place every meet , but even then her life wasn ’ t quite normal . She would be pulled from the pool for breathing treatments , not able to speak and gasping for air , but at 17 , asthma never stopped her from giving her all for the team .
The term " genius " can be thrown around lightly , but that ’ s what she was , a genius – the smartest person in my AP physics class and one of the front-runners in our all-girl prep school for pre-med . She was still able to work through difficult material and ace the AP biology final , to write the elaborate AP English thesis , yet in all of her accomplishment she never was boastful or catty . She was a beautiful person . She was accepted to a liberal arts college and well on her way to becoming a physician when our pathways split .
There are times in your life that you are just stopped in your tracks and forced to thank God for every small blessing you ’ ve ever had . The second I saw her post was one of those moments :
“ I need a ride to a doctor ’ s appointment and my parents can ’ t miss any more work and be able to keep their jobs .”
This message came across on March 6 , 2013 right after I had matched into residency and my outlook on the world was starting to brighten .
Asking for help can be a humbling experience , but I can ’ t imagine asking for help from thousands of your not-so-close friends via Facebook . So of course , I thought , “ Sure I ’ ll go pick her up and take her to the doctor , it would be great to catch up and see how life is going and to see how she was doing – it was the absolute least I could do . After all , I knew her battle with this devastating illness from watching it unfold on Facebook from a distance . This “ good deed ” seemed to fit well in my Lenten promise of trying to branch out and serve others outside of my medical responsibilities , but little did I know she was giving me so much more .
The moment I pulled up in her driveway and saw her fold her wheelchair and unhook from her TPN to get ready to make to daunting walk to my beat-up car in the alley , I was humbled - humbled in a way that made me feel lost in the world . To see this woman who had all the promise in the world to be a physician , the goal we both shared as young women in our AP science classes , stripped of her ability to care for others despite her selfless nature , dependent on others for basic life needs : it seemed so unjust and unfair . Nevertheless we packed up her things and loaded her wheelchair into my trunk , and started on our mission to the outpatient appointment . In this moment , I found the strength to continue when I felt like there was no oxygen to breathe , when the hours of work , surgery and stress seemed to suffocate me . In this moment I knew I couldn ’ t give up and that strength came from a girl I hardly knew anymore , a condition I couldn ’ t fathom living with , and from a survival struggle I hope to never have to understand . This was the first moment in at least four years I wasn ’ t concerned about surviving through a general surgery internship because of this brave girl who ’ s fighting another complication of sepsis from a UTI , indwelling central lines and ports due to her TPN .
As I ’ m lifting her from my car to her wheelchair , you would have no idea this girl has a crippling disease and we ’ re heading into a doctor ’ s appointment . As I push her into the hospital , she just has this contagious laugh and smile on her face as we talk about our dogs and our upcoming 10-year high school reunion . But all I can feel is ashamed for being afraid of the unknown of this world when someone who did everything right went from a varsity athlete to a wheelchair , from a pre-medical student to a critically ill patient . In those few hours I spent with her , I felt that I was seeing a glimpse of humanity and God was showing me the beauty in others through a girl who had the worst hand dealt at the table .
After her appointment I offered to go get an ice cream and she responded , “ I can ’ t eat unless it goes into a gastrostomy tube , and even now I am not tolerating much so I just live on my TPN .” I then offered to go swimming some time since the pool I go to has a chair lift , but then she reminded me that she couldn ’ t get her tunnel line wet . To hear how badly she desired to swim again just brought me to tears : knowing how talented she was and feeling awful that I had even brought it up . After I dropped her back at her home and she thanked me for the commute , I returned to my car and all I did was cry . I mourned the loss of her dreams and aspirations and became angry with myself about the degree of self-pity I felt for my loss of a social life due to my medical training . When I have a day that I think I could walk out of the hospital and never go back , I remember what it looked like to push the wheelchair of a woman as beautiful as Em .
I believe one of the best gifts you can give someone is inspiration , and that ’ s exactly what Em gave me . One thing social media offers us is a repository of moments and memories , good and bad . I ’ ll forever be grateful that Em had an outlet like Facebook for so many reasons . She was able to let others be a part of her life and journey , she was able to ask for help to get rides to her doctor ’ s appointments , and she was able to inspire and unite people she hadn ’ t seen in years , or perhaps had never met . While Em may have lost her battle to her disease , she will leave a legacy of a fighter ’ s spirit and hope behind , and we can all learn from her courage . And even in her last moments , Facebook was able to provide a community for the girls of her high school to come together , share their stories of Em and celebrate her life .
Dr . Edwards is a Urology PGY-4 Resident at the University of Louisville .
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