Twelve AM, Vlodrop, the Netherlands. I awake to an aching and persistent pain in my lower abdomen. Whatever had malfunctioned in my stomach prevented any attempt of returning to bed, leaving the remainder to the night to pace my hotel room, praying for it to be over. Morning arrives, my mother obliging to drive me to a hospital. It was an hour to Roermond, with my pain refusing to subside. We went lost several times along the way.
At 7:45, I check into the hospital, then immediately assigned a bed and saturated with painkillers. While the doctors began their preliminary examinations, questioning about my diet, drawing blood, and taking urine samples, I spent my time in a daze, observing them theorize about the origin of the issue, using a combination of complex technology married with simple technique to bring about their diagnosis: a possibility of appendicitis. When an ultrasound confirmed the theory, I was whisked off to the surgery ward within the hour.
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For most, the thought of being cut into would be appalling, however, I enjoyed myself, marveling at the technology, the professionalism, and the efficiency of the doctors. I realized that this was not an unusual case, for many have been practicing for several years, saving and enhancing not only the quality of life for the individuals, but also for the relations of the patient. Before hand, I had flirted with the idea of pursuing medicine as my career. Afterwards, I resolved to become a doctor, as to impact the lives of others just as this man had done for