Part 2: Why Medicine

For me, "why medicine" was very difficult to summarize into a few sentences to put into my personal statement or reduce for interviews.  I have to sum it up in a few lengthy blog posts at best.

It is a lifetime of feelings and experiences that had to be condensed.  Most importantly it was my view on my mother from healthy to ill that helped shape this part of me.

Read my Part 1: Why Medicine to read my why from the beginning.

My mom had always been beautiful to me.  She hated her thin, wispy, mousy brown/blonde hair that we often dyed blonde and chopped funky and spiky but I liked to play with it because it would do just about everything my hair wouldn't.  She hated her thin nails and would often tell me how jealous she was of mine.  In high school I still wasn't very girly but had wanted my nails nicely painted so I asked her to help me.  In the middle of her drawing some cool design she whipped off the top of her head she said, "You have every body trait I always wanted," and she giggled and kept painting.  She always had fair skin that would sunburn so badly but would never miss out on our sun soaked soccer tournaments.  The latter part of my childhood she was constantly sunburned because of this.  She had these piercing green eyes that always had a little twinkle in them - which I'm pretty sure just showed how mischievous she was, even as a mother she loved a little trouble.  She always had this bone structure that did not resemble mine- her legs and arms were slender but always muscular, my wrist width had been bigger than hers since I was in 3rd grade.  She had cute little feet and the hands of a woman who had worked hard her whole life.  She always made sure she looked her best by applying her makeup, styling her hair, and smelling wonderful.  She would have killed me if I would ever worn a bra strap that stuck out of my shirt.

She did not look like this woman anymore at my reception.  Her hair was still wispy- but thinner and not healthy.  Her nails were worse than ever - thin and full of ridges.  Her fair skin was sickly yellow, had a weird smell, and was terribly oily.  Her eyes just weren't twinkling anymore- it was more of a wince like she was in constant pain.  It looked like her eyes were bulging out and the whites of her eyes were this terrible yellow color.  Her body was now disproportional looking; her arms and legs were nothing but flesh and bones while her abdomen was 4x the normal size and her face was so swollen.  She looked painfully put together.  Her white bra was peaking out of her black dress, she didn't have her makeup just so like she always had, her shoes and jewelry did not match like they always had in the past.  Her feet, hands, and joints were also swollen for how little her limbs had become. The woman at my wedding was a woman who was hanging on with every inch of her being to be there. 

She was obviously very ill but I assumed that she'd just get better.  She wasn't old.  She was only 47.  It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might die.


I wish I would have been strong enough to lean on my mom like a little girl and asked her to do my hair and makeup once last time.  I wish I would have been strong enough to notice this shell of a woman was in trouble.

Everyone was absolutely concerned with my mom's appearance.  She was yellow, not really something people can easily ignore.


I had all sorts of family members coming up to me asking me to beg my mom to go to the hospital.

I already had.

Her response, "I didn't go because I knew if I did go they wouldn't let me out.  And I couldn't miss this."


My family was hovered around each other determining the next best step to care for my mom.


She promised to go as soon as my reception was over in Phoenix, because she knew she wouldn't get adequate care in our dinky hospital.


My mother sat in her seat the entire reception.  Too weak to really do anything else.

I was embarrassed at how weak and sickly my mother was.  That wasn't her.  My mom was a strong, put together, proud woman.  The woman in the chair was sick and weak.

C's family was busy taking pictures and making sure we all got pictures together.

My family not so much.  As they should be- they were more concerned with the terrible shape my mother was in.  I look back at pictures and hardly have any of my family.  I didn't even get one of my mom, brother, and I.  How did this happen?  How did I not get one stupid picture of the people that meant the most to me?

At the end of the night, I grabbed our guest book, kissed my mom, skipped away, and was on our way out to the hotel.

That night I lazily read through the guest book.  I giggled as I thumbed through it.  I came across my mom's comments.  I hadn't recognized the hand-writing.  It wasn't hers.  It looked like some 80 year old woman's handwriting.  I saw the signature smiley face she always wrote on her notes.  This is when I stopped and thought that my mom isn't doing too good.

My mom and brother were staying in the same hotel.  I decided I needed to go check on her even if it was my wedding night.

I walked down the stairs and across the parking lot to the building they were in.  When my brother (who was 15) opened the door I saw my mom.  Curled up in a ball with all the blankets in the hotel room on her as well as a sleeping bag.  Her room had to have been in the high 70's too.  She wasn't okay.

Me-"Are you okay?"
Mom-"I'm fine."
Me-"Mom, it's obvious you are NOT okay.  Go to the hospital."
Mom-"No, the one here isn't good.  I'll be fine."
Me-"Mom, really??"
Mom-"I'm fine." and she curled up in a ball away from me.
I walk over to the other side of the bed.
Me-"Mom, promise me you'll go in the morning?"
Mom-"Fine. I'll go.  Now go enjoy your wedding night."
I told her I loved her and left her room.

We decided we would go on our real honeymoon 6 months later so the day after the wedding we went to Phoenix for a few days for our pre-honeymoon.

My mom was supposed to leave her hotel room the morning after the wedding. 

While in Phoenix I got a call asking why my mom hadn't left the hotel yet.  I was mortified.  C's family owned the hotel and had allowed her to stay for the wedding free of charge.  And she had overstayed her welcome.  Why was my mom still there? 


I called my mom and she said she just felt too sick to drive.  I was embarrassed because it made her look like a moocher to my new family. 

My 15 year old brother ended up driving them to Phoenix.

A few days into our trip my mom called. 

Mom-"Hi sweetie.  The doctors told me whats wrong."
Me-"Oh ya? Well what is it?"
Mom- "They said that my liver isn't functioning well.  And I did it to myself." I could tell she was fighting back tears.
"They said if I get better I might be eligible for a transplant."
Me- "I'm sure you will be get better soon."


I didn't think my mom was this sick.  She couldn't be.  I didn't even believe that she'd need a transplant.  I figured she'd just get better.

I was mad.  I was mad that she was so sick.  I was mad that she had drank herself into it. My only real parent couldn't be sick.  I needed her.  My brother was 15, he needed her.  I couldn't raise my brother.  We needed her.  I disguised my absolute terror with anger.

I wish I were stronger at 20 so I could have processed my panic better.