Not on the First Date.

I felt needed to be addressed with a network of young patients and social workers. When I met people, it was hard for me to tell them that I am a cancer survivor or a bone marrow transplant recipient. Would they judge me? Would they pity me? Would they treat me as if I am crippled or incapable? These questions always ran through my mind. I wanted to be perceived as “normal.” The blood and lymph course director at Western University of Health Sciences, where I attend school, invited me to talk to his first-year osteopathic medical students during a lecture, as I had done for the past 3 years. However, now I was in the class, no longer just a guest; I knew the faces that would be staring at me. I initially declined, but I felt torn and conflicted. The night before the lecture I e-mailed him. If the opportunity to speak were still available, I would do it. Sitting through almost 3 hours of lecture consisting of 4 patient case discussions before I would speak was nerve-racking. Although no one knew it but me, this was my big debut. After a hematologist finished discussing case 4—my case—the course director took the mic and reminded everyone that these cases all reference real patients. My heart was nearly pounding out of my chest with fear, each beat like a drum, and my hands were now dripping with sweat, for I knew what I had to do next. “In all of the large group lectures, for any system, these are not just cases, but people, and I know case 4,” he said. “Everyone in this room knows case 4,” he paused. “It’s Jake.” Shimmying through the tight seats to make my way down the stairs to the front of the lecture hall, I could feel my heart beginning to race again, not with fear now, but with excitement. A hush had fallen over the room. My classmates’ faces showed shock and surprise. After 40 minutes of me sharing my story and some of the experiences I went through, I received a standing ovation. Here were 300 medical students on their feet, applauding me Not on the First Date