4 minute read
Broken Steps, Unbroken Resolve: A Journey Through Adversity in Medicine
The air was brisk that day, a beautiful fall afternoon with golden leaves swirling in the light breeze—“a season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” as Keats has so elegantly written. I was on my lunch break, halfway through the first day of my board exams. The season’s beauty was in stark contrast to the weight of the task ahead. As I glanced at my watch, I realized I needed to return to my station at the testing center. Hastily, I gathered my things and began to speed walk. Flip-flops, the least sensible footwear for a medical professional-intraining, slapped against the pavement as I hurried back.
In my rush, I miscalculated a step. My foot landed awkwardly, and down I went into the grass. The pain shot through my ankle like a lightning bolt. Embarrassed, I quickly picked myself up; brushing off my clothes, I tried to convince myself it was just a sprain. Adrenaline carried me back into the building, into the test room, and through the rest of that exam day. However, the physical and mental discomfort was mounting with every hour. The stakes were high; I had to pass this board exam now, and failure was not an option. By the end of that day, though, it was clear this injury would not self-resolve. My initial instinct to push through—a hallmark of medical training— warred with the reality that this wasn’t something I could ignore. I hopped out on one foot, dragging the other. I shifted my medical reasoning from the exam to myself, as the Ottawa rules came to mind. Unable to bear weight and with bone tenderness at the base of the fifth metatarsal, I knew the situation called for more than rest and elevation. I needed an X-ray.
A few hours later, the urgent care doctor brought my X-ray in. My suspicion was confirmed: it was a Jones fracture. The irony was not lost on me. Here I was, studying to be a physician, and I had managed to diagnose myself halfway through a major exam. Keats’ words came unbidden to mind: “Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” In that moment, I realized this trial was shaping me in ways I hadn’t expected.
It was time for the next test day. Armed with crutches, a bag of pretzels, and a growing sense of determination, I had returned. As I hobbled awkwardly into the testing center, the woman at the desk
smiled warmly and nodded. “Welcome back, doctor,” she said with an encouraging tone. Her words, though simple, carried a sense of validation that bolstered my resolve.
Maneuvering through the testing center was an adventure of its own—balancing my backpack, managing the crutches, and fielding curious stares from fellow examinees. The locker system added another layer of awkwardness. Retrieving and returning items with crutches was a cumbersome dance that only drew even more attention. Each trip to the locker felt like a mini obstacle course, with my movements amplified by the echoing hallway. The stress of the exam, coupled with the throb of my injured foot, made for a uniquely grueling experience. Voltaren provided but limited relief from the pain. But each time I sat down at my computer to work on the exam, I found a sweet respite from the physical challenge. I focused on the task at hand which reminded me why I was there in the first place.
A sense of resolve took hold. Medicine often teaches us determination—to navigate the unexpected and keep moving forward. This time, the lesson wasn’t just academic; it was personal. It underscored the very heart of medicine—our ability to persevere, adapt, and find purpose even in the face of discomfort and challenge.
Looking back, I recognize this experience as a testament to adaptability and endurance. Keats’ words from Endymion resonate deeply, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.” These words remind me that even in adversity, there exists an enduring beauty: a quiet, profound resilience that illuminates our purpose. That day, the exam wasn’t the only test I faced. I’m proud to say that despite the challenges, I passed my exam—a triumph that felt as much about overcoming adversity as academic achievement. And while I would have preferred to learn that lesson without a fracture, the experience serves as an important reminder. Even in moments of literal and metaphorical missteps, we can find our footing again.
Dr. Parul Chhatpar is a PGY-2 preventive medicine resident at UMass Chan. She is passionate about addiction medicine, health equity, and evidence-based strategies to improve care for underserved populations. Email: drparulchhatpar@gmail.com
