My Guyanese family knows the horrors of cardiovascular disease all too well. In 2014, my grandmother underwent open heart surgery at Long Island Jewish Medical Center. My grandmother had multiple stents implanted in her heart, a testament to modern medical innovation and the dedication of medical professionals.

Looking back, I am deeply grateful for the medical advances that brought hope and healing in times of crisis. And most importantly, it strengthened our family ties, rallied around my grandmother and provided her with unwavering support and love as she recovered.

A year later, in 2015, we received that support again in a year filled with heartache and anxiety, with news that would forever impact our lives.

My mother was diagnosed with systolic cardiomyopathy, or heart failure, when she was 43 years old. It started with her cough that had been bothering her for months. Her worried mother consulted her doctor, but despite her extensive medical tests, the cause of her illness remained inconclusive.

Doctors suspect that the cause was a viral infection, as the cough was a remnant of the flu that her mother had been battling several months earlier. Supporting this theory, a CDC study of more than 80,000 U.S. adults hospitalized with influenza found that sudden, serious heart complications are not uncommon, occurring in about 1 in 8 patients. It is concluded that Even with this evidence, there is still no clear source of the cause.

Through multiple tests, it was determined that my mother’s heart failure had already reached a critical point, with her ejection fraction dropping to 15%. To put this into perspective, a normal ejection fraction, which is a measurement of the percentage of blood that leaves the heart each time it contracts, ranges from 50 to 70 percent.

A mother’s selflessness knows no bounds. It is woven into the very fabric of her being. I was only 10 years old and her sister was 9 when she was diagnosed. Faced with her diagnosis and the new challenges it brought, her mother made the surprising decision to shield her young children from the weight of her condition.

In retrospect, my mother’s choice to keep her suffering hidden from us, as only a mother could do, was an act of love in its purest form, and above all her unwavering dedication to our well-being. It was proof of that. Looking back, I realize the magnitude of her sacrifice.

The only time I was told the truth was when I confronted my mother about the detailed medical documents she had neatly folded in her handbag during her visit to the cardiology department. The paper didn’t mean much to a 10-year-old, but the word heart disease had set off alarms from his grandmother’s experience the previous year, and he knew something was wrong. That’s when her mother stood in the cold, sterile hallway of her hospital, crying the entire time, and finally told me about her diagnosis. Over the next three years of her life, North Shore University Hospital’s cardiology department became a familiar place, and this became the backdrop for the complexity of her condition and the countless consultations that followed.

My mother became some kind of medical mystery. First, she had no symptoms commonly associated with this kind of advanced heart failure (shortness of breath, swelling, fatigue, etc.) other than the cough that started it all, and ultimately Even that disappeared with the heart failure medication I was given. As I accompanied her mother to her doctor’s appointments, I witnessed the bewilderment of her condition among the medical professionals tasked with caring for her.

Doctors were amazed at one of their biggest questions: How could she have a baby despite her advanced heart condition? It was a puzzle that had yet to be solved. Her sister and I met with her team, including the head of cardiology, at her schedule. Their expertise and kindness provided a glimmer of hope in a time of uncertainty. In their presence, I felt safe and at ease. I know that she is in the best hands of hers as we begin this journey together.

The turning point came after months of struggling with the limitations of various medications when my mother’s dedicated medical team gave her a harsh ultimatum: her life expectancy would be reduced to five years without a pacemaker. Doctors said her heart was in the same condition as an 80-year-old, almost twice her age.

Usually patients would accept that without question, but my mother did not. With her usual stubbornness, born of years of overcoming obstacles, she defiantly greeted their prognosis and discontinued her pacemaker despite the dire consequences. Then she made the bold decision to move our family to Florida.

It turns out that time is both an enemy and an ally. Then she endured a long period of five years without seeing a cardiologist and without getting the necessary medication she needed. Her main reason was that the monthly costs were high and my family couldn’t afford it. For her mother, buying a month’s worth of Entresto, her most needed medication, began to seem like a luxury.

I felt beyond helpless. There was no one in this world I needed more than my mother. Over the past few years, I have watched as more and more people in my maternal and paternal families were diagnosed with cardiovascular disease.

Eight years had passed, and in the weeks leading up to my arrival at Hofstra University, it became increasingly clear that my mother’s health was deteriorating.

We received the news that she was scheduled to have a defibrillator implanted before the end of the year and this time we couldn’t deny it. Despite overcoming her chances of survival, her heart was unable to return to normal strength.

At a time when going to college was supposed to be a simple, bittersweet moment in a teenager’s life, it turned out to be the most bittersweet choice I’ve ever made. How can I leave my family when I need them? Her mother put her own worries and fears aside so I could pack up the car and drive to the East Coast to attend Hofstra. Made me want to go back.

Once again, her decision encapsulates her unwavering determination to put the well-being of others before her own. She didn’t want me to miss out on an opportunity that would guarantee me a better future than her life so far.

A common theory surrounding heart failure is that treatment will change your life and alleviate all burdens. It’s comforting to think that getting medical attention to address this condition will somehow miraculously lift a weight off your shoulders. However, that’s just a concept.

In December 2023, my mother decided to accept her fate and chose to undergo implantation of a Medtronic AICD (Automated Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator), or a device she jokingly refers to as a “robot.” Did. It has been almost two months since her surgery, and she is no longer able to do some of the things she was previously able to do, such as combing her own hair, and has become more cautious in her daily life. I’m watching over her.

Because of my mother’s condition, I am constantly worried that she will overdo it and put too much stress on her new pacemaker. Sometimes I imagine life without her and think deeply about the consequences, but she quickly withdraws from those thoughts, blaming herself for delving into such a dire scenario. These feelings come from watching her go through this condition for years, but I am just an outsider observing her condition.

In the midst of the turmoil of navigating my mother’s life with heart failure, a ray of hope appeared in early 2023 and served as a guiding light on my path.

When I was a senior in high school, I began the daunting task of applying to university, but my childhood dream of becoming a doctor remained the same. After researching college options along the East Coast, Hofstra University, with its excellent medical school affiliated with Northwell Health, came up as a candidate. We are affiliated with Northwell Health, and many of the hospitals where my family was treated were affiliated with Northwell Health.

As I continue my undergraduate studies, the memories of the caring people who helped my grandmother and mother overcome cardiovascular disease remain etched in my heart. Their dedication inspired me and strengthened my resolve to follow in their footsteps.

In honor of the impact of this disease within my Guyanese family, I am determined to not only fulfill my childhood dream, but also to heal, educate and uplift those in need, especially in the Western Region. I am determined to walk a path that serves a greater purpose. The Indian community – a population disproportionately affected by cardiovascular disease, but often ignored in public health discussions.

My goal as a cardiologist is not to change the world. Instead, my goal is to make a meaningful difference in the lives of as many people as possible, to do whatever I can, like the team of doctors who helped my mother, and most importantly, to help the West Indies. to do our best to serve our community. and meet their unique medical needs with compassion and dedication.