I worked weekends, took extra shifts during holidays, and learned to survive on cheap meals and very little sleep.
By the time I received my medical degree, I had accumulated enough student debt to make the celebration feel strangely incomplete.
Everyone congratulated me.
I smiled for photographs.
Then I went home and opened my loan statements.
Still, I was proud of what I had achieved. I had worked for it, and I believed the sacrifices would eventually be worth it.
When I joined the oncology department at a large hospital, I promised myself that I would never become the kind of doctor who treated patients like names on a screen.
I wanted to listen.
I wanted people to feel that someone cared, even when the news was bad.
That was how I met Alicia.
She was eighteen, with bright eyes, a mischievous smile, and a remarkable ability to make everyone around her forget where they were for a few seconds.
