The Call to Serve

When I became a doctor, I did it for one reason: to help people who are suffering. That mission has taken me from busy operating rooms in major hospitals to remote villages with no electricity or running water. Whether I’m providing anesthesia in a state-of-the-art facility or offering medical relief in a tent clinic, the goal is the same—relieve pain, restore dignity, and bring a little hope into people’s lives.

Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of volunteering in underserved communities across the Caribbean, Latin America, and parts of the United States. I’ve worked alongside international organizations and local health professionals, delivering care to people who might otherwise go without. It’s humbling. It’s hard. And it’s some of the most meaningful work I’ve ever done.

What I’ve learned in these places has shaped the way I practice medicine every day. In truth, it has made me a better doctor—and a better human being.

Pain Is Universal, But Relief Is Not

No matter where you go in the world, pain is part of the human experience. From the crowded streets of New York to the quiet hills of rural Haiti, people suffer from chronic pain, untreated injuries, and medical conditions that go unaddressed. But while pain is everywhere, access to relief is not.

In many of the communities I’ve served, there is little to no access to pain management. People endure surgical procedures without anesthesia. Children with cleft lips and palates go untreated for years. Farmers live with herniated discs and nerve damage because they cannot afford or reach a hospital. For them, pain is just part of life.

This inequality is unacceptable. Everyone deserves the basic right to live without unnecessary pain. And while we may not be able to solve every systemic issue overnight, we can start by showing up—with our skills, our knowledge, and most importantly, our compassion.

Lessons in Resourcefulness

Working in low-resource environments forces you to think differently. There are no endless supplies, no fancy equipment, and no room for waste. Everything matters. Every glove, every needle, every minute of daylight.

As a physician trained in advanced anesthesiology and interventional pain techniques, I’m used to working with high-end technology. But in the field, I’ve learned to lean on the basics. Local nerve blocks, careful patient positioning, and simple tools can go a long way when used with precision and care.

I’ve also learned the value of listening more closely. Without extensive imaging or lab work, your ability to observe, ask questions, and truly hear what the patient is telling you becomes your most important tool. That’s a lesson every doctor should carry into every setting.

Healing Beyond the Physical

Pain isn’t just physical. Especially in places that have been hit by poverty, natural disasters, or social instability, pain often comes wrapped in emotional trauma. I’ve met mothers who carried both physical injury and the grief of losing a child. I’ve treated children whose developmental conditions had isolated them from their communities. I’ve spoken with elderly patients who lived with chronic pain for so long they forgot what comfort felt like.

What these individuals often need most—more than a procedure or medication—is to be seen. To be acknowledged. To be treated with the same dignity and attention that any patient would receive in a high-end medical center.

That’s what I mean by “local compassion.” It’s about showing up fully, wherever you are, and offering care with the same integrity you would give your own family. It’s remembering that while we may not speak the same language or share the same background, the desire to live without pain is something we all understand.

Bringing It Home

What surprises many people is how much this global work has improved my local practice. When you treat patients in areas without access to pain care, you begin to see your own healthcare system with new eyes. You notice who is being left behind even in your own city—those without insurance, the elderly, immigrants, working-class families who fall through the cracks.

My experiences abroad have made me more committed than ever to serving vulnerable populations here at home. It’s why I continue to provide voluntary medical care through community programs, offer services to children with physical deformities, and make time for patients who others might overlook.

Medicine is not just a career—it’s a calling. And that calling doesn’t stop at national borders.

A Shared Responsibility

The work of relieving pain in underserved communities is far from over. It takes commitment, resources, and people willing to step outside their comfort zones. But I believe every physician, nurse, therapist, or healthcare provider has something to give. Even one week of service, one pro bono case, or one meaningful conversation can change a life.

And for those who aren’t in medicine—your support matters, too. Whether it’s donating, advocating, or simply raising awareness, you can help bridge the gap between suffering and relief.

Because pain doesn’t care about geography or income level. But compassion can—and must—reach everyone.

For me, the journey continues. Each mission, each patient, each lesson keeps me grounded in why I chose this path. Global medicine taught me how to do more with less. Local compassion reminds me to never lose sight of the human being in front of me.

Together, they’ve shaped not just the doctor I’ve become—but the person I strive to be.