From Here to There: A Young Man’s Motive to Becoming a Doctor

by: Orlando Mendoza

The lady whom I have seen in previous occasions, walked into the building to retrieve her weekly food basket like no other day. I noticed she had a sock wrapped around her foot with tape holding it together from the sole of her heel. It was heartbreaking to see the unsanitary way of dealing with such an injury, never mind the sock, however she was in pain.

As she tried to carry her bags home I noticed the excruciating pain through her eyes and the tender voice intending to blind the injury. I offered to help, but she denied help. She told me her husband would get upset if I helped her. The clinic was a block away, I offered to take her there. It hurt me to see her in pain as she leaned down to fix her sock. She accepted my offer.

We waited in the clinic as she continued to hold her pain, she sat down crying and worried leaning towards a brick wall. The cut was bigger than I had imagined. I stood up and asked for immediate care, but I had no success. It was heartbreaking to see her in pain knowing we were at a clinic. The doctor after a long wait was able to give her the attention she waited for, by pouring alcohol on the wound, applying a gauge over it, and wrapping it.

I asked “Is she going to be better now?”

He responded “I cannot treat her furthermore, she is poor, and wouldn’t be able to afford the medication anyways”

One of the nurses approached me for information, asking me why I was helping her. I simply replied “she’s in pain.” The gauge and bandage was not going to treat her foot, I asked her if she had any family members that could pay. She responded saying she didn’t have money, which is another way of saying, she couldn’t afford it. Touched by her voice that indigently told me to help, I offered to pay. I took the gauze off her foot and told the doctors to do what was necessary. I waited patiently as they continued to treat her; soon it was time to leave. I thanked the doctor, while she waited outside limping through the door. I gave her some extra money, the doctors had prescribed her medicine for the pain, and watched her walk away with a smile. That day, I drove home crying and thinking about the millions of people who don’t go to the doctors because they can’t afford it. This is the story of when I volunteered at a food bank in Mexico.


I couldn’t dare to think what happened to her when she got home, or if she even had a home. The following week, as usual, I walked into the food bank where I had been volunteering for weeks. I waited eagerly to see the women, whose name I did not know, come to get her weekly food. It was the end of the day and there was no hope she would arrive. I continued to seek information about her, but had no luck. The following day, I found out that the lady I had helped died. I broke down crying, she was shot in the head by her husband for not being able to work. I was forced to pretend that it was a different woman not the person who I helped.