As I finish residency, I have been reflecting on my view of what it means to be a physician. This has been a conflict between past experiences and recently discovered expectations. Medicine is an art that even the brightest people have difficulty grasping, and my past experiences have revealed a side of the profession that cannot be learned in textbooks nor reflected on board scores.

I had had a long-standing curiosity about pediatric cardiology, and in college, through shadowing and volunteering, I solidified this interest. When I was in medical school, my mother died unexpectedly, and my bereavement strengthened my desire to hold onto qualities I had developed, including empathy and humility. In my final year of residency, I participated in a medical mission trip that performed cardiac surgical procedures on children in geographic areas of high need. I quickly bonded with an infant whose echocardiogram revealed defects too extensive for repair on the mission. The plan was to send him home to spend time with his family, where he would eventually die. I could not provide hospice care or analgesia for this child, since there was none to give. The nearest hospital was hours away. I felt helpless. The more I thought about it, however, the more obvious it became that while this was the only option, this was also the best option.

当我完成居留权时，我一直在反思我对成为医生意味着什么的看法。这是过去的经验和最近发现的期望之间的冲突。医学是一门艺术，即使最聪明的人也很难掌握，而我过去的经验表明，医学的一面无法从教科书上学到，也无法从成绩上反映出来。

我对小儿心脏病学有着长期的好奇心，在大学里，通过阴影和志愿服务，我巩固了这种兴趣。当我在医学院读书时，母亲出乎意料地去世，而我的丧亲使我更加渴望保持自己已经发展出的特质，包括同理心和谦卑。在我居住的最后一年，我参加了一次医疗任务旅行，该旅行对有高度需求的儿童进行了心脏外科手术。我迅速与一名婴儿联系在一起，婴儿的超声心动图显示其缺陷太大，无法进行任务修复。计划是送他回家与家人共度时光，最终他在那里死了。我无法为这个孩子提供临终关怀护理或止痛药，因为没有孩子可以给予。最近的医院距离酒店数小时路程。我感到无助。我越想越好