Natalie Ferrufino
“James, you could die as soon as you walk out of here. This tumor is deadly.”
I heard these life-changing words while in the intensive care unit next to my dad. Other than his slurred speech, inability to walk, and droopy face, I remember being overwhelmed because I was scheduled to take the MCAT in a few days. Because I went to school, both of my parents always counted on me to know everything. As a first-generation college student and the daughter of an immigrant, I always felt that pressure and had that main goal to make mom and dad proud.
Natalie Ferrufino
However, what ended up being a two-year gap was not part of the plan to accomplish that.
The unexpected nightmare started after my dad got a CT scan of his brain. The results stated he had a 6-by-7 centimeter brain tumor, which needed to be removed. Although my mom and I agreed for him to get the craniotomy, he was still conscious enough to decline the surgery and get discharged. Once we got back home, my dad’s health rapidly declined, and as soon as he became unconscious, we called an ambulance and proceeded with the surgery afraid of the unknown.
This was the first time I felt what it meant to have someone’s life in your hands.
Fortunately, the surgery went well, but that is when he was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a malignant Grade IV brain tumor, where a large portion of tumor cells are reproducing and dividing rapidly. Life post-surgery meant my dad needed care 24/7 among other things for the six months of life they gave him, so I discussed with my mom that I would be putting my life on hold to help take care of him. At that time, that was the best and only decision that could be made because I needed to fill out paperwork for insurance claims, disability, early retirement, and grants for cancer patients, and I needed to find any other resources out there.
The following months consisted of chemotherapy sessions and weekly visits with his healthcare team. I remember my mom saying, “We need more people like this. Please be like them when you become a doctor.” It was after this experience that I started to do my own research on what and who I wanted to be in healthcare. These sessions also brought back memories of when I volunteered at an infusion center, because I saw the lack of bilingual staff. The feeling of frustration was there but was overpowered by the motivation to make use of my Spanish when I do accomplish my goal. Everyone should be able to communicate and understand their health.
When the infusion visits started to become shorter, I began applying for other jobs and started one as a clinical research coordinator at the end of February 2020. One week into the shutdown, my boss told us we would be taking part in the COVID research trials. I was instructed to work at the “Red Zone,” which meant constant exposure to COVID. My duties consisted of consenting patients, taking vitals, triaging with a nurse, swabbing these patients, and storing all samples collected. After a few months of doing multiple trials, I tested positive for COVID, and a few days later, so did my parents.
However, they did not have the luck I did. Sadly, both of my parents became part of the death toll due to COVID-19. Being the medical power of attorney for both of my parents was a long battle of decision-making and emotional damage. Not only were they my only family, but they were the only financial help I thought was secured to continue my education. After the back-to-back funeral services and submissions of death certificates, I did not properly grieve, but instead, I worked long hours to avoid the empty house. This is where I continued shadowing the medical professionals and found my calling. This job is where I learned that I can be the best version of myself as a pharmacist. It was an unhealthy way of grieving, but it is what also helped me empathize and have that compassion to provide the best care for my patients.
The plan I had took time, which is not ideal when applying to graduate school, but what I have gone through in the past five years has changed me completely—and in the best way. My greatest strength that resulted from this is that I can face and overcome daily challenges thrown at me because I already survived my biggest challenge. No one tells you that you are not just losing the person, or in my case, two wonderful people you love, but you are also losing the future you thought you had—the you that had been dreaming of becoming a doctor at 23 and having your parents around for that huge milestone and many more. That you no longer exists.
However, our personal experiences are what shape us to become who we are. The rest of my grieving journey as I work toward becoming a pharmacist is dedicated to my two angels. I am confident that with my inability to give up, my problem-solving skills, and my clinical experience, I can be that pharmacist with a unique point of view to successfully approach the many different clinical situations that are encountered throughout a medical professional’s career.