Bryan Munoz, MS2, Kansas City University
I was born in Colombia but grew up in Miami, Florida. I have an uncle in Colombia who is a primary care physician. For a time, he worked in Rio Negro, a town located high in the Andes of Medellin and home to many agriculturists and farmers. As a child, I often spent my summer vacations there. I had no interest in pursuing a career in medicine then, but I held great admiration for my uncle. His approach to treating patients with kindness and respect set him apart, creating a significant contrast to the interactions I observed among other professionals. One memorable summer, around the age of 10, I encountered a moment in his clinic that significantly broadened my perspective.
It was early morning, and the rising sun was softly caressing the mountains at a distance; the aroma of Colombian coffee owned our every breath. At my uncle’s clinic, a thin elderly man knocked lightly on the door, then made his way inside. His skin was bronzed and thickened, reminiscent of aged leather, and the white of his eyes was a pale yellow, resembling the guayacan flower that blooms in Medellin's summertime. His hair was black and white, like the ashes of a cigarette, and its texture was brittle. His voice, tired and weak, echoes in my memory to this day as he mumbled, "Doctor Alvaro, I am not getting any better, and this pain I feel is overwhelming. I am unable to work, and my crops are being destroyed faster than I can tend to them." Tears ran down his cheek, like a guayacan flower bathing in the rain, as he struggled to speak. During this time, Colombia's government was zealous to end the production and manufacturing of cocaine. Military planes were sent to fly over the Rio Negro farmlands and spread toxins to eradicate the coca plant. Consequently, they also destroyed the crops of many noncocaine-producing farmers who were already struggling. Reaching into a black 65-gallon trash bag, my uncle gave him a handful of medicine bottles. He held the farmer's hand and said, "Give my regards to your wife and children." I remember watching from the corner of the room as the weary farmer faded away like a guayacan drifting in the wind.
Growing up in the U.S., giving away anything was very foreign to me. Without hesitation, I remember asking my uncle, "Tio, are you not going to charge him for the medicine?" With sadness in his eyes but tranquility in his voice, he replied, "Bryan, how can I take anything from this man? He cannot feed his family and can barely climb the stairs to my clinic." This event was the catalyst for a mixture of emotions and virtues that, as a ten-year-old, I began to comprehend. Through my uncle's actions and teachings, I first experienced true empathy and came to understand the concept of selflessness. As a physician in training, I humbly carry this lesson close to my heart, aspiring to embody the compassionate and selfless traits I learned as a ten-year-old at a clinic in Rio Negro, Colombia.
About the Author: Born in Barranquilla, Colombia, I spent my formative years in Miami, Florida. My educational pursuits led me to the University of Texas at Dallas, where I earned a Bachelor's degree in Neuroscience and a Master's degree in Applied Cognition and Human Behavior with an emphasis on Neuroscience. I embarked on a fulfilling career as an ophthalmic technician for over a decade and then took on the role of managing an ophthalmology clinic in Dallas, Texas. Currently, I am a second-year medical student at Kansas City University, driven by a dedication to pursue a career in pediatric ophthalmology. In addition to my academic and professional accomplishments, my personal life is marked by a fulfilling six-year marriage and the joy of parenting a one-year-old daughter.
About the Work: A personal narrative on a profound experience I had at the age of 10 in Rio Negro, Colombia that set in motion a deeper personal understanding on empathy, selflessness, and compassion.
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