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Chapter 1
Satan in the Audience
The interview was going well, and I hadn’t barfed or passed out once. As we neared its conclusion, the muscles in my legs relaxed, and I uncrossed my legs, taking a taller posture in my chair. The question-and-answer bit, my favorite part, was next. Reaching young girls and women wanting to become doctors was reason enough to put myself through the stress of getting on stage to lecture at universities.
“Dr. Carolina Ramirez, everyone. Can we all please give her a round of applause?”
The packed auditorium erupted, and my cheeks would have been tomato-red had I not prepared with extra layers of makeup. I was thirty-five years old, for crying out loud. I should’ve been over stage fright by this point in my career.
“Please, that’s enough. Thank you,” I said, waving down the audience.
“We would like to thank you so much for being with us today,” said the interviewer. “Before we turn it over to the audience, I would like the students here today to know that when you signed on for this guest lecture and interview, you did so only on the condition that there would be extensive time for a Q&A.”
“That’s right. It’s a standard request on all of my speaking contracts.”
“Why is that important to you?” The young journalism student interviewing me smiled as she asked. She let the note cards rest on her lap, a sure sign the interview would soon be over. During the course of the interview, she had collected a constellation of sweat droplets on her upper lip and continuously wiped her hands on her black slacks. I had done hundreds of these interviews, and on this occasion, the interviewer seemed more nervous than me. I smiled reassuringly at her as if to say,We may both be nervous, but we are in this together.
“If I’m honest, if I could, I would skip the lecture and interview, and instead take each of you for coffee to talk one-on-one. Sadly, unless I clone myself, time does not allow that luxury.”
“If anyone could managethat, surely it would be you,” the interviewer said.
I laughed. “No. For now, I’m still going to focus on my oncology research and my patients. I will always follow my passion. Let’s leave the cloning to someone else.”
“We have a few people with microphones in the audience. Please raise your hand if you have a question for Dr. Ramirez.”
I placed my hand in front of my forehead to block the blinding spotlight, so I could see the person asking the first question.
The young woman couldn’t look up at me as she clutched my book in her shaky hands.
“Dr. Ramirez, I loved your book—” Her voice cracked a bit.
“Thank you. What is your name?”
“Araceli.”
“Hi, Araceli,” I said with an encouraging smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, Dr. Ramirez,” she said, giggling. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and fidgeted with the book. “Your book is mainly about research. Honestly, a lot of it went over my head, but I couldn’t stop reading. You made it seem . . . accessible . . . but you also talked about how you struggled to advance your career in this field. Why was it important to include that in a book that would have otherwise been a dry and boring publication about research?”
“Thank you, Araceli,” I started. “That is a huge compliment to me. I worked really hard to make my book readable to anyone, even those not already in the medical community, hoping it might spark an interest in medicine. We need more soldiers in the trenches. But to answer your question, I was writing to my younger self, which means I was writing to any young woman intrigued by medicine but too intimidated to pursue it. The many female doctors who came before me made it so much easier, but it still is really,reallyhard to become a doctor. It’s harder if, like me, you are a woman. Even harder if you are a minority. Even harder if you grew up with little money or opportunity. The list goes on and on. I want women in my same circumstances to know that itispossible. It won’t be easy, but I swear to you that you will find mentors to help guide you in your career as a doctor.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ramirez.”
“Oh, before we go to the next question, Araceli, I see you have my book with you. If you’d like me to sign it, please stay after the Q&A. I’d love to chat with you some more.”
Araceli smiled as though she had won the lottery, and I wondered if one day the letters M.D. would follow her name.
The next girl’s name was Stephanie. She was much more self-assured, though she asked a more basic question.
“Why did you get into medicine?” she asked.
I hid my judgment because I would never embarrass someone publicly like that, but I always dreaded that question, and to my annoyance, it was the one most frequently asked. It was a simple question, but I didn’t like sharing that truth, so I always gave a partial answer, which was not the same as lying. Not really. “Anyone who gets into medicine wants to save lives. If that is something you are interested in, then medicine is for you.” I smiled, dismissing her more quickly than I had Araceli.
The microphone went to the next person, who was, unfortunately, sitting directly below the position of the spotlight, leaving me completely blind and unable to make out a face. I adjusted in my chair and craned my neck, trying to see the person, but it was no use.
“Hello,” the voice said. This time it was a man.
“Hello.” I smiled. “What is your question?”
