It may be 15 years later, but I feel like I did when I was a six-year-old boy gazing into the painting; a frightened boy disrobes for his shot and a white-coated man leans over the counter to prepare the syringe.  The young boy stares into the framed diploma, looking for a degree of assurance to calm his racing heart.  “Don’t worry,” I think to myself, “my grandpa’s here to help.” Today, the only difference is that while Norman Rockwell’s Before the Shot still hangs over the kitchen microwave to greet guests, my grandfather’s lively vigor and gentle compassion no longer fill the room.

Although he passed on, stories pervaded my childhood characterizing Dr. I. Joseph Waxse – a father to four, grandfather to twelve and mentor to all.  A general practitioner, he also served as a preceptor for the University of Kansas Medical School in the small town of Oswego, Kansas. Praised by his preceptees for his sense of humor, confidence and friendliness, he was more than just the local doctor. My father told me of a man who helped all those in need; making house calls 30 miles away, often in exchange for common goods when families were unable to afford care.

Through the interpretations of others and the short time I had with my grandfather, I developed an unflinching desire to be that man: doctor and friend, father and mentor. I carried this unceasing motivation by my side from the doors of first grade to my first sophomore semester, when I stretched myself a little too thin. It was not until the spring of my junior year that I truly questioned this preconceived foundation. A conversation with my mother explained the truth about my grandfather’s move to Topeka, where he sought therapy to relieve the physical and mental dependence on the medicines he self-administered to relieve chronic back pain.

Just three years ago, Dr. Malakoff was relieved from Vice President Cheney’s medical team and internal medicine directorship at George Washington University for such practices. One Pulse magazine study presents that 43% of GPs in an anonymous study admitted to self-medicating with antibiotics or strong painkillers. I assured myself, “surely this ethical dilemma could not have seduced my grandfather, my motivation and idol.” Reality soon sank in and I questioned more and more. With my foundation critically weakened, where do I stand? Is my destiny really rooted in medicine?  With each question, I took a step back.

I began to separate myself from the late nights in the library, the emergency review sessions, or the MCAT equations that littered my walls. I thought about my life as a web designer, a lawyer, or international businessman; but instead of seeing myself at an oversized oak desk or huddled over the computer, I saw someone else. Only when I looked to the hospital, did I find myself – white-coated, preparing the syringe.

Already, medicine was turning out to be quite the immovable force. I looked back through my passions and priorities only to see how well medicine fit the part. Throughout college, a strong scientific curiosity coupled with a fear of boredom helped me succeed in the classroom. Paging through my chemistry texts, while a chore to some, satiated my hunger for knowledge and helped me enjoy each day in class. From the first time man wondered why his back hurt to Hippocrates’ humors or Jenner’s first smallpox vaccine, the field of medicine has fed the same intrinsic curiosity. In this regard, medicine offers boundless knowledge just waiting for my exploration.

My grandfather epitomizes another cornerstone of my foundation. Whether accepting produce in lieu of cash, serving on the school board or helping his preceptees gain confidence, the importance of helping others was well ingrained in his life. Today, whether it is offering last minute tutoring sessions for stressed freshmen or playing checkers with a young boy who had just lost his big brother to cancer, I am lucky to find enjoyment in the same tasks. Once again, this personal priority is held by medicine in the highest regard. Despite differences on the outside, each person has the same need when restricted to that bed.

After re-examination, it became evident to me that wherever I looked, I found renewed personal conviction to stay the course. In coming to grips with my grandfather’s self-medication, I gained resolve in my personal values and recognized an important lesson as well. When I first learned the truth, I wrongfully separated the event from the man; ignoring what I knew about my grandfather. Only after putting the conflict into context, did I learn the true message: although well admired, physicians are still human. No one, not even my idolized grandfather, is immune to personal faults and temptations. I have since gained even more respect for medical practitioners for their willingness to put their own problems aside to focus on someone else.

Initially, idealistic passions and priorities, like those portrayed in the Rockwell print, drew me towards the medical profession. After serious introspection, my goals have been tested and I am sure that I belong in medicine. I would be honored to have the opportunity to follow in the footsteps of my grandfather – man, mentor, doctor.