During Sister’s Residency Match, She Laughed At My Diagnosis—Her Program Director Didn’t

The Invitation and the Diagnosis

The invitation arrived 3 weeks before my surgery. It was heavy card stock with elegant script. “You’re invited to celebrate Dr. Amanda Chen’s residency match at Johns Hopkins Department of Surgery.”

My sister had matched into one of the most prestigious surgical programs in the country. My parents were throwing her a party at our childhood home to celebrate.

This was the same week I was scheduled for my third major surgery in 18 months. I stared at the date on the invitation: March 15th. My surgery was March 14th.

I’d be in post-op recovery during Amanda’s celebration, assuming everything went well. I assumed the tumor they’d found wrapped around my spinal cord could be removed without permanent paralysis.

“You’re coming, right?” Mom asked when she called. “Amanda specifically asked if you’d be there.”

“Mom, my surgery is the day before.” “Oh, that.” Her voice was dismissive.

“Ary, can’t you reschedule? This is Amanda’s moment. She’s worked so hard for this.”

That my third spinal surgery in 18 months was that? I was 26 years old with neurofibromatosis type 2.

It is a genetic disorder that caused tumors to grow on my nerves. The first tumor had been discovered when I started losing hearing in my left ear.

Then they found more on my spinal cord and on my cranial nerves. Small ones were scattered throughout my nervous system like landmines waiting to detonate.

The current tumor was pressing against my spinal cord at the T6 level. It caused weakness in my legs and bowel dysfunction.

If left untreated, I’d be paralyzed within months. To my family, it was just another one of my medical dramas.

“I can’t reschedule,” I said quietly. “The tumor is growing. Dr. Richardson says we can’t wait any longer.”

“We’ll try to make it to the party if you can. Amanda’s colleagues will be there. It would mean a lot to her.”

After she hung up, I sat in my apartment staring at the invitation. Amanda was 28, my older sister by two years.

She’d always been the golden child with perfect grades, a perfect boyfriend, and a perfect career trajectory. When I was diagnosed with NF2 at 23, it complicated the family narrative.

Amanda was supposed to be the successful doctor. I was supposed to be the admiring younger sister, the supporting character in her story.

Instead, I’d become the inconvenient sick one. My phone buzzed with a text from Amanda.

“Mom says you might not come to my party because of another surgery. Really? Can’t you just postpone it for one day?”

I didn’t respond. There was no point explaining that you don’t postpone spinal cord decompression because it’s inconvenient timing.

Amanda had been in medical school for 4 years. She should understand this.

But understanding would require her to see me as a real patient. She saw me rather than her dramatic younger sister.