Island

Sometimes, being a minority physician in residency can feel lonely. Those outside of this reality can do their best to offer support, but at times (despite their well-meaning efforts) it seems that their words of endearment, encouragement, and affirmation fall hollow. Within the world of medicine, it can feel as if every man is for himself. Trained from the jump to compete against their peers, colleagues can almost seem like strangers…and dare I say enemies? I am realizing that the truths that exist in the “outside world” are only realities much truer in medicine. Racism, political disagreements, cliques, nepotism…all glaring marks of those one would deem and respect as leaders.

Questions arise in my mind: “who can I really confide in?” “who can I trust?” “who can I be authentically vulnerable with?” And at times, when I realize the list is becoming shorter and shorter it is tempting to believe I am an island conquering an unfamiliar world.

A few weeks ago, I was in a situation that I will describe metaphorically: I was standing on a stage, the spotlight on me with someone publicly disrespecting me for something I never did. In the process, something I did that was well intended and kindly worded got misconstrued. Sitting in the audience were providers my senior who looked like me. They stood, looked briefly at the situation, and walked away quicker than I could blink. I was left alone with the aftermath of a mess I never created and that should have never been mine to begin with.

Frustrated, annoyed, and embarrassed I looked at the empty audience. How could it be possible for people in a position I desired to be in one day to walk away from this tragedy without even looking at me in the eye? How is it that the only one in that space who didn’t look like me was allowed to carelessly address me this way seemingly without an ounce of remorse?

The situation in and of itself was small yet symbolic of something greater. Yes, there will always be individuals in life who choose to treat others out of a place of hurt, and, sometimes, they may not be held immediately accountable in a time frame most would be comfortable with. That is not my focus at this particular moment. The actual point of this metaphorical rendition is this: if providers who looked like me could not voice their disagreement for such a small grievance, how could they take a stand when something much more harmful occurred? Could it be that I was the only one who saw what was beneath the surface?

Amid the ever-pressing demands of a resident, I had but a few moments to lick my wounds and move forward. It was a tough pill to swallow, but I needed to realize that at the end of the day I could not expect anyone to stick out their neck for me. I needed to remember how to gracefully stand up for myself, release the anger and bitterness from the unmet expectation of the solidarity of the “black physicians”, and move forward in peace.

Hope, however, is not lost. I do believe there are black providers out there who do support each other which can and will become a reality for me. Yet, beyond that, my hope is for this experience to serve as a reminder to stand tall among an audience comfortable with sitting in silence, and, when needed, speak up in support of my colleagues- especially those who who have endured the trials of being a minority in medicine.