, the other on the phone, with a specialist giving options for invasive tests or shot-in-the-dark treatments. I was embarrassed for healthcare providers to watch me moderate my parents’ irrational anger, and I realized that what we lacked was trust. My parents did not trust each other, and this caused them not to trust the practitioners or their suggestions. Through trial and error, I learned that trust is built on empathy and mutual understanding. My parents were argumentative because they were scared for their daughter and did not feel that their concerns were being heard. As Dr. Roy Benaroch said in his Great Courses lecture on emergency medicine “We don’t see people at their best, we see people scared and upset, sometimes defensive.” My family was scared, and the nurses and other medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. I want to be a nurse to channel my energy into caring for families who are struggling. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free in the medical gym to work on his rehab while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most patients feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which make investment in treatment impossible. I have a passion for forming connections of understanding and trust which I hope to bring to my future roles. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I learned to communicate with children in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across language and cultural barriers. Through work with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, are experiencing reality different from mine. Through medical volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with and caring for a diverse group of patients and families.

When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. I also had to act as a liaison between my parents, who are separated and seem to disagree on medical decisions just to spite each other. At countless appointments, I was in the room with one parent, the other on the phone, with a specialist giving options for invasive tests or shot-in-the-dark treatments. I was embarrassed for healthcare providers to watch me moderate my parents’ irrational anger, and I realized that what we lacked was trust. My parents did not trust each other, and this caused them not to trust the practitioners or their suggestions. Through trial and error, I learned that trust is built on empathy and mutual understanding. My parents were argumentative because they were scared for their daughter and did not feel that their concerns were being heard. As Dr. Roy Benaroch said in his Great Courses lecture on emergency medicine “We don’t see people at their best, we see people scared and upset, sometimes defensive.” My family was scared, and the nurses and other medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. I want to be a nurse to channel my energy into caring for families who are struggling. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free in the medical gym to work on his rehab while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most patients feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which make investment in treatment impossible. I have a passion for forming connections of understanding and trust which I hope to bring to my future roles. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I learned to communicate with children in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across language and cultural barriers. Through work with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, are experiencing reality different from mine. Through medical volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with and caring for a diverse group of patients and families.

When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. I also had to act as a liaison between my parents, who are separated and seem to disagree on medical decisions just to spite each other. At countless appointments, I was in the room with one parent, the other on the phone, with a specialist giving options for invasive tests or shot-in-the-dark treatments. I was embarrassed for healthcare providers to watch me moderate my parents’ irrational anger, and I realized that what we lacked was trust. My parents did not trust each other, and this caused them not to trust the practitioners or their suggestions. Through trial and error, I learned that trust is built on empathy and mutual understanding. My parents were argumentative because they were scared for their daughter and did not feel that their concerns were being heard. As Dr. Roy Benaroch said in his Great Courses lecture on emergency medicine “We don’t see people at their best, we see people scared and upset, sometimes defensive.” My family was scared, and the nurses and other medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. I want to be a nurse to channel my energy into caring for families who are struggling. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free in the medical gym to work on his rehab while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most patients feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which make investment in treatment impossible. I have a passion for forming connections of understanding and trust which I hope to bring to my future roles. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I learned to communicate with children in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across language and cultural barriers. Through work with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, are experiencing reality different from mine. Through medical volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with and caring for a diverse group of patients and families.

When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. I also acted as a liaison between my parents, who are separated and seem to disagree on medical decisions just to spite each other. My role as a negotiator was to find common ground on which to build trust. My parents were argumentative because they were scared for their daughter and did not feel that their concerns were being heard. As Dr. Roy Benaroch said in his Great Courses lecture on emergency medicine “We don’t see people at their best, we see people scared and upset, sometimes defensive.” My family was scared, and medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. I want to be a nurse to channel my energy into caring for families who are struggling. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most families feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which hinder investment in treatment. I have a passion for trust and understanding which I hope to bring to nursing. As a teenager, I worked as a nanny and learned that I had a skill for connecting with young children and enjoying their chaotic company. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I not only fell in love with working with children but also learned to communicate with toddlers in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across cultural barriers. Through work with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, were experiencing reality different from mine. Through volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with a diverse audience. I hope to work in pediatrics and provide empathetic care to young patients. In these specialties, the medical team not only manages a patient, but a patient system, including a patient and their family. The key to successful healthcare is trust between the healthcare team and the patient system, and my personal and professional experiences have taught me how to foster that trust.

When my sister was in middle school and I was in high school, she began experiencing episodes of altered mental status. We bounced from specialist to specialist before arriving at the diagnosis of a rare neurological disorder. During this process, I managed the fact that my sister, who had been my partner through a challenging childhood, no longer had her personality but instead had pain that I could not fix. I also acted as a liaison between my parents, who are separated and seem to disagree on medical decisions just to spite each other. My role as a negotiator was to find common ground on which to build trust. Through trial and error, I learned that trust is built on empathy and mutual understanding. My parents were argumentative because they were scared for their daughter and did not feel that their concerns were being heard. As Dr. Roy Benaroch said in his Great Courses lecture on emergency medicine “We don’t see people at their best, we see people scared and upset, sometimes defensive.” My family was scared, and the nurses and other medical professionals that stood out to me were the ones who recognized this and approached us with empathy. I remind myself of this every day in the emergency department where I work as a patient care technician. The beauty of this philosophy is that it applies to all patients, be they febrile toddlers and their exasperated parents, young adults expressing suicidal ideations, or older folks with chest pain and their worried children. Patients (and their families) are not mean (no matter how convincingly they act mean); they are having an exceptionally awful day. In addition to life-saving treatments, patients need empathy. I want to be a nurse to channel my energy into caring for families who are struggling. Communication is one of the biggest hurdles in caring for people in a medical setting. For example, my grandfather never learned to read. Recently, after a heart attack, he was prescribed cardiac rehabilitation. He was given a written packet of instructions, then set free in the medical gym to work on his rehab while a therapist rotated between patients. Too embarrassed to admit that he could not read, he used exercise machines aimlessly instead of completing targeted rehab. To some extent, most patients feel lost in a medical environment, especially people of color and rural populations who have been historically deprived of healthcare. This leads to confusion and mistrust which make investment in treatment impossible. I have a passion for forming connections of understanding and trust which I hope to bring to nursing. As a preschool teacher at an immersion school, I learned to communicate with children in multiple languages. Through helping refugee families, I learned to communicate across language and cultural barriers. Through work with people experiencing homelessness and patients in crisis in the emergency room, I learned to communicate with people who, whether from mental illness or substance use, are experiencing reality different from mine. Through medical volunteering in the Dominican Republic, I learned to adapt my Spanish skills to communicate with patients at free clinics. These experiences have prepared me to take on the unique role of communicating with a diverse audience. I hope to work in pediatrics or neonatology and provide empathetic care to young patients. In these specialties, the medical team not only manages a patient but a patient system, including a patient and their family. The key to successful healthcare is trust between the healthcare team and the patient system, and my personal and professional experiences have taught me how to foster that trust.