Someone I admire from history is someone most people haven't heard of - Eva Kor. Eva is not only a survivor of the Holocaust, but also survived being experimented on with her twin sister by the Nazi physician Dr. Josef Mengele. Eva is most well known for her work in advocating for forgiveness. Even though her entire family was killed within thirty minutes of arriving at Auschwitz, fighting for survival, and then being freed an orphan, Eva forgave Dr. Mengele and the Nazis. Eva famously said that "Anger is a seed of war, forgiveness is a seed of peace." Eva often talked about the differences between forgiving and forgetting, and that giving forgiveness is critical to freeing up your own soul to heal and find peace. When asked about her opportunities to punish Nazi soldiers for their part in the Holocaust, she simply stated, "getting even has never healed a single person." In conjunction with her work around forgiveness, Eva also advocated for focusing on the good in others. She had the viewpoint that, "there is beauty in everything and every one of us, you just have to look for it." I admire Eva because, even in the face of the greatest adversity one can imagine, she found the positives. She found them, focused on them, and then gave that beauty to others. She discussed Hitler as a victim himself, in great anguish and pain. This mindset is so critical to not only my life as a chronic patient, but also as my future career as a physician. I truly believe, like Eva, that there are no bad people in this world. We must find the good and focus on the joy we can find. In doing so, we strip the negatives of their power to bring us down.

In June 2009, two months after I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, I drove to Dallas for the first time to partake in a clinical trial for the drug Teplizumab. The entire clinic staff was nothing short of amazing - they would let me go to the lab and watch my blood in the centrifuge, play with the dry ice, and leave a Coban masterpiece around my arm after every blood draw. They made sure my first Christmas away from home was special; they shared tears with my Mom, laughed with my Dad, and toys galore with my brother. What could have been a traumatizing and scary experience became one of the best in my life. Eight years later, in my first semester of college, I was being told I needed brain surgery as soon as possible. “Well, I’ve never had a patient come out worse than they went in,” the Neurosurgeon told me. Six months prior, I had an MRI scan while hospitalized after passing out at home, which showed a Chiari Malformation. In a desperate search for hope and comfort, I looked up at the Neurologist who bluntly stated, “I’ll see you in three weeks for the surgery,” and left. My follow up visit was the first time I had discussed the surgery, and it was also the first time I left a clinic feeling more broken than fixed - not because of my health, but because of how insignificant someone made me feel. Deciding to hold off on surgery, I began my work at Dell Children’s Hospital. I met a patient I will call Mitch, recovering from a Chiari Malformation surgery and about to start his freshman year at UT. The struggles he faced mirrored my own, but one thing was drastically different. Mitch’s surgeon Dr. George came into the room. I watched as Dr. George express the compassion, kindness, and comfort that I had so desperately needed years ago. He made everyone feel weightless with hope and warmed with graciousness. While I had felt like a composition of cells whose MRI looked like they needed slicing and suturing, you could tell that Mitch felt like a human being. Dr. George not only repaired physical wounds but the intangible emotional pain and suffering. One day I hope to provide everything that the patient in me so desperately wanted. As long as I can remember, I have been driven by the insatiable need to find answers and understand the ‘why.’ Paired with my complete fascination for the human body and its chaotic perfection, medicine is where I belong. My desire to be in medicine has never waivered, but what has changed through my experiences is what being a physician truly means. Because of little Zoe, I know how a patient deserves to feel. Because of Dr. Timothy George, I know that I can be both an incredible caretaker and clinician. I will forever push myself to ensure my patients feel heard, respected, and loved.

My freshman and sophomore years at college were marred by a host of medical issues, ranging from seizures and extensive cardiac monitoring to proposed brain surgery. I was mentally and physically depleted, and an apparent total lack of viable diagnoses only added to my growing stress. Ultimately, a week’s intensive workups by a team of interdisciplinary specialists at the Mayo clinic resulted in a clear diagnosis and treatment. This situation was difficult for me to handle as I set high standards in everything I do. Since being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at an early age, I have been faced with numerous obstacles, either directly or indirectly related to the condition, and have overcome those with a sense of triumph. Yes, it takes bravery, yes, it takes perseverance, and yes, it means getting up time and time again. But with a diagnosis at a young age, this has become my ‘normal’ and has shaped me in many more positive ways than in negative ones. It increasingly fuels my desire to not only help others see negative situations in a positive light, but it has given me a solid footing to deal with life’s ups and downs in a pragmatic way. It has taught me to be open-minded and to truly understand that people’s experiences are their realities, and I must see and treat them as such. Most importantly, I have learned that there is no challenge I cannot tackle, head-on. If anything, challenges make life more interesting. I have been re-inspired to pursue my dream of being a physician and am grateful for each and every day I get to spend chasing it. While I have always known I wanted to become a physician, this has taught me what kind of physician I want to be.

My freshman and sophomore years at college were marred by a host of medical issues, ranging from seizures and extensive cardiac monitoring to proposed brain surgery. I was mentally and physically depleted, and an apparent total lack of viable diagnoses only added to my growing stress and precluded the provision of academic accommodations. Ultimately, a week’s intensive workups by a team of interdisciplinary specialists at the Mayo clinic resulted in a clear diagnosis that was simple to treat. This situation was difficult for me to handle as I set high standards in everything I do. Since being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at an early age, I have been faced with numerous obstacles, either directly or indirectly related to the condition. Yes, it takes bravery, yes, it takes perseverance, and yes, it means getting up time and time again. But with a diagnosis at a young age, this has become my ‘normal’ and has shaped me in many more positive ways than in negative ones. It increasingly fuels my desire to not only help others see negative situations in a positive light, but it has given me a solid footing to deal with life’s ups and downs in a pragmatic way. It has taught me to be open-minded and to truly understand that people’s experiences are their realities, and I must see and treat them as such. Most importantly, I have learned that there is no challenge I cannot tackle, head-on. If anything, challenges make life more interesting. I have learned to not only plan ahead, but to enjoy each day as it comes. I have been re-inspired to pursue my dream of being a physician and am grateful for each and every day I get to spend chasing it.

“Zoe!” the whole city could have heard Gale singing from the lab room. In June 2009, two months after I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, I drove to Dallas for the first time to partake in a clinical trial. While the entire clinic staff was nothing short of amazing, the most outstanding were Gale and Tanya. They would let me go to the lab and watch my blood in the centrifuge, play with the dry ice, and made sure my first Christmas away from home was special; they shared tears with my Mom, laughed with my Dad, and toys galore with my brother. What could have been a traumatizing and scary experience became one of the best in my life. Eight years later, in my first semester of college, I was being told I needed brain surgery as soon as possible. “Well, I’ve never had a patient come out worse than they went in,” the Neurosurgeon told me. Six months prior, I had an MRI scan while hospitalized after passing out at home, which showed a Chiari Malformation. In a desperate search for hope and comfort, I looked up at the Neurologist who bluntly stated, “I’ll see you in three weeks for the surgery,” and left. My follow up visit was the first time I had discussed the surgery, and it was also the first time I left a clinic feeling more broken than fixed - not because of my health, but because of how insignificant someone made me feel. My family ultimately decided against the surgery and I continued my academics at UT Austin while working as a Patient Care Technician. During my first shift at Dell Children's Hospital I met a patient I will call Mitch, recovering from a Chiari Malformation surgery and about to start his freshman year at UT. I began to share with him my story, how I was diagnosed with a Chiari Malformation before my first year at UT. His struggles mirrored my own, but one thing was drastically different. Mitch’s surgeon Dr. George came into the room. I’d heard how incredible of a clinician Dr. George was from other physicians and read his research, but this was the first time I saw him interact with patients. I watched as Dr. George express the compassion, kindness, and comfort that I had so desperately needed years ago. He made everyone feel weightless with hope and warmed with graciousness. While I had felt like a composition of cells whose MRI looked like they needed slicing and suturing, you could tell that Mitch felt like a human being. Dr. George not only repaired physical wounds but the intangible emotional pain and suffering. At that moment, I realized that this was how my family, and every family, deserved to feel. One day I hope to provide everything that the patient in me so desperately wanted. As long as I can remember, I have been driven by the insatiable need to find answers and understand the ‘why.’ Paired with my complete fascination for the human body and its chaotic perfection, medicine is where I belong. My desire to be in medicine has never waivered, but what has changed through my experiences is what being a physician truly means. Because of little Zoe, I know how a patient deserves to feel. Because of Dr. Timothy George, I know that I can be both an incredible caretaker and clinician. I will forever push myself to ensure my patients feel heard, respected, and loved. I want to ensure that my care for them does not end at the clinic door.

I could hear the muffled moaning of pain with every breath the little boy took. It was only my second shift in the hematology & oncology unit, but it would be one of my hardest. The boy was a 12-year old refugee who had fled from his home in Africa to escape a violent civil war. To get to Texas, his family first had to flee to Brazil, where he was misdiagnosed with the wrong type of leukemia. By the time they got to Austin, there was not much left we could do. A few days earlier the boy’s father brought him to Dell Children’s Hospital to receive treatment. Unaware of how far his son’s condition had progressed, the father was blindsided when he was told that his son was actively dying. They discussed that the next step would be to keep the boy comfortable and prepare for goodbyes. Now, days later, the boy lay in bed, on two fractured hips, receiving chemotherapy and platelet transfusions. Even the maximum dose of morphine could not relieve the tortured state he was in. To my surprise, the father of the boy refused to sign a DNR or discontinuation of treatment. His father explained that in their culture, they must do everything to save their child’s life, regardless of the consequences. For them, nothing was worse than death. Our team had to make a difficult choice - at what point do we stop prioritizing the wishes of the father and their culture and instead, allow the boy a humane passing. We eventually agreed that performing CPR would only cause more harm and detriment to both the boy and our staff. Our team decided to force a physician-mandated DNR, and instead, to focus on the family’s wishes and traditions for after death. Only a few hours later the boy passed, simply and peacefully. I think about that little boy often. Every time I walk past his room I hear the screams of his mother and the sobbing of his father. Mostly I think about the lessons his loss taught me. His loss taught me that death should not always be feared. Our team taught me that as physicians, we carry the huge responsibility of balancing culture, physiology, and human rights. The boy’s family taught me that, although we are all humans, we each see life uniquely differently. When helping children and their families make decisions, we must consider their priorities, traditions, and lifestyles - all of which are often heavily influenced by the culture to which they ascribe. As providers, we must practice cultural empathy and set aside our own views to try and see the world through our patients’ eyes. The more aware, educated, and sensitive I am about various cultures, the better the care that I can provide to all my future patients. Throughout my life I have been very fortunate to be able to call myself a global citizen. By the time I was in middle school, I had moved eight times and had traveled to over 14 countries. To this day, my family makes an effort to live in, explore, and experience a multitude of cultures. Most parents teach ‘stranger-danger', but my parents always taught me to appreciate that, “Everyone knows something you don’t.” Throughout my travels, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to learn about different cultures, but the young boy reminded me that as a medical provider, it is not a luxury, it is a responsibility. It is my responsibility to ask, listen, learn, and advocate.

My freshman and sophomore years at college were marred by a host of medical issues, ranging from seizures and extensive cardiac monitoring to proposed brain surgery. I was mentally and physically depleted, and an apparent total lack of viable diagnoses only added to my growing stress and precluded the provision of academic accommodations. Naturally this had an impact on my academic performance. Ultimately, a week’s intensive workups by a team of interdisciplinary specialists at the Mayo clinic resulted in a clear diagnosis that was simple to treat and quickly restored me to full health in time for my junior year. This situation was difficult for me to handle as I set high standards in everything I do. Since being diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at an early age, I have been faced with numerous obstacles, either directly or indirectly related to the condition, and have overcome those with a sense of triumph. People frequently comment on how brave I am or how much perseverance I must have to cope with Type 1. They are right, but in more ways than they realize. Yes, it takes bravery, yes, it takes perseverance, and yes, it means getting up time and time again. But with a diagnosis at a young age, this has become my ‘normal’ and has shaped me in many more positive ways than in negative ones. It increasingly fuels my desire to not only help others see negative situations in a positive light, but it has given me a solid footing to deal with life’s ups and downs in a pragmatic way. It has taught me to be open-minded and to truly understand that people’s experiences are their realities, and I must see and treat them as such. I have learned that bedside manner and effective communication are critically important to whole-patient care. The most important aspect of what I remember about my clinicians and physicians is not their certification, but their empathy, their communication skills and their ability to instill confidence and trust. Most importantly, I have learned that there is no challenge I cannot tackle, head-on. If anything, challenges make life more interesting. I have learned to not only plan ahead, but to enjoy each day as it comes. I have been re-inspired to pursue my dream of being a physician and am grateful for each and every day I get to spend chasing it. While I have always known I wanted to become a physician, this has taught me what kind of physician I want to be.

“Zoe!” the whole city could have heard Gale singing from the lab room. In June 2009, two months after I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, I drove to Dallas for the first to partake in a clinical trial for the drug Teplizumab. While the entire clinic staff was nothing short of amazing - they would let me go to the lab and watch my blood in the centrifuge, play with the dry ice, and decorate the infusion rooms. They made sure my first Christmas away from home was special; they shared tears with my Mom, laughed with my Dad, and toys galore with my brother. They made us feel like royalty. What could have been a traumatizing and scary experience became one of the best in my life. Eight years later, in my first semester of college, I was being told I needed brain surgery as soon as possible. “Well, I’ve never had a patient come out worse than they went in,” the Neurosurgeon told me. Six months prior, I had an MRI scan while hospitalized after passing out at home, which showed a Chiari Malformation. In a desperate search for hope and comfort, I looked up at the Neurologist who bluntly stated, “I’ll see you in three weeks for the surgery,” and left. This was the first time I left a clinic feeling more broken than fixed - because of how insignificant someone made me feel. While working at Dell Children’s Hospital, I met a patient I will call Mitch, recovering from a Chiari Malformation surgery and about to start his freshman year. I began to share with him my story, how I was diagnosed with a Chiari Malformation before my first year at UT. How, exactly like his sister, I had spent the last three years struggling from a seemingly undiagnosable bizarre set of symptoms. I found out later we had both received the same diagnosis - severe iron deficiency. The struggles he and his sister mirrored my own, but one thing was drastically different. Mitch’s surgeon Dr. George came into the room. I’d heard how incredible of a clinician Dr. George was from other physicians and read his research, but this was the first time I saw him interact with patients. I watched as Dr. George express the compassion, kindness, and comfort that I had so desperately needed years ago. He made everyone feel weightless with hope and warmed with graciousness. While I had felt like a composition of cells whose MRI looked like they needed slicing and suturing, you could tell that Mitch felt like a human being. Dr. George not only repaired physical wounds but the intangible emotional pain and suffering. At that moment, I realized that this was how my family, and every family, deserved to feel. One day I hope to provide everything that the patient in me so desperately wanted. As long as I can remember, I have been driven by the insatiable need to find answers and understand the ‘why.’ Paired with my complete fascination for the human body and its chaotic perfection, medicine is where I belong. My desire to be in medicine has never waivered, but what has changed through my experiences is what being a physician truly means. Because of little Zoe, I know how a patient deserves to feel. Because of Dr. Timothy George, I know that I can be both an incredible caretaker and clinician. I will forever push myself to ensure my patients feel heard, respected, and loved. I want to ensure that my care for them does not end at the clinic door.