The night before my medical school interview, my sister poured bleach on my only blazer, and my parents told me to stop making a scene.

” “cold,” and “obsessed with work.” She had died when I was nine.

Dean Whitaker’s voice changed. It became quieter, more personal.

“She was the first physician who treated me like I belonged in a hospital,” he said. “I was a scholarship student with no connections. She sponsored my research application when no one else would even read it.”

One of the continue reading …