alessiapisapiathestory

[alessiapisapiathestory]

Saviour Complex. A letter to K.M

I thought I had left ward 7 behind. I thought I had signed that chapter of my training off as complete, until I felt my breath catch watching a machine take your next. It’s hard to think that just 2 weeks ago you and your dad called me after your latest tests. Your anxiety was rife, you asked if you would be ok… I made a promise you would be, that I’d see you at your next check-up.

Only 10 days later and yet so much has changed.

“A tectal plate glioma,” I watched him tell you. You were alone, eleven and staring up at a cartoon strip of your brain on the X-ray screen. “I’ve dealt with this many times, you are going to be fine mate.” I watched his arrogance disregard your fear with a pat on the back. He didn’t look much older than I am and on stumbling upon his dating profile, I almost defaced his account when I saw him use his title as a pickup line. Maybe I did the same? Now, his name is nowhere in your file. Neither are your paralysing hallucinations or ideations. The neurosurgeons say they have resolved. I’m not sure how they can tell though with that pipe pressing against your vocal cords. They now write about a left hemi-paralysis instead and raised intracranial pressure, I guess these are the pathologies they are more equipped to treat… but you are so much more.

Walking in to ward 36 a month ago, you knew something was wrong. An unusual presentation, we diagnosed you as an 11-year-old with an attachment disorder until your CT brain proved otherwise.  Your anxiety was enough to fill ward 18 but was it psychogenic or pathological? I’m still not sure we understand. I never thought I would be the one to heal you, but it’s hard to sit at your bedside and not feel like I’ve let you down in some way. However, I recognise that this is where I have to let you, and my saviour complex, go. You are safe now. Your medical team is phenomenal and run by one of the top neurosurgeons in the country. You would love him. The nursing staff love you and even with your left hemi-plegia you are running them ragged (as per usual). You now have your very own nursing sister to protect you (like you always wanted) and you don’t have to worry; I’ve told her just how you like your blanket and what to do if your ear starts acting up (just in case you wake up).

 As for your moms and dad, they are sticking together. Dad comes to see you every day. I can hear him hiding his fear behind his faith, something I’m sure he learned from you. We are catching your mom’s tears, you were right – she is the sweetest lady. Mom is torn between you and Rustenburg… I see the stress lines her boss writes into her forehead when they say mom needs to be back at work on Saturday. As if she will ever be “back at work.” As for God, He’s more on your side than ever. You have more prayer warriors than you would even believe. Your dad and your principal have got the whole school praying for you … so I don’t think you need to be so worried about them teasing you about your scars anymore. I’m working on those stories for you anyway just in case you are, starting with this one right here.

 As for me… Your family still call me your doctor, but your case is far beyond my level of competency and control.  I don’t know if I can be your doctor anymore… maybe, at this moment, being your doctor means something a little different. Maybe this doctor role looks like patient advocacy, sick notes, taking the call from your parents that your team may be too busy to get to, making sure mom and dad understand the medical jargon that no one explains or just being a prayer warrior.

Whatever it is, I’ll continue to visit your bedside with your family and marvel at how an 11-year-old could teach me more about humanity than the world ever could.

We’re all cheering for you kid.

Keep fighting.

Dr. Alessia

[alessiapisapiathestory]

This is a Tribute.

Your clinical years in medical school feel like your adolescent years. You don’t yet belong at the adult table with the qualified doctors, but you have seen and experienced too much to be considered an undergrad.

With Covid-19, this identity crisis gets even more confusing. Your government is crying for health care workers, YOU are working on the frontlines … yet you aren’t qualified. Your seniors shout endless commands. Charlotte is closed. We are in a pandemic seeing 2x the patient load. We are all overworked and overwhelmed… But as a student, you are still expected to go home and have the energy to study.

It’s a battlefield. And I feel like medical students often get forgotten in the smoke of the crossfire. In no way am I complaining. It’s a privilege to be where I am doing what I do.

But THIS, is a tribute to me. It’s a tribute to you. It’s a tribute to my immediate pandemic fighters and my larger group of colleagues.

Well done to you for getting up this morning. I know you are scared. Washing your hands 2,3,4 times over, in fear that the last encounter you had was a Covid positive and exams are coming up. I know you are scared. I know you are hazy with headaches because you are breathing in 16hrs of recycled oxygen. But you keep pushing… you keep making a difference

I know you sometimes feel exhausted: waking up post call, two hours of sleep, and you are still expected to shine for your patients… hold some piece of their life in your hands. Be responsible for elements of their physical and emotional health. Meanwhile you are struggling to look after yourself, keep on top of your studies and commitments. You are only one person, but I see you trying.

I know you sometimes feel like the bad outweighs the good. When you see the unspeakable and you are expected to pack it away in a smile for the next patient. No counselling, no closure. When an imperfect health system results in you failing a patient. I see your hurt, but I see your resilience too. It takes a strong person to do what you do.

And I know that all these times you may feel like giving up. But then I see you smile with a patient, giggle with a child, discharge that patient you gave your all to. You inspire me - to keep going, keep trying….to do better, be better and heal better. I know this is where you are all meant to be.

There’s never enough time to check in and look after your own mental, physical and emotional self - yet you all dedicate your days to others. I’m so proud to know you and blessed to learn from you.

So to the missing middles with 5.5 months left of MBBCh to go: I hope you are all taking this week to doctor you.

This is a tribute to you.

[alessiapisapiathestory]

Inked.

Today, I am 22 years old and, having just come through a two-year period riddled with pure heartache, depression and self-doubt, I am finally beginning to feel like myself again. So today, I got Inked. Below lies the story of the ink housed in my skin. Not only is it a celebration of self growth, but, more importantly, a tribute to those who have carried me through.

“Perhaps the reason you are drawn to flowers is not only for their outer beauty, but because they remind you beautiful things will bloom after the longest seasons of waiting” – Morgan Harper Nichols.

I have always loved flowers: such simple little things which bring bursts of joy and life to the mundanity of every day. Personally, their beauty and colourful complexity is perhaps one of the greatest signs of God’s love for us. Despite this however,  I was unfamiliar with the concept of a “birth flower” until my dear friend Kathryn introduced me to hers. For those of you who don’t know, every month is assigned a flower and, depending on the month you were born, the colours and traits are said to correlate with your personality (it’s a similar concept to that of a zodiac sign except representative of the soil instead of the sky). Little did I know that this implausible construct would ring so true so as to form the very foundation of my entire design. 

24 April 1996 - That is my birthdate, making my birth flower a daisy. Dig a little deeper and a daisy is said to signify transformation, positivity and loyal love. Positivity and an undeniable love for humanity are two leaves of my personality that have grown with me from the ground up and, as I mentioned above, I’ve been in a period of transition, myself, over the last while. However, the one constant in my life has always been my Mom and Brother, Max.

My Mom was born in March making her a yellow and white daffodil said to represent unequalled love, new beginnings and an overriding sense of calm. Max, a June baby, makes him a red and white rose symbolising unity, honour and a return to happiness. It was at this moment when I realised that my family are the flowers of my life bringing me the joy and drive that I need to journey through my darkest of days. 

To my Mom: who has felt every tear that I have ever cried (unequalled love), the warrior who is able to talk my roaring anxiety down to a silence (a sense of calm) and the person who believes in me beyond my abilities, lifting me up every time I fall (new beginnings). I love you and thank you are not enough. You gave me life, you save my life, every day. 

To Max: the person who keeps Mom and I sane and holds us all together with his humour and love (unity), who perfectly catches my tears and knows exactly how to return them to happiness (return to happiness), who shows me its ok to live my life for me as long as I live it to the best of my abilities, with good intentions and a pure heart (honour). You are my other half. I couldn't ask for a better partner to walk through life with. Again, I love you and thank you are insufficient.

As life takes us on our different paths this year, distance may separate us. Know that I will carry both of you with me, always. Next to my heart. By my side. 

... and each time I look down I will be inspired to keep living life as the Le you know and love, to always keep going, to make you proud.

I love you. You’ll be in my heart, always. 

* Special mentions go to: Bianca, Daniella, Kathryn, Ashleigh and Marinette for your support, patience and design inputs during this time - this was a lifelong process and you guys are friends for life! I love you all x

[alessiapisapiathestory]

Privileged White Girl.

In my first year of University, some of my classmates took the liberty to name me a “privileged white girl.” It was around the time where the world was becoming aware of societal privilege, an injustice that is unfortunately heightened in South Africa due to its past. Understandably, it was a life sentence which stuck with me - why? Because it was a fierce undermining of my character. Sure, I am privileged - I went to a good private school, live in a nice neighbourhood and have all I could possibly need in life. But my so called “privilege” made me no less susceptible to life’s curveballs.

My privilege came out of a single parent household, run by the strength of a woman who wore her fingers to the bone while she tried to provide for my brother and I. See, in the year of my sixth birthday, my father left my mom to pick up the pieces of the home he broke. Things were good for a while after their divorce, but by my thirteenth birthday my father had broken all contact with my brother and I - why? I wish we knew. I attended the psychotherapy any child should when their parents get divorced and we all thought I came out of the ordeal pretty unscathed. Little did we know that a couple of years later I would be riddled with severe anxiety, abandonment issues and a destroyed self esteem. 

My childhood was no different to those of “normal” kids (kids which grew up in a complete home). I was given enough love from my mom to constitute that of two parents. I was kind, I laughed, I played but most of all, I smiled. I smiled like “I had sunshine bottled up inside of me” my teachers used to say. I dealt with my personal problems in silence, so silently I'm not even sure I was aware of them. I gave in to bullies (as unfortunately most children do these days) and I failed dismally at maths. But come high school, I was ready for a fresh start. However, life had different plans.

I was thirteen years old, with a non-existent self-esteem, a need for the attention and love of a father, with a heart that was too large for my chest and a brain too empathetic for its own good  (I’m what medical professionals call a vulnerable population: at risk of things other children wouldn't be) when I met a man. How I met him, Who he was/is ... is irrelevant to the story. He was a few years shy of my mom’s age, troubled, recently divorced and longing for the attention of his daughter. See the problem? I now know that what he did to me was child abuse (something I only learned last year during a child abuse lecture in my premed degree) but at the impressionable age of thirteen I called it love. Sexual grooming is a form of sexual child abuse. It occurs when the perpetrator identifies the vulnerability of their target and uses it to build a relationship with the child. During the process of grooming they come to gain the child’s trust through offering them the support they need, becoming someone the child comes to love and depend on. The perpetrators then use this to their advantage  and as a means to have their sexual needs met. So, my “white privilege” and private school education made me no less susceptible to life’s demons. This led to my first encounter with depression. 

Why am I telling you this? (I’m sorry - I’m sure it’s not easy to imagine) But I’m telling you in an attempt to educate you in the fact and to maybe show you that you cannot categorise someone based on who they seem to be. Those of us who have been abused are no less “normal” then those who haven't. We do not wish to be treated differently. We are not dysfunctional. In fact, I like to think it made me more functional. I’m not broken - I’m kind. I’m far more understanding of people’s emotions. I’m optimistic -  I’m aware of the darkness that life has to offer,  which makes me more aware and, more importantly, more thankful for all the good and joy that life holds. If you were to ask around about me - after all I’ve been through, I am still that bottle of sunshine running around the playground. In fact, maybe thats why I remain so young at heart - because with divorce and abuse you learn to have to take responsibility for things that, as a child, you cannot understand. A part of my childhood was taken from me... so now I’m taking every opportunity I have  to run around, laugh, smile, play and get excited over the smallest of things (namely chocolates but thats ok). 

Mid-last year the ghosts of my past caught up with me and I fell back into a deeper depression. Some days it felt like life wasn't worth living anymore, even though I had so much to be thankful for. So, that smiling face you often saw - know how much it must have meant to me to have you around for that smile to shine through. No one would ever say I suffer from the famous marriage of anxiety and depression. No one would say I’m a survivor of abuse. The moral of my story is to not assume you know everyone and even if you think you know someone, there may be parts of their story you are missing. This is the first time I am coming out openly about my past, so congratulations! You got front row seats ;). But most importantly I hope that my story can show you that people can seem fine and be going through the worst of it... so please, I know its so cliché but try be patient with one another. Give love before all else and always be kind.

I’m glad I didn't give up though. This year I got accepted into med school! and now I’m one step closer to my dream of being a psychiatrist. I have no doubt that my ghosts empower me and medicine has helped me realise that to decrease the stigma around these things - we need to talk about them, hence why I have decided to open up about my story now. 

So, if you are stuck where I was or where I am - know that things do get better. It’s not going to be easy and you are going to have to fight for the life you want... but I promise that when you get there... It will be SO worth it. You will have a strength, an armour that is entirely yours, entirely beautiful, entirely pure and it will equip you to see the world differently from those around you. It will give you a greater insight into the world, so keep going. I believe in you, If I can do it, I know that you can too. 

Much Love Always.