After an exhausting day, I walk into my parents’ house and I am instantly greeted by three rambunctious dogs, hungry for both food and attention. I let the dogs out and I watch them chase an unsuspecting squirrel in vain. Suddenly, I hear a low whine from the back of the house. Confused, I go to investigate. As I get closer to the bedrooms, the faint whine becomes the distinct sob of someone in pain. I pick up my pace; somehow, I know the source of the noise. I throw open the door, sprinting in, and I see Regina prone on the ground, a thin stream of blood flowing down the side of her face where her now broken glasses had once been, her walker just out of reach. I try my best not to cry as I help her up and back into bed.
My older sister, Regina, was diagnosed with Huntington’s Disease (HD) as I was finishing high school. As a progressive neurodegenerative disease, her symptoms were initially mild and while she moved back into my parents’ house, I left for another city to study Psychology. I had casually researched the disease, so I knew the facts: her life expectancy after diagnosis was short and her cognitive, physical, and functional abilities would eventually decline to a point where she would be confined to a bed, unable to speak. By the time I graduated college, her symptoms had worsened; she was struggling to walk on her own, and she was using a rollator walker for all her daily activities. At the time, my mother was her only caregiver, so I made the decision to move home to help as my sister continued to lose her independence. I spent the first few month’s volunteering at the Indianapolis Humane Society while learning more about HD and what my sister’s future held. I saw the frustration and the agony in her eyes when she had to ask me, her younger sister, to help her use the bathroom and perform simple daily tasks. I did my best to help her, but as the months progressed, I began to feel increasingly underqualified and ill-equipped to assist. I became frustrated myself because I did not have the tools necessary to help my own sister.
While HD has no cure, there are benefits of a therapeutic regimen to manage physical symptoms and improve quality of life. We began to reach out to home health aides, mobile physical therapists, occupational therapists, and speech pathologists to help with those daily tasks. In the months that followed, a team of healthcare professionals were at our house daily, and I saw each one of them work tirelessly to help Regina as her cognitive abilities continued to decline. Over time, Regina began to repeatedly ask about a specific provider, Sergio. Each morning, she would start the day by asking if “Sergio the PT” was coming today. On the days he did come, she would brag endlessly about how far she had walked with him or for how long she could stand up. On those days, her mood elevated tremendously, her pain lessened, and she was able to sleep through the night. Undoubtedly, Sergio has been able to prolong her independence and improve the quality of her everyday life.
This led to several conversations with Sergio about his profession - how improving the daily lives of others has helped him live a more fulfilled life himself. I began to explore physical therapy along with other health care professions, continually thinking about Sergio’s impact on Regina. Every visit, Regina continues to praise Sergio. Even with her continued declining abilities, his effect on her life is ever-present. Despite time spent with physician assistants, veterinarians, and other providers, I consistently returned to the impact that a physical therapist has on the lives of their patients, and the relationships formed during the therapeutic process. I knew where I belonged in the realm of heath care.
I have always had a strong desire to help people which led me to study psychology in undergraduate, providing me with a unique understanding of others’ thought patterns and behaviors. Returning to take outstanding undergraduate DPT prerequisites in a new city presented novel challenges demanding that I strike a balance between work, familial obligations, and studies. While studying psychology, I discovered that I am a verbal and visual learner, thus finding a solid support network from my new professors and fellow returning students including forming informal study groups was pivotal to my success. My specific fascination in human anatomy and physiology evident, I was granted the opportunity to teach a human physiology laboratory class the following semester. More than I thought I would, I loved teaching and being able to share my knowledge with others. Promoting a student’s growth in their medical education by facilitating the lightbulb moment of fully comprehending the complexities of difficult concepts, like cardiology, has been one of the most rewarding experiences.
Every sit to stand, every transfer to the toilet, every spoonful of food I assist with, Regina utters a soft, yet sweet “thank you.” Whilst seemingly miniscule of tasks, these gratitude’s have become increasingly meaningful. Caring for a family member with a disability teaches patience, humility, and altruism. It truly makes you appreciate one’s independence and prolonging it. These qualities are necessary for success for any healthcare profession but specifically important to connect with patients in the physical therapy field. To me, becoming a physical therapist provides an opportunity for continual personal growth and medical education to help diagnose, promote movement, reduce pain, restore function, prevent further disability, educate, and help those in need. Through each PT shadowing opportunity, I discover new branches of physical therapy that I am eager to pursue. I am excitedly navigating through DPT school to determine which path will allow me to most benefit others by prioritizing a caring patient relationship and providing the best therapy to patients like Regina for whom it means so much.
Above are two pictures of two sisters, one standing with long curly brown hair and one seated with short straight brown hair, feeding a giraffe a carrot.
