EPISODE 3: ANNA WILLIAMS

Interview by David Vernik
Photograph by Nadiv Hossain

November 17, 2019

My parents are from England and, generally speaking (very generally), English people can be private. They’re not typically forthcoming in sharing their weaknesses. I wasn’t very expressive as a child; maybe some of their English privacy rubbed off on me, or maybe I was just a nervous kid. Regardless, being inexpressive made doctor’s appointments especially difficult: I was really reluctant to talk about my body.

Unlike a clinical setting, which often forces self-reflection, church gave me the opportunity to reflect if I chose to do so. I went to Sunday school pretty much every weekend growing up and it offered a gentle introduction to becoming more comfortable with expressing myself. When I got to college, though, I made friends with people who encouraged me to be significantly more expressive. As we were first getting to know each other, they tirelessly drew “things” out of me: thoughts, feelings, ideas, experiences – my perspective. I gradually surrendered more and more, and eventually I became comfortable with feeling exposed. Verbalizing my thoughts became cathartic. They taught me that friends can be an outlet for reflection and expression, like church. At that point, I started turning to loved ones, rather than a religious service, to express whatever was going on with me, whatever I happened to be working through.

Here at NYMC, I haven’t found as many people who encourage me to speak my mind (and understandably considering the demands of med school). I expected my biggest challenge here to be the coursework. Somewhat surprisingly, I feel relatively in control of it: if I work hard and put the time in, I’ll be okay. I’ll pass the exam. Finding a community in which I feel comfortable expressing my perspective is a more nuanced challenge. It’s something I wasn’t expecting to deal with. In an attempt to adapt, I’m trying to be more socially proactive. I’m trying to be the person who encourages others to speak their mind, but it’s not as natural for me as I thought it would be.

I’ve been toying with the idea that different people require different kinds of attention and energy. For the longest time, I had this mentality that I needed to be a consistent personality. I wanted to be the same “me” all the time, whether I was with my family, friends, or strangers. Now I’m realizing that not only is it normal for each interaction to be different, but it’s also important. I really like the side of myself that’s a little more boisterous and maybe even provocative, but some people don’t receive those traits very well. I also like the side of myself that’s compassionate and quiet. I want to be able to embrace different qualities in different situations, rather than trying to be kind and funny and loud and quiet all at once. We’re always told that everyone is multi-faceted and has all of these experiences. I’ve only recently applied that to myself and realized, “yeah, I’m complicated too.”

Going into college I knew I wanted to be pre-med, but I stumbled into an English major. For my senior thesis, I examined the importance of healthcare workers reading literature to better empathize with patients. When we read books, we have the opportunity to read someone’s thoughts, which helps us to internalize their story. According to the philosophy of narrative medicine, providers should use narrative skills (such as figurative language) to interpret their patients’ words as a story. While working on my thesis, I realized I could be someone who helps patients better articulate how they’re feeling. I could be someone who helps patients feel comfortable with these vulnerable clinical interactions, or at least more comfortable than I ever was.

So of course, I came into med school thinking I was going to be able to approach every day and every task with incredible empathy. The next thing I know, we’re in the anatomy lab using electric saws to remove our cadavers’ skulls and, for me, it was no big deal. I didn’t take a single moment to consider how that bone had served her. I didn’t consider the fact that it protected her brain, the very organ that archived her thoughts and feelings and ideas and experiences. Why was it so easy to dismiss the very things that made her more than a cadaver: the things that made her human? It’s disheartening to consider my indifference in that and similar moments. Withdrawing and not thinking about a human as human is a chilling but common defense mechanism. It was so easy for me to objectify her to protect myself. That’s been really challenging for me, trying to do right by my “patient,” my values, and myself, all at once.

I definitely have a set of values. Although, I’ve never really articulated them. I don’t even know if I want to. It all comes back to not wanting to put myself into a box anymore. I want to live more openly than that so my patients can be open too.

What are your 5 most recently played artists on Spotify?

Frédéric Chopin (because I can’t do lyrics while I study), Aaron Taylor, Alabama Shakes, Phony Ppl, and Vulfpeck

What's your favorite (Thanksgiving) side dish?
Pumpkin pie. Dessert, side dish, same-diff
 
Pick someone or something from NYMC to give a shout-out to!
Shout-out to the people I met during orientation who still say hi even though we haven’t spoken since: it’s bold and I like it.
 
If someone wanted to talk to you, they should lead with…
Tell me about your pipe dream!