There is a point in all of our lives where a majority of the population assumes we are innocent and pure. Free of judgment, ridicule, and standards. During childhood, we live our lives without a worry or concern. The rare occasions when this statement falls short, is when we were injured or sick. As a child, I faced poststreptococcal glomerulonephritis which had the potential to cause kidney failure if not monitored closely. I did recover from the disease thanks to a wonderful team of doctors and nurses, but a haunting question lingers in the back of my mind. If these doctors knew at any point I was going to be a part of the LGBT community in the future, would their treatment have been different and less efficient? I have witnessed and been
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One of the patients I interacted with was a Rhodes Scholar that was fluent in four different languages. Another patient grew up in the slums of Detroit with no more than a dollar to his name a majority of his life. Finding this wide array of patients displayed how different each person is, and how crucial it is to acknowledge this as a physician. During a volunteer shift, I passed by this room to notice a girl about my age sitting on the bed. Talking to the nurse revealed she was a suicide risk patient. My heart yearned to care for her, but this was something that seemed out of my control. When the patients mother arrived, I could not believe it. “So, you thought you could escape your problems by pills huh? You need therapy. First you tell us you have a girlfriend, now you try to play God?” My heart sunk so deep into my chest and my head began to spin. This could not be happening; her own mother could not have said that. The girl began to sob. When the mother exited the room, I immediately begged the nurse to go speak with the patient, or even bring her water. The nurse agreed, under her supervision. When I entered the room, I introduced myself and asked if she needed anything. The girl shook her head no. While standing there, I told her about my girlfriend. I told her that there are people in this world that do not understand, but the ones that do make
One of the patients I interacted with was a Rhodes Scholar that was fluent in four different languages. Another patient grew up in the slums of Detroit with no more than a dollar to his name a majority of his life. Finding this wide array of patients displayed how different each person is, and how crucial it is to acknowledge this as a physician. During a volunteer shift, I passed by this room to notice a girl about my age sitting on the bed. Talking to the nurse revealed she was a suicide risk patient. My heart yearned to care for her, but this was something that seemed out of my control. When the patients mother arrived, I could not believe it. “So, you thought you could escape your problems by pills huh? You need therapy. First you tell us you have a girlfriend, now you try to play God?” My heart sunk so deep into my chest and my head began to spin. This could not be happening; her own mother could not have said that. The girl began to sob. When the mother exited the room, I immediately begged the nurse to go speak with the patient, or even bring her water. The nurse agreed, under her supervision. When I entered the room, I introduced myself and asked if she needed anything. The girl shook her head no. While standing there, I told her about my girlfriend. I told her that there are people in this world that do not understand, but the ones that do make