quiet whispers: part one

Sometimes, in a place of complete and utter brokenness, you begin to find what is truly wonderful.

I have told this whole story only a handful of times – the real turning point in how we came to Kenya – and of how I almost quit being a doctor trying to run away.  My story isn’t dramatic, rather the story of building moments – how I started to learn that I am not that important, and that I am loved by One who holds good things for His children.

I wrote when I was 7 that I wanted to be a doctor in Africa.  Knowing nothing of the path or implications, I was unwavering. Studying, applications, internships. . . step by step toward a certain whispered goal. In college, I started to waver a little – maybe teen moms in the inner city, and obstetrician in the Middle East, a public health advocate in a broken system. But all the paths still led to medical school. Along the way, I joined forces with a wise-for-his-age blue-eyed boy with the ability to see my heart better than I could and an unmatched trust in his Papa God that steadied my determination.

I loved medical school, loved my patients, loved the interaction that led to healing in the midst of tears and struggles. I was determined to be an OB/GYN. I was the secretary in the Women’s Health Interest Group, and I stayed up extra hours on OB, tying knots and scrubbing into c-sections. I did my pediatrics rotation with a 6 week old Madeline at home, and most of my moments that month are a blur.

As we were choosing our fourth year rotations, the family-medicine/OB acting internship was full. “Would anyone be willing to switch?” the email begged, trying to accommodate all of us. I was certain of my career choice, so I volunteered. Pediatric Hematology Oncology was open and I thought the professors there were kind, so I signed up to spend a month with them. For 4 weeks, I didn’t grumble getting out of bed at 5 am to go check on my patients. I followed up on families after discharge, played hide and seek in the office while I negotiated my exam.  I realized that my joy flowed deep and true when I was on the children’s floor – coaxing smiles from my patients and walking their trusting parents through the unspeakable and most difficult. I didn’t want to switch to my next rotation on Gynecology. Hmmm. . . .

I thought I had had an epiphany. I came home to talk to David about withdrawing my application to Obstetrics and applying in Pediatrics. “Oh, thank goodness,” he said. “You are happy on pediatrics.” I called my parents with the same news. . .”Of course,” my mom said, “That makes so much sense.” As I looked around, most of my best friends in medical school were doing pediatrics, and they all said they had been waiting for me to figure it out. A little amazed at my stubbornness and grateful for the eleventh hour revelation, I withdrew my applications in OB, got my letters of recommendation in pediatrics, and never looked back.

Birmingham was an unexpected but clear decision. When I went to interview, I felt like I had come home (which was strange, considering Winston Salem was literally where I had grown up.) We had expected to stay in North Carolina, but when David came to visit, he felt the difference too. As I bemoaned the difficulty of the move for his fledgling photography business, he looked at me and said, “Where do you think you can become a better doctor?” “Birmingham,” I said, without blinking. “Well, let’s rank it first, and then let’s move,” he said with certainty.

Match Day is about as close as you get to getting a letter in the mail from God, and when I opened the envelope and it said “University of Alabama-Birmingham,” we both took a deep breath and put our house on the market.

(to be continued. . .)

part 2 – part 3