Contributing Writer
INOVA Children's Hospital
Dr. Kenneth Lopez is a 1st-year Pediatric Resident at INOVA Children's Hospital in Fairfax who is experienced in multiple fields, including medicine, chemistry, biology, public health, sociology and mathematics. He has trained in multiple industry-standard lab techniques in immunology and microbiology, as well as clinical and epidemiological translational research within multiple disciplines. His diverse experiences, leadership skills and consistent compassionate and curious approach towards tasks, allow him to contribute dynamic ideas to organizations and produce high-quality work within multiple stages of project development and implementation.
“That doesn’t happen often,” I quietly but excitedly say to myself while discussing our consult from the PICU. My attending hesitates, pondering the precarious balance between encouraging my medical curiosity and protecting me from the horrors of child abuse and mistreatment that still haunt her to this day. That day, I was a first-hand witness to the necessary but horrible clinical task of a brain death exam. This task is a rite of passage for …
Septic shock. Liver failure. Kidney cancer.
“Patient is a 34-year-old male with a nine-month history of rheumatoid arthritis-associated interstitial lung disease who is currently being treated with mycophenolate and rituximab. He remains on high-flow nasal cannula with oxygen saturations of 84-87% overnight. Transplant team signed off as the patient did not qualify for transplant. He reports feeling well this morning and that he learned a great new magic trick with a disappearing card.”
“Could you water my plants?” I asked my roommate when I was out of town. They say it takes a village to raise a child, make it through medical school, to do anything worth knowing. When I started medical school, I had a village: parents, friends, family, a partner and my plants.
“Your time starts now. You may begin your examination.” These were the words said moments before a life-altering moment during my high school years.
The transition from the classroom to the hospital was an incredible experience. After spending endless days behind a bright screen, I felt an overwhelming sense of excitement to finally apply my medical knowledge and delve into the world of patient care.
Fluorescent lighting, lemon-scented cleaner and recently mopped tile floors. The sights and smells of a hospital floor were slowly becoming familiar to me as I wound my way around corner after corner bright and early at 6:15 a.m. on a Thursday morning.
“We have reason to believe that your daughter is brain dead.” The silence was deafening.
On September 29, 2021, my world started to unravel. My first anatomy lab as a medical student had just begun. I stepped foot in the cadaver lab where the pungent odor of formaldehyde clung to the air, and I was overflowing with eagerness.
It will soon be over seven years since the last time I saw you. It feels like yesterday we were singing along to your favorite song as you drove me to my weekly dance class.
The once-sterile hospital room had become a sacred space, where the raw emotions of love and loss hung in the air. The young daughter, vibrant in her essence but tethered to life support, teetered on the precipice between existence and the inevitable.
…what remains is the removal of the layered white shroud: the only barrier standing between two humans — one dead and the other alive.
Contributing Writer
Burnett School of Medicine at Texas Christian University
Monica is a medical student at the Burnett School of Medicine at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth, Texas, Class of 2026. In 2021, she graduated from the University of California, Irvine, with a Bachelor of Science in Neurobiology and a minor in Art History. She enjoys going on long sunset walks, visiting local museums and spending quality time with friends. She hopes to incorporate her passion for writing into her future career as a physician-author.
