I Put My Champagne in the Fridge

Today, I put my good champagne in the fridge. I recently learned that champagne should be stored in the dark/at room temperature to allow for further fermentation/aging, but that it will stay drink-able in the fridge for about a year. In general, the only occasion I need to drink some champagne is that it’s a day ending in ‘y’. But this bottle, a 2009 Dom Perignon gifted by my little brother Alec, after my college graduation, is extra special. For a year after I graduated, it sat imposingly in the corner of my bar cart; I was continuously reminded that I had no occasion for such an impossibly rich celebration. It was as I began my initial applications in June 2019, that I decided the fate of this bottle of champagne: I’d drink it when I got into medical school.

Needless to say, it’s gotten to age substantially more than I had imagined. Too uncertain about my fate during my initial application cycle, I left it on the shelf of my bar cart. As I hung in limbo, grappled with the rejection, then picked myself up by the bootstraps, the bottle sat on its shelf, mocking me. It’s become a symbol of my initial failure; the black, shadowy bottle lurking in the corner, like the doubtful voice in the back of my head.

As I settle into my second application cycle, I think about this bottle a lot. I’m not going to open it until I get that acceptance, but I took some control over my destiny today. I put the bottle in the fridge. Are you thinking what I’m thinking yet? I am manifesting (and, desperately hoping) that this application will work out. I have spent the last year reflecting, working, and evolving, to make this work out. The parts that I can control are mostly behind me, but the journey ahead is looking brighter than the last. The rejections are coming more slowly, and the radio silence is feeling more thoughtful than judgemental. Or at least, that’s the reality I choose to live in. Within the next 9ish months, I am going to get that news. And I am going to need that champagne to be cold.

Who knows if it’s already turned into vinegar, but nothing will ever taste as sweet.

On the Right Track

In the Spring, when I had been resoundingly rejected by every single medical school I had applied to, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should take it as a sign from the universe to think about alternate career paths. I know that my situation was not uncommon, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. My bruised ego and I ended up in my current program because it sounded interesting, relevant, and would wrap up with ample time to reapply in the 2021 cycle. It’s been extremely rigorous (despite the fact that it’s been completely remote), but I have thoroughly enjoyed every class I’ve taken. Once I made peace with the fact that my timeline won’t look the way I once wanted, I’ve started to really enjoy the journey and this time.

This past semester, I posted my best-ever academic term. In graduate school. In the middle of a pandemic. This has been a huge confidence boost, but also a reaffirmation that I’m still on the right track. I know that grades are not necessarily what determine a good physician, but they are what medical schools care about. And I’ve got my foot in the door. Before this, I feel like I had the un-trainable (and unfortunately under-valued) attributes of a good physician- empathy, creativity, grit. Unfortunately, these couldn’t be appreciated by the system that was blinded by my crappy grades. Like when you notice that someone you’re talking to has a massive chunk of spinach in their teeth, and you suddenly can’t hear a word they say.

If I had listened to the rejection, let it decide for me, I would have been giving up my purpose. Revamping my application GPA for the better won’t be what gets me into medical school. What it will do, hopefully, is get me past those GPA filters so that an actual human is able to read my story and actually connect it to my trajectory. Perfect students are dime a dozen in the medical school applicant pool, but I have confidence that I can hold up to comparison. I recognize that not everyone has the financial and social support to put themselves through this harrowing process yet again. I hope that my journey is applicable to anyone dealing with something similar- you don’t always have to accept the cards that have been dealt to you, especially when it means giving up your aspirations.

Having said all of that, it’s fucking exhausting being resilient. I hope anyone reading this knows that I’m not the person writing these posts all the time. I am often irreversibly grumpy, especially during the window between waking up and drinking coffee. The reason it’s been so long since I’ve written one of these posts is because I’ve been struggling to feel optimistic about the future during this time. I have a really hard time focusing solely on the present without a definitive end point (a deadline, or event), and it’s left me feeling uninspired- and like I need some new hobbies. Throughout the entire pandemic, I have been continuously learning that people are just not as inherently good as I had believed. The unwillingness of some to participate in wearing a mask, an act almost-entirely for the protection of others, is something I cannot comprehend. I’ve been depleted of my optimism after months of being confronted by the ugliness of humanity while the future is so uncertain. I know that we will dig ourselves out of this hole, but we need to be kind to each other. This is a weird time for everyone, and I think we are all learning about the necessity of being nice to ourselves. So feel your feelings, it’s ok to mourn the life you had a year ago.


Hi All. My family members have asked why I haven’t updated my blog in a while. I have updates I could share with you all, like (online) grad school classes starting two weeks ago, but the truth is that I just don’t feel like anyone needs to be reading about my life right now. There are far, far more important updates to pay attention to, so instead of a blog post here is a short, not-comprehensive starter list of resources to empower you to pay attention to the areas that need your focus. These are things I care about, and their existence is not up for debate. I welcome you to look elsewhere for resources, though!

COVID- 19 News: whenever you read a news article, there should be a reference (in the article or at the end) for where they got the information they are writing about. Go read the cited article, THEN go read the news piece. Scientific peer review exists for a reason, and it can protect you from becoming an ill-informed ‘Karen’ who gets her news from Twitter. If the scientific language isn’t worth the effort to read, you have no business regurgitating it to people who will believe what you say. Believe the scientists. 

Tackling and Dismantling Institutional and outright Racism in America: The obstacles I have faced in life do not take away the fact that I am still a white woman in America, and enjoy the services of a system to benefit me while oppressing people of color. Black Lives Matter, and I have channeled my energy and resources into how America can do better here. Some resources to get you started:

  • Sign up for the Anti-Racism Daily: a daily email that thoroughly explains a different facet of prejudice and discrimination in the current society, and provides resources on how to change that. Subscribe here: https://www.antiracismdaily.com/
  • Donate, if you can. To the ACLU, to the NAACP, to the George and Gianna Floyd Foundation. Do some research and find the cause most meaningful to you. If not money; time, resources, professional expertise.
  • Educate yourself about the inherent racism you have practiced/shown/contributed to; White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo is where I have started- it’s hard to stomach at times, but I am a better ally for reading it. I recommend ordering through bookshop.org, which helps support independent bookstores, who are struggling during the pandemic.
  • Listen to the experiences of people of color. As the oppressor, we do not get to decide which feelings are valid or not. Listen to it, HEAR it, and do something.


Next Steps

I’ve never covered up the hard stuff before, and I won’t do that now. I won’t pretend that I’ve actually changed my mind and decided to put off med school. I won’t pretend that my career plans have changed, and that’s why I’m not starting medical school this fall. It’s because I got rejected from everywhere. All 29 schools.

I have known from the start that this process would be difficult, and I’d heard horror stories about my peers getting flat-out rejected. Being rejected 29 times, spread out over 9 months, really wears on a person’s confidence. The hurt comes in waves, but I am comforted by the knowledge that I held nothing back. I failed harder than even I thought was possible. I’m disappointed in these schools’ failure to see the value I will bring as a physician, but I guess I need to make it easier for them to understand.

I won’t be discouraged, I’m leveling up. I’m going to take a year, pursue my Master’s of Science, then reapply to medical school in 2021 to begin in 2022. I’m going to work over the next year to make it so painfully obvious that I deserve to be considered, that I actually will be. I don’t know which master’s program I will choose, but I won’t squander the opportunity to demonstrate my competence and motivation.

I will start school (again) this summer and am aiming to be finished by Spring 2021 (roughly one year from now). I will re-apply then, for matriculation in Fall 2022. I don’t want to be starting medical school two years from now, and could hypothetically reapply now to start in 2021. I need to take a year to do something meaningful (and, ideally, successful) to really add value to the time I have taken off since graduating.

The Road That Lies Ahead

The other night, trying to fall asleep but worrying over the 1000 things that I have no control over, a thought visited me that I hadn’t seen in a while.

In the recent past, even in some of the older posts on here, I have mourned the life I imagined having if my accident never happened. I mourn the loss of a symmetrical smile. I mourn the loss of perfect balance. I mourn the loss of a comfortable, straightforward, inconsequential existence.

This time, however, no tears came. Sure, I won’t have any of those things. Instead, I have 13 scars, some flat and light, others dark and new. I have a whole makeup bag of supplies for my delicate right eye. I have an intolerance for lazy people and anti-vaxxers. Where I lost an easy life in my accident, I gained aspirations far beyond anything I could have imagined possible for me.

This time, I told myself “tough shit.” Sure, my life isn’t as ‘easy’ post-accident as it was before, but I also would have never believed in my resilience and capability like I do now. The things about my life that I feel are hard: the emotional turmoil of the medical school application process, the demands of balancing volunteering and full-time employment, nurturing and supporting my loved ones. Those things reflect what I truly value, and they are also things that I would have never expected that I could handle in my previous life.

This time, thinking about how my life would have turned out without my accident felt like mourning a very mediocre version of myself. It clicked, finally, that there is absolutely no value in expending energy thinking about that; the road that lies ahead is free from the bounds I once had on my capability. I have far more confidence in the woman I am, than the woman I could have been.

Although I only JUST had that revelation, I think that’s part of why I have been pretty quiet on here, for which I apologize. This blog started as I navigated my ‘new normal’ and adjusted to my different life. Now that I am spending less time thinking about these differences, I have less to talk about on here. I will, of course, continue to post when I feel inspired, but wanted to provide some context for my silence.


Braver Than Before

As I am writing this, my right eye is wide open for the first time since 2016. Just one month ago, I was very matter-of-factly explaining to Anthony that they weren’t sure my eye would ever be fully open, when I suddenly began to cry. This was as much a surprise to myself as it was to him, but the weight of what I was saying came down in full force. I brought this concern to my eye doctor, and we have been working together to find the optimal balance between keeping my eye healthy and making me more confident.

I currently wear a little detachable eyelid weight to help me blink that looks like a little piece of tape (and is a massive pain in my ass to put on in the mornings), and I am going to try wearing a large, rigid contact lens that can act as a shield for the surface of my eye. I am having a custom lens 3D printed (!) for my very scarred, irregular eyeball, and they needed to take an impression for the mold. This is just like a dental impression, but they have to pull my eyelids apart a little bit to fit the mold to the whole surface. To do this, they needed to un-do the stitch in the corner of my eye so that they could get an impression of the entire surface, and they are letting me keep it open at LEAST until the lens comes in about 3 weeks.

Of course, the first thing that I did was take a selfie to send to my mom after. The lighting was good and my hair was on point, and I was struck by how much I looked like my old self. But even more surprising to me was how little that mattered to me. In contrast to the massive progress I have made in my life recently, it’s disconcerting to observe my appearance moving backwards (but in the best way). My gradual return to the way I looked before my accident almost feels like cheating- how can I possibly have gone through all this shit and still be able to look like my old self? I am so incredibly different from that girl.

I’m thinking a lot about just how much I have changed since I last had two eyes fully open. I am certainly sassier than before. I am tougher than before. Braver than before. I expect more of myself than before; but just because I have struggled doesn’t mean I have to wear those battles on my face. The victories that I’ve won don’t go away as the scars fade; I can love myself and still want to improve myself.

I shared the photo on Instagram this morning and am, as always, humbled by the love and support from everyone. My friends and family have fought with me, laughed with me, cried with me, and this victory is theirs as well.

Game Face.

Having a ‘game face’ looks different to different people. For some, it’s putting on a smile and listening to a customer’s ridiculous complaint. For others, it’s making it to a social event despite overwhelming anxiety. It’s doing the hard stuff that you didn’t really want to do. For me, my game face is shown in the attached image; marked up and ready to be cut open.

This picture shows my surgeon’s ‘map’ that he drew immediately before my last (!) facial reanimation surgery at NYU. This one has been in the works for a very long time; it is the second phase of the reconstruction began last summer.  Last summer, they took a nerve from my foot, connected it to my working facial nerve, and hoped that it would grow across my face over to my paralyzed side. That part was perhaps the most important and hardest progress to monitor, but this second surgery was no cakewalk either.

During the ten hours that I was in surgery on 7/16, Dr. Rodriguez took a piece of my gracilis muscle (in my inner thigh) and all of the attached blood vessels/nerve supply, and then grafted it into my face. He attached it to the corner of my mouth and my temple, much like a working face muscle would be oriented, then attached the product of last summer’s nerve graft to this new muscle. The most delicate part, however, was connecting blood vessels from my neck to those that attached to the muscle when it was in my thigh.

This part was so important because, without adequate blood supply, the transplanted muscle would die and render the last year of preparation useless. It’s a delicate process in any patient, but previous trauma to my neck (the actual accident, past missteps by lesser surgeons) made this part extra difficult. Dr. Rodriguez, of course, was able to find and connect vessels necessary to feed the muscle, but unlike other patients, I did not have any viable back-up vessels to use in the case that something went awry during recovery.

I won’t say the recovery was the easiest thing ever, but I can also say that I have experienced much, much worse. Luckily, it was uneventful, and I am back to my normal routine. I am still a little swollen and quite bruised, but it’s nothing that a little makeup can’t fix. Now, I wait 3-9 months for the connected nerve and muscle to start talking to each other, and that is when everything will start moving.

My game face is walking myself into the operating room with a smile. My game face is cracking jokes about spaceships as I stare up at the massive surgical lamps above me. My game face is saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to the nurse sticking me with my fifth IV needle of my stay. My game face is walking myself out of the hospital, with yet another body part rearranged where it doesn’t naturally belong.

Relaxed and Ambitious

I have never, ever, been ruled by my own self doubt- even when I’m not confident, I move past the worry. As I begin this medical school application process, there’s much to be insecure about- my crappy grades, my test scores, my uncertainty about the people reading my application. I know that my case is unique, but everyone is unique. When it’s my future career that hangs in the balance,  I can’t just not listen to this voice of doubt in my head. I know that it’s spewing completely irrational things, but the stakes are much too high here. My defense against the worst-case-scenario has always been to prepare. The only way to ‘prepare’ in this situation is to acknowledge the possibility that EVERYTHING goes wrong.

For example, I got my score back from the MCAT I took in March. I scored almost exactly average. When I first saw my score, I was angry and confused- I had talked myself into feeling ‘pretty good’ about a test that I honestly had mixed feelings about. On the day I took it, I walked out of that test having NO clue whether or not I did well. I figured that if I didn’t feel defeated, it couldn’t have been THAT bad right? I mean, it’s the fucking MCAT, I’m pretty sure it’s not meant to ever feel like you aced it. My test-taking instincts are almost always right, but in this case, I had been lying to myself.

I took the exam again in May, having regrouped and focused on the areas that I knew I was weakest in. I immediately felt overwhelmingly more positive about this attempt; there was much more that I KNEW that I knew, if that makes sense. But now, a day before I get my score back, it’s my doubtful voice’s cue to chime in. Yeah I felt good about it, but my score will only improve if I did at LEAST as well as last time. Since I wasn’t in a full-time class this time, how could I possibly have held onto my training? I’m having a really hard time not buying into the panic, but my fate has been decided and won’t change regardless of how much I worry.

If this were literally any other test score, I would be quick to let it go. It is what it is, and it’s not what it’s not. But this is so much more important to me. If it is what it is and it’s not great, I can’t just accept that and be passive in my pursuit of the rest of my life. Being okay with a less-than-stellar test score at this stage is equivalent to being okay with my application getting passed over. And that is most certainly not okay. At the root of this dilemma is just that it’s very difficult to be relaxed AND ambitious at the same time.

Being nicer to myself.

Over the weekend at a restaurant, I overheard a conversation happening at table of friends catching up over a meal. Somehow, the conversation had drifted to one friend’s recent nose job. I heard them rationalizing the surgery to their attentive and supportive friends, and didn’t think much of it other than it seemed a bit shallow. However, when I was talking about it to my boyfriend later that day, I dissolved into tears.

Let me make one thing clear: I do not give two shits about any alterations anyone does or does not make to their face. So why had this conversation made me cry, hours after hearing it? It made me mad. Not because it was a nose job, I don’t care about that. I was envious because they were the ones that got to decide that they wanted a new nose. It was a TRULY elective surgery, they got to decide to improve the face they were born with.

In 2018, I had five surgeries on my face, all of which were performed by plastic surgeons.  Those weren’t plastic surgeries, though. Those were reconstructive surgeries. My accident, my facial paralysis, stripped me of the right to just change my natural face because I don’t like it. I don’t get to do anything to my face for improvement, everything I do is a step back to my normal. I don’t like my face. I don’t like it because it’s a lingering reminder of a terrible point in my life. I don’t like it because it doesn’t really work all the time. I don’t like it because I miss how it used to be.

When I am getting botox injections, it will not be to prevent wrinkles. It will be to partially paralyze my working side, so that my face looks more symmetrical. I know this is an odd point, but wishing you could change your face is a privilege- take a minute to revel in it. Maybe your nose is too big or too crooked or too round, but it’s yours, and you are in total control of how it (or your attitude) changes. In general, I avoid thinking about the things I don’t like about my face. Most of the time, it’s because I choose not to dwell on the things I don’t have. Sometimes, though, it’s because I’m afraid to know how long the list really is.

Reading through this, I’m unsure of whether or not to share it- it’s not exactly light hearted. That said, it’s a good reminder to myself and everyone else to be nicer to ourselves. I still don’t like my face but I will stop picking on her for tonight, she got seriously hurt and she’s doing the best she can to recover. I will be kinder to myself if you do too, deal?


Today, I had my 6 month post-op with Dr. Fung, my corneal surgeon. It’s not like this was anything formal- I have probably seen him roughly 6 times since the surgery. Today was important, though, because this is officially 6 months post-op. At 6 months post-procedure, things should be happening if everything went well. I did the same stuff as usual- they checked my eye pressure, checked my vision in both eyes, looked at the surface in the microscope. One fun thing that happens is when they poke my eye with different-length sticks to check my sensation.

All of the above looked good- my sensation is at about 80%, and the surface of my eye looks about as good as it possibly could. I could care less about the sensation, but the health of my cornea means that the surgery has been successful in the critical areas. I didn’t realize how worried I had been about it until I felt the relief- positive surgical experiences have been pretty hit or miss for me, so this is a huge win.

I had come to the appointment straight from work, and only one eye was made up, as is usual for my makeup routine. We were talking about the next steps over the coming months, when Dr. Fung said something that nearly made me cry. He looked me in the eye(s) and told me that I should wear makeup on my right eye. Not because I needed to, but because I shouldn’t be feeling like my right eye doesn’t get to participate in the rest of my face. It was certainly observant, but I would expect that attention to detail from a world-class eye surgeon. The empathy is what blew me away- all I needed to be was another successful case, another pat on the back for himself. But he sees me, the young woman trying to navigate my self-esteem and droopy face and find a sense of normalcy.

This empathy, this humanity- this is what my own experiences will allow me to give to my patients, and the impact it had on me being on the receiving end is something that will stick with me as I move further towards becoming a physician. I think that I can say with confidence that I have been cared for by some of the most talented doctors and surgeons that exist today, but the things that I remember are not how they treated me but how they treated me. Talent is unquestionably half the battle, but the difference between a phenomenal surgeon and a phenomenal caregiver is the ability to remember that the scans, test results, charts, numbers that one is examining belong to a human being.