I was first introduced to transplant surgery as a fourth-year medical student and was immediately captivated by its combination of technical precision and the opportunity to make a profound, life-changing difference for patients with end-stage organ failure. As a resident rotating on the transplant service, I enjoyed being part of a multidisciplinary team that strives to address not only the medical needs of our patients, but also the psychological and social challenges they faced. In the operating room, performing my first vascular anastomosis and witnessing a transplanted kidney begin to produce urine remains one of the most rewarding moments of my surgical career—a moment when technical skill became tangible, immediate, and deeply human.

Ultimately, however, it was the patients and their stories that solidified my decision to pursue transplant surgery. During my T32 research fellowship, I pursued a Master of Science in Health Services with a focus on qualitative research methods. This training allowed me to interview Black and Latino patients with end-stage kidney disease and gave me a deeper understanding of the barriers they faced in pursuing kidney transplantation. Those conversations strengthened my commitment to advocating for these patients through both research and clinical practice.

My Hispanic heritage is central to how I understand medicine and the kind of physician I strive to become. As a first-generation college student from a low-income, primarily immigrant community in South Los Angeles, my journey into medicine has been shaped by a desire to provide culturally sensitive, bilingual care to my Latino community. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the disparities in healthcare access and quality affecting my neighbors and family members. I saw how language, immigration experiences, socioeconomic circumstances, and familiarity with the healthcare system could shape a person's ability to access and navigate care. These experiences motivated me to pursue a career in medicine where I could advocate for and serve communities that are often overlooked by the healthcare system.

Witnessing these barriers firsthand shaped not only my commitment to serving my community, but also my understanding of what it means to care for patients. I learned that providing meaningful care requires meeting patients where they are and recognizing the cultural, personal, and socioeconomic circumstances that influence their experiences with medicine. As a physician, I want my patients and their families to feel seen, heard, and understood—not simply as patients navigating the healthcare system, but as people whose identities, experiences, and backgrounds are valued and respected.

My heritage has also shaped my approach to advocacy. It reminds me to listen carefully, recognize the barriers that may not be immediately visible, and avoid making assumptions about what patients need or believe. I hope to carry those lessons throughout my career, using them to build trust, advocate thoughtfully, and serve each patient with humility.

Hispanic communities are incredibly diverse, and perspectives can be shaped by family traditions, religion, country of origin, personal experiences with healthcare, and understanding of the transplant system. Hesitation about donation is not necessarily a lack of generosity. Sometimes it reflects a lack of information or an understandable desire to protect family members. Decisions about serious illness and living donation are often viewed through the lens of what is best for the entire family, rather than simply the individual. That can be a tremendous source of support, but it can also make conversations about living donation more complex.

To avoid making assumptions, we should listen first, provide clear information, and understand each patient’s concerns, support system, and barriers to care. This approach allows us to build trust and provide care that respects each patient’s individual circumstances.

Absolutely. There are structural barriers, as well as misconceptions, that can influence attitudes toward organ donation and transplantation. These often reflect the broader social and economic circumstances in which patients and their families live, and include language barriers, limited knowledge about the process, concerns about missing work, potential donors being medically ineligible, concerns involving undocumented family members, and worries about the financial impact of donation on the family.

During my research, I met patients whose lives had been profoundly affected by dialysis and by the difficulty of pursuing kidney transplantation. One encounter that has stayed with me was with an undocumented patient whose eight-year-old child pleaded with a nephrologist to find a kidney for his mother. That moment made the human consequences of these systemic barriers impossible to ignore.

These experiences reinforced for me that education and communication are essential. Culturally targeted, bilingual education can improve knowledge about living kidney donation among Hispanic and Latino populations, but we also must address the practical barriers that make transplantation difficult to pursue. Equity therefore requires more than simply making transplantation available. Patients need accessible information, appropriate language support, and a system that recognizes the social and financial realities affecting their families.

For me, Hispanic Heritage Month is an opportunity to recognize where I come from and the people and experiences that shaped who I am. My journey into medicine was not separate from my community—it was born from my experiences within it. I saw healthcare disparities affecting the people around me, and those experiences ultimately shaped my decision to pursue medicine and, later, transplant surgery.

Sharing my story is also a way of telling young people from communities like mine that they belong in medicine. As a first-generation college student, I know what it feels like to pursue a path that may not always feel familiar or accessible. Representation can help make that path feel possible.

I also hope my story reminds people that Hispanic/Latino communities are not just populations experiencing healthcare disparities. They are communities full of resilience, talent, and people who can become leaders in changing the healthcare system.

I was first introduced to transplant surgery as a fourth-year medical student and was immediately captivated by its combination of technical precision and the opportunity to make a profound, life-changing difference for patients with end-stage organ failure. As a resident rotating on the transplant service, I enjoyed being part of a multidisciplinary team that strives to address not only the medical needs of our patients, but also the psychological and social challenges they faced. In the operating room, performing my first vascular anastomosis and witnessing a transplanted kidney begin to produce urine remains one of the most rewarding moments of my surgical career—a moment when technical skill became tangible, immediate, and deeply human.

Ultimately, however, it was the patients and their stories that solidified my decision to pursue transplant surgery. During my T32 research fellowship, I pursued a Master of Science in Health Services with a focus on qualitative research methods. This training allowed me to interview Black and Latino patients with end-stage kidney disease and gave me a deeper understanding of the barriers they faced in pursuing kidney transplantation. Those conversations strengthened my commitment to advocating for these patients through both research and clinical practice.

My Hispanic heritage is central to how I understand medicine and the kind of physician I strive to become. As a first-generation college student from a low-income, primarily immigrant community in South Los Angeles, my journey into medicine has been shaped by a desire to provide culturally sensitive, bilingual care to my Latino community. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the disparities in healthcare access and quality affecting my neighbors and family members. I saw how language, immigration experiences, socioeconomic circumstances, and familiarity with the healthcare system could shape a person's ability to access and navigate care. These experiences motivated me to pursue a career in medicine where I could advocate for and serve communities that are often overlooked by the healthcare system.

Witnessing these barriers firsthand shaped not only my commitment to serving my community, but also my understanding of what it means to care for patients. I learned that providing meaningful care requires meeting patients where they are and recognizing the cultural, personal, and socioeconomic circumstances that influence their experiences with medicine. As a physician, I want my patients and their families to feel seen, heard, and understood—not simply as patients navigating the healthcare system, but as people whose identities, experiences, and backgrounds are valued and respected.

My heritage has also shaped my approach to advocacy. It reminds me to listen carefully, recognize the barriers that may not be immediately visible, and avoid making assumptions about what patients need or believe. I hope to carry those lessons throughout my career, using them to build trust, advocate thoughtfully, and serve each patient with humility.

Hispanic communities are incredibly diverse, and perspectives can be shaped by family traditions, religion, country of origin, personal experiences with healthcare, and understanding of the transplant system. Hesitation about donation is not necessarily a lack of generosity. Sometimes it reflects a lack of information or an understandable desire to protect family members. Decisions about serious illness and living donation are often viewed through the lens of what is best for the entire family, rather than simply the individual. That can be a tremendous source of support, but it can also make conversations about living donation more complex.

To avoid making assumptions, we should listen first, provide clear information, and understand each patient’s concerns, support system, and barriers to care. This approach allows us to build trust and provide care that respects each patient’s individual circumstances.

Absolutely. There are structural barriers, as well as misconceptions, that can influence attitudes toward organ donation and transplantation. These often reflect the broader social and economic circumstances in which patients and their families live, and include language barriers, limited knowledge about the process, concerns about missing work, potential donors being medically ineligible, concerns involving undocumented family members, and worries about the financial impact of donation on the family.

During my research, I met patients whose lives had been profoundly affected by dialysis and by the difficulty of pursuing kidney transplantation. One encounter that has stayed with me was with an undocumented patient whose eight-year-old child pleaded with a nephrologist to find a kidney for his mother. That moment made the human consequences of these systemic barriers impossible to ignore.

These experiences reinforced for me that education and communication are essential. Culturally targeted, bilingual education can improve knowledge about living kidney donation among Hispanic and Latino populations, but we also must address the practical barriers that make transplantation difficult to pursue. Equity therefore requires more than simply making transplantation available. Patients need accessible information, appropriate language support, and a system that recognizes the social and financial realities affecting their families.

For me, Hispanic Heritage Month is an opportunity to recognize where I come from and the people and experiences that shaped who I am. My journey into medicine was not separate from my community—it was born from my experiences within it. I saw healthcare disparities affecting the people around me, and those experiences ultimately shaped my decision to pursue medicine and, later, transplant surgery.

Sharing my story is also a way of telling young people from communities like mine that they belong in medicine. As a first-generation college student, I know what it feels like to pursue a path that may not always feel familiar or accessible. Representation can help make that path feel possible.

I also hope my story reminds people that Hispanic/Latino communities are not just populations experiencing healthcare disparities. They are communities full of resilience, talent, and people who can become leaders in changing the healthcare system.

I was first introduced to transplant surgery as a fourth-year medical student and was immediately captivated by its combination of technical precision and the opportunity to make a profound, life-changing difference for patients with end-stage organ failure. As a resident rotating on the transplant service, I enjoyed being part of a multidisciplinary team that strives to address not only the medical needs of our patients, but also the psychological and social challenges they faced. In the operating room, performing my first vascular anastomosis and witnessing a transplanted kidney begin to produce urine remains one of the most rewarding moments of my surgical career—a moment when technical skill became tangible, immediate, and deeply human.

Ultimately, however, it was the patients and their stories that solidified my decision to pursue transplant surgery. During my T32 research fellowship, I pursued a Master of Science in Health Services with a focus on qualitative research methods. This training allowed me to interview Black and Latino patients with end-stage kidney disease and gave me a deeper understanding of the barriers they faced in pursuing kidney transplantation. Those conversations strengthened my commitment to advocating for these patients through both research and clinical practice.

My Hispanic heritage is central to how I understand medicine and the kind of physician I strive to become. As a first-generation college student from a low-income, primarily immigrant community in South Los Angeles, my journey into medicine has been shaped by a desire to provide culturally sensitive, bilingual care to my Latino community. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the disparities in healthcare access and quality affecting my neighbors and family members. I saw how language, immigration experiences, socioeconomic circumstances, and familiarity with the healthcare system could shape a person's ability to access and navigate care. These experiences motivated me to pursue a career in medicine where I could advocate for and serve communities that are often overlooked by the healthcare system.

Witnessing these barriers firsthand shaped not only my commitment to serving my community, but also my understanding of what it means to care for patients. I learned that providing meaningful care requires meeting patients where they are and recognizing the cultural, personal, and socioeconomic circumstances that influence their experiences with medicine. As a physician, I want my patients and their families to feel seen, heard, and understood—not simply as patients navigating the healthcare system, but as people whose identities, experiences, and backgrounds are valued and respected.

My heritage has also shaped my approach to advocacy. It reminds me to listen carefully, recognize the barriers that may not be immediately visible, and avoid making assumptions about what patients need or believe. I hope to carry those lessons throughout my career, using them to build trust, advocate thoughtfully, and serve each patient with humility.

Hispanic communities are incredibly diverse, and perspectives can be shaped by family traditions, religion, country of origin, personal experiences with healthcare, and understanding of the transplant system. Hesitation about donation is not necessarily a lack of generosity. Sometimes it reflects a lack of information or an understandable desire to protect family members. Decisions about serious illness and living donation are often viewed through the lens of what is best for the entire family, rather than simply the individual. That can be a tremendous source of support, but it can also make conversations about living donation more complex.

To avoid making assumptions, we should listen first, provide clear information, and understand each patient’s concerns, support system, and barriers to care. This approach allows us to build trust and provide care that respects each patient’s individual circumstances.

Absolutely. There are structural barriers, as well as misconceptions, that can influence attitudes toward organ donation and transplantation. These often reflect the broader social and economic circumstances in which patients and their families live, and include language barriers, limited knowledge about the process, concerns about missing work, potential donors being medically ineligible, concerns involving undocumented family members, and worries about the financial impact of donation on the family.

During my research, I met patients whose lives had been profoundly affected by dialysis and by the difficulty of pursuing kidney transplantation. One encounter that has stayed with me was with an undocumented patient whose eight-year-old child pleaded with a nephrologist to find a kidney for his mother. That moment made the human consequences of these systemic barriers impossible to ignore.

These experiences reinforced for me that education and communication are essential. Culturally targeted, bilingual education can improve knowledge about living kidney donation among Hispanic and Latino populations, but we also must address the practical barriers that make transplantation difficult to pursue. Equity therefore requires more than simply making transplantation available. Patients need accessible information, appropriate language support, and a system that recognizes the social and financial realities affecting their families.

For me, Hispanic Heritage Month is an opportunity to recognize where I come from and the people and experiences that shaped who I am. My journey into medicine was not separate from my community—it was born from my experiences within it. I saw healthcare disparities affecting the people around me, and those experiences ultimately shaped my decision to pursue medicine and, later, transplant surgery.

Sharing my story is also a way of telling young people from communities like mine that they belong in medicine. As a first-generation college student, I know what it feels like to pursue a path that may not always feel familiar or accessible. Representation can help make that path feel possible.

I also hope my story reminds people that Hispanic/Latino communities are not just populations experiencing healthcare disparities. They are communities full of resilience, talent, and people who can become leaders in changing the healthcare system.