The Death Of The Doctor

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As I stood there watching my mother cry, I couldn’t seem to fathom how death could cause someone who was here yesterday to disappear today. My mother and I witnessed my thirty-three year old aunt whither away from ovarian cancer. A death that was avoidable had she had better access to healthcare for early diagnosis. My aunt’s cancer never received treatment and progressed until there was nothing left in her pelvic cavity. It ignited a spark; a spark to search for answers. A spark that grew brighter as I grew up and which inspires me to treating cancer and other similarly vicious diseases. I grew up on a small island where the doctor was seen as someone who would kill you from malpractice or carelessness. In reality people would not go to the doctor until they were extremely sick and usually there was nothing the doctor could do. There was great fear surrounding the doctor and it contributed to many family members suffering needlessly. But after my aunt died, I wanted to believe something different. I refused to accept that nothing could be done. When my father got a job opportunity in America, my mother and I decided to push the idea of moving to escape because of the abuse we had endured from him. We knew in America we would have resources to escape, which we didn’t have in the Caribbean. I then decided if I moved to the United States I would become a physician. To gain firsthand experience I volunteered at a pain management clinic where I soon learned that each person
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