(July 29, 2023) Two years ago when I was so very sick, I was also quite depressed. I didn’t understand what had happened to me or why. All I knew was that I had waited the 4 days advised by my doctor but instead of feeling better I was in the critical care unit. I still had a sore throat from the intubation, I had wires and tubes protruding from every orifice in my body, I was in pain, and I was so weak that I could hardly sit up. No one would tell me anything, not even the name of my illness. Eventually one of the PAs wrote “typhlitis” on the white board, but I didn’t know what that was, and I had no access to a computer, so I could not consult with Dr. Google for clarification.

The doctors who had saved my life made every effort to help me physically, but they were neither qualified nor expected to address the emotional aspects. And they weren’t about to explain what had happened to me, despite my repeated questions.

That’s where Dr. Wu comes in. Oh, he wasn’t a doctor (yet) but “only” a medical student. His school required him to visit some of the patients in critical care, to get to know how to approach and eventually treat them as patients of his own someday.

The not-yet-Doctor Wu had a unique and compassionate style. I got to know him as much as he got to know me. He was a young Vietnamese man whose sister was an attorney — clearly his family had high hopes for him. He was gentle with his questions and sincere in answering mine. I looked forward to his daily visits.

One evening he heard me crying as he approached my room. I was facing life with a cancer that could no longer be treated with the chemotherapy I needed. Instead, I would have to adjust to living WITH a half-treated cancer and WITHOUT one-third of my lower digestive tract. I had to learn to care for an ostomy that I couldn’t even look at without gagging. That plus a bald head, fatigue, and other sequelae of the one chemo treatment I did have along with barely surviving two emergency surgeries had pushed me way beyond my ability to cope. “I can’t do this,” I sobbed. “It’s too hard.”

He sat with me until the tears stopped. He didn’t recite any trite aphorisms, and he didn’t tell me that “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” Instead told me that I had been dealt a bad hand.

I was shocked.

This was the first medical person who was brave enough to admit that my illness didn’t fall from the sky and just happen to land on my unfortunate head. It was caused by someone who held the cards and then handed them out. Kevin Wu knew who had dealt that bad hand, and for the first time since it all began, so did I. That someone was Ajay Dhakal, MBBS, who had advised that I “wait 4 days” before pestering him to see me for what he had dismissed as trivial, unimportant symptoms.

That bad hand was all his doing.

But I would have to think about all that later. It was more important to get me through today.

And this Kevin Wu did. I don’t remember his exact words, but I remember how he quietly and clearly defined my future and then placed it in my hands.

The odds were not in my favor, but I had beat the odds and survived. So, now was no time to quit.

I could do this — maybe not all at once and maybe not right now this minute — but I could do this because I was strong enough to face it and smart enough to break it down into small pieces that I could handle one at a time.

It took a day or two of thoughtful processing before I could accept my future and act upon it.

At a subsequent visit our conversation led to his thoughts about his own future. He might quit medical school, he said, and explore other opportunities. I told him that I sincerely hoped he would reconsider, because I knew he would make an excellent doctor. . .but I also knew that he would be an excellent *anything* he decided to be.

That evening, as he did every evening, he asked if there was anything he could do for me. “Draw me a picture.” I said. He was surprised — nobody had ever asked him that before.

This is Kevin Wu’s picture. It’s a picture of Kevin and a picture of my future. It is a beautiful reminder of a terrible time that still brings tears to my eyes when I think about it. But it’s beautiful nonetheless.

Kevin Wu, wherever you are, I hope you find some idle time to search for yourself on the Internet and see what turns up. I hope you will find this essay and know that I will never forget you and the peace you brought into my life, simply because you cared.

Thank you, Dr. Wu.