During Sister's Residency Match, She Laughed At My Diagnosis—Her Program Director Didn't

Описание: During Sister's Residency Match, She Laughed At My Diagnosis—Her Program Director Didn't
‪@RevengeReturn-s3n‬

The invitation arrived three weeks before my surgery. Heavy cardstock, elegant script: You're invited to celebrate Dr. Amanda Chen's Residency Match at Johns Hopkins Department of Surgery. My sister had matched into one of the most prestigious surgical programs in the country, and my parents were throwing her a party at our childhood home to celebrate.
The same week I was scheduled for my third major surgery in eighteen months.
I stared at the date on the invitation—March 15th. My surgery was March 14th. I'd be in post-op recovery during Amanda's celebration, assuming everything went well. Assuming the tumor they'd found wrapped around my spinal cord could be removed without permanent paralysis.
"You're coming, right?" Mom asked when she called. "Amanda specifically asked if you'd be there."
"Mom, my surgery is the day before."
"Oh, that." Her voice dismissive, airy. "Can't you reschedule? This is Amanda's moment. She's worked so hard for this."
That. My third spinal surgery in eighteen months was that.
I was twenty-six years old with neurofibromatosis type 2—a genetic disorder that caused tumors to grow on my nerves. The first tumor had been discovered when I started losing hearing in my left ear. Then they found more. On my spinal cord. On my cranial nerves. Small ones scattered throughout my nervous system like landmines waiting to detonate.
The current tumor was pressing against my spinal cord at the T6 level, causing weakness in my legs and bowel dysfunction. If left untreated, I'd be paralyzed within months. But to my family, it was just another one of my "medical dramas."
"I can't reschedule," I said quietly. "The tumor is growing. Dr. Richardson says we can't wait any longer."
"Well, try to make it to the party if you can. Amanda's colleagues will be there—it would mean a lot to her."
After she hung up, I sat in my apartment staring at the invitation. Amanda was twenty-eight, my older sister by two years. She'd always been the golden child—perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect career trajectory. When I was diagnosed with NF2 at twenty-three, it had complicated the family narrative. Amanda was supposed to be the successful doctor. I was supposed to be... what? The admiring younger sister? The supporting character in her story?
Instead, I'd become the inconvenient sick one.
My phone buzzed with a text from Amanda: Mom says you might not come to my party because of another surgery? Really? Can't you just postpone it for ONE day?
I didn't respond. There was no point explaining that you don't postpone spinal cord decompression because it's inconvenient timing. Amanda had been in medical school for four years. She should understand this. But understanding would require her to see me as a real patient rather than her dramatic younger sister.

Dr. Patricia Richardson was the head of neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital—one of the leading experts in complex spinal tumor resection in the country. She'd operated on me twice before with excellent outcomes. When the latest MRI showed a new tumor at T6, she'd personally called to schedule surgery.
"This one's tricky," she'd said during our pre-op consultation. "It's wrapped around the nerve roots. We'll need to be very careful, but I'm confident we can get it out without permanent damage."
Now, sitting in the pre-op area on March 14th, I was trying not to think about the word permanent. My parents had dropped me off at six AM—Mom barely glancing at me as she said "good luck" before rushing back to party preparations. Amanda hadn't called or texted.
"Claire Chen?" A nurse appeared. "Dr. Richardson wants to speak with you before we take you back."
Dr. Richardson entered in her scrubs, her expression serious but kind. "How are you feeling?"
"Nervous."
"That's normal. I wanted to go over the procedure one more time." She pulled up my imaging on a tablet. "The tumor is here, wrapped around the nerve bundle. We'll make an incision at T5 through T7, expose the cord, and carefully dissect the tumor from the nerve tissue. Recovery will be three to five days inpatient, then six weeks of restricted activity at home."





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