Byron Ward, Morehouse School of Medicine
At the start of this year, I had a vision that this time would be filled with tons of professional growth and discovery- a chance to immerse myself in orthopedic trauma research and hone some of the skills needed for my upcoming orthopedic surgery away rotations in the early fall. What I failed to anticipate was what this year had in store for me from a personal growth standpoint and how it would transform not just my understanding of my future career but also my ability to juggle the delicate balance of life both as a caregiver and a patient.
The major turning point came when I received news that my father had suffered a stroke. As a 26-year-old, at the beginning of trying to figure out my identity as a future physician, I was also suddenly thrust into the role of concerned family member. Grappling with the helplessness of watching my father, my rock, and my lifelong role model suffer a life-altering challenge from 1,728.2 miles from home was one of the most isolating experiences of my entire life. My focus for the year shifted from my professional and research goals to long-distance phone calls and trying to navigate medical updates, all while supporting my family from a distance.
While my father was on his road to recovery, I had my own personal physical setback – a ruptured Achilles which left me completely immobilized and dependent on others for daily tasks just weeks before I was scheduled to take my USMLE Step 2 exam. The irony of wanting to put people’s bodies back together while mine betrayed me wasn’t lost on me. In those vulnerable moments, I was no longer the aspiring orthopedic surgeon but the patient, facing frustrations I had previously only seen in others.
Through these tough times, I developed a new perspective on what it means to heal. For my father, recovery and healing were not just physical but deeply emotional - requiring patience, encouragement, and a consistent presence of love and support from those around him. For me, recovery and healing meant learning to let go of the self-reliance that got me this far in life and embrace the support of others—a lesson I didn’t realize I needed to learn until I was forced to learn it.
These trials and tribulations taught me about perseverance. Perseverance isn’t just a solitary act but a collection of small wins that eventually add up to something larger. It’s my father’s nurse who went above and beyond to ensure his dignity during recovery was intact, the surgeon and PA who saw how nervous I was to get surgery but ensured I was supported, and the family and friends who showed up for me when I could barely show up for myself.
As I lie on this couch, with my foot propped up, I carry the lessons I’ve learned over the last 2 months with me. I have a much deeper understanding of the role of a physician, which extends beyond diagnosing and treating. It’s about seeing patients and families where they are—seeing them as whole people, dealing with real lives that don’t stop for hospital stays and life-changing injuries. Paracelsus once said, "Medicine is not only a science; it is also an art. It does not consist of compounding pills and plasters; it deals with the very processes of life, which must be understood before they may be guided." My experiences as a family member and patient have deepened my commitment to approaching each encounter with empathy and a new understanding that healing comes in many different forms—many of which can’t be measured by lab and imaging results. When I re-enter clinical training, I’ll be more inclined to remember to ask patients, “Who do you lean on when things get hard?” and “What brings you comfort?”. Those are the questions I found myself asking during this recent string of hard times.
While the first half of my research year didn’t unfold as planned, it gave me something far more valuable than any number of publications or clinical skills I could have gained. It gave me a renewed sense of purpose, compassion, and empathy in medicine. These are lessons I will carry with me into the future, When I enter the operating room and beyond, I will be a surgeon who not only treats injuries, but I will also uplift people on their darkest day with compassion and empathy.
Byron Ward is in between his 3rd and 4th year at Morehouse School of Medicine and is currently doing a research year in Orthopedic Trauma at Denver Health. He is passionate about mentorship and research.