Personal Narrative: My Battle With Disease

Fridays at New York Presbyterian Weill Cornell were a mixed bag for patient escorts like myself. Walking through the halls of the hospital could reflect a quiet, almost monastic sanctuary, or it could be one of perpetual hustle in which I disappear amongst the many faces, their immediate needs, and their looming battles with disease. One of my challenges is the toll that the emotional investment in the people I help has on me. I try to keep myself as default as possible on the outside, while inside, the pressure of the moment attempts to rip me apart like fault lines in an earthquake. I recall one Friday that started off as the former.

It was an easy winter day with light snow drifting out the windows. I was transporting extra stretchers from the hospital basement to the Emergency Department for new patients coming from the ambulances. After a couple of hours of keeping the queue in constant rotation, I walked back to the patient escort office for a short break. My escort ‘mom’ Gladys on her phone as her lips remained tight. After ending the call, she said to me in her thick Jamaican accent, “Son, I need help. Come with me.” I put what remained of my muffin in my mouth and complied. We walked side by side in silence. I assumed that it would be a normal pick-up

That moment made me appreciate the power of connection and touch in one’s time of need. Understanding and empathy can be difficult when one hasn’t been through the specific experiences that another faces in front of you. However, I plan to address this by listening intently and always being willing to help within my ability and collaborate with others. I want to immerse myself in this appreciation as a prominent part of my medical experience. Like that day, I know I will be able to look another person in the eye, touch them, talk to them, and be there for them to the best of my