Do you know my thieving mother who stole me out of the hospital at birth? If you are her fan, wait until you read about all the other bad stuff she did…

When I promised Mimi — a teenage girl who lost all her hair to alopecia areata — that I would fight the good fight to get her the medications she needed, I meant it. I wish when I lost my hair almost 30 years ago, Olumiant and Litfulo existed, and someone would fight for me to get them. As the good fight turned into a terrible fight, the memories of my youth came to me. Can I keep my promise to my patient and myself?

“I screwed up.” A patient with a severe inflammatory skin condition told me repeatedly. He was convinced that he had the skin condition because of an allergy. I tried to tell him otherwise, but he wouldn’t let me get a single word in. In the past, situations like this where a man interrupts me all the time and refuses to let me get a word in would get me mad. And it did this time too, for a second. Then I realized he was in a vulnerable state of mind. He had been blamed for his skin condition for so long that he had become self-blaming.

10 years ago, serendipitously, me, a girl from Beijing, came to live in a small town in New Hampshire. My landlords are an old couple, who didn’t just take me into their home, but made this little place in the mountains home FOR me.

Medical school was hard. I was rather new to the country, and getting through an abusive relationship. My landlords fed me when I couldn’t bring myself to cook; they washed my clothes when all I did was stay in bed. Without them, and many others, I couldn’t have made it through. This little place on the river became a dream in which I could rest and heal.

Yesterday, I came back to visit. The past is long gone. I have more space in my heart for those who love me. And I’m determined to make that space a cozy home for them like they once did for me.

97 years ago, my great grandmother walked by a new mother’s open window in a cold winter morning and saw that she was trying to freeze her baby to death. Turned out, the pregnant woman came to Beijing from far away to look for her husband. But he was already sent to war, and she couldn’t afford to raise a baby on her own. My great grandma kneeled down and begged her to spare the baby. “Give the baby to my family. We will treat him like our own.” The two mothers shed tears, and exchanged information. 7 years later, the soldier came back from war and made a name for himself. The couple came to our family bearing gifts and asked to see the child. They saw my great grandmother upheld her promise to treat their baby well, and they were grateful. “We are indebted to you. We won’t take your son away. But please tell him he has a father with another surname, who will leave him a good inheritance.” Everyone stayed true to their words. Today, almost a century later, no one remembers my great grandmother’s name, as women didn’t carry their own names back then. But everyone talks about her kindness. And her 97-year-old son (my great uncle) is living proof. She was Benevolence. And we are all her legacy.

"One more thing," the patient says, right when I'm about to exit the exam room.

I used to be annoyed by it. Until one day, a patient's "one more thing" was actually "the" thing she wanted to say. But she needed to feel me out and make sure I was a safe person first. So, I sat back down and listened. Then we discussed and ran tests.

"You restored my faith in doctors." She took the bus just to tell me this today after making a full recovery. Her visit filled my heart with warmth and purpose.

If we ask people to wait for months for their appointments, then (sometimes) hours in our offices, we can hear them out for their one more thing.