Why I Realized I Wasn’t Cut Out for Healthcare

When I started college, I thought I wanted to be a physician.

I was a student at the Sophie B. Davis biomedical program at the City College of New York, part of the City University of New York system, in historic Harlem. It was an accelerated path: five years followed by two years of medical school, instead of the traditional four plus four.

That was the plan. My reasons for pursuing it deserve honesty.

I didn’t want to become a doctor because I felt called to help people. I wasn’t driven to make an impact or cure a disease. I wanted to be wealthy and live comfortably.

That may sound shallow. Looking back, I think it was. But those were my motivations, and pretending otherwise would make this a different story.

There is nothing wrong with wanting financial security. The problem was choosing a profession without thinking enough about whether I wanted to do the actual work.

Recently, watching my mother receive care reinforced how poorly that career would have fit me.

Seeing the Work Up Close

My mother has had two strokes in about two months. She has been in the emergency room, in the ICU, and is now back in a physical rehabilitation unit.

Through all of it, I have watched healthcare workers at every level provide care, comfort, and concern for her.

I think of them as heroes. That word comes from watching their work: attending to someone who needs help, responding to uncertainty, and bringing patience to situations that can be difficult for both patients and families.

I am grateful.

As someone who once planned to enter their profession, I am also very clear: I am not equipped to do what they do.

Knowing What I Couldn’t Give

It isn’t the sight of blood, bodily fluids, or body parts that would get to me. Although I will admit that vomit is something I find disgusting.

What I would struggle with is sustaining focus while providing care. The patience. The compassion. The ability to keep responding thoughtfully when someone needs more and is already tired.

I care about my mother deeply. But caring about someone and being prepared to care for patients throughout a demanding shift require different things.

I don’t believe I have the patience or the capacity to provide that kind of care consistently. That is uncomfortable to admit, especially while watching people give it to someone who means so much to me. I also need to be honest about that.

Patients deserve care from people who can meet those demands. A desire for a comfortable lifestyle would not have prepared me for them.

The Lifestyle I Hadn’t Thought Through

Then there are the hours.

The long shifts, particularly during residency, would have been another major challenge for me. When I think about the time and responsibility involved, the compensation during training hardly resembles the comfortable life I had imagined.

I had focused on the possible financial rewards of becoming a physician without fully considering the years of demanding work required—or whether the daily work would suit me even after training.

My picture of the profession was incomplete.

Watching my mother’s care has made the part I overlooked much harder to miss.

Gratitude and a Clearer Understanding

I am not suggesting that healthcare workers must be selfless every minute or that they shouldn’t want good pay and comfortable lives. They deserve both. I can appreciate their dedication while recognizing how much the work asks of them.

What I understand now is that my reasons for wanting to become a physician would not have been enough.

There is value in recognizing that a profession does not fit you, even one you once imagined as your future. I can respect this work deeply and acknowledge that I would have struggled to do it well.

To everyone who has cared for my mother—in the emergency room, the ICU, and rehabilitation—thank you for the care, comfort, and concern you have shown her.

Years ago, I imagined what being a physician might give me. Watching you, I see much more clearly what the work would have required of me.

Perspective at 2:15 A.M.: Grateful for Modern Medicine

It's 2:15 a.m. EDT, and apparently I'm still not tired.

After writing about Nextdoor, I found myself doing what many of us do far too late at night—doom scrolling. A Facebook Reel stopped me in my tracks. It was about anesthesia, and it gave me a whole new perspective.

If you'd like to watch it, here's the Reel that inspired this post:

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1TT4xxcoQT/

Before I get to that, I want to say something that I don't think I say often enough.

I'm incredibly grateful for where science and medicine are today.

Because of medical advancements, I have a prosthetic leg that allows me to walk and continues to improve with every generation. Because of dialysis, I'm not days away from dying from the toxins that my kidneys can no longer remove. Because of modern eye surgery, I can once again see clearly after having my cataracts removed.

Then I watched the video.

It explained what surgery was like before anesthesia became common. Imagine undergoing an amputation while fully awake. Patients would bite down on a piece of wood or leather, assistants would hold down each limb, and the surgeon would work as quickly as possible. People would feel the pain, pass out from it, wake back up, and endure it again until the operation was finished.

I can't imagine it.

One thing we often overlook is that anesthesia doesn't just put us to sleep. It also helps prevent us from remembering the experience. That's an incredible gift.

As I thought about it, I realized how many surgeries I've had over my lifetime. It started with an appendectomy at Mount Sinai Hospital on the Upper East Side of New York City, when I was 19 or 20 years old. Since then, there have been many more procedures.

I'm thankful that I don't remember them.

It's easy to focus on what medicine can't do yet. But now and then it's worth stopping to appreciate what it already has done. Millions of people—including me—are living longer, healthier, and more fulfilling lives because of generations of scientists, physicians, nurses, engineers, researchers, and innovators who kept pushing forward.

Sometimes all it takes is a late-night video to remind us just how fortunate we are.

Helping Launch A Godd3ss3s Cr3ation Has Strengthened My Recovery

One of the projects I’m most proud to be involved with right now is helping launch A Godd3ss3s Cr3ation at https://agodd3ss3scr3ation.com.


Most people know me through NielFlamm.com, where I write about everything from leadership and AI to movie reviews, recovery, and whatever else catches my attention. This project, however, has become something much more personal.


Working alongside Godd3ss Aisha and Godd3ss Alicia has given me the opportunity to help build something centered on healthy living, mindfulness, self-care, and becoming a better version of myself.


What surprised me is how much it has helped me.

I’ve been sober for many years now, and I’ve learned that recovery isn’t simply about not taking a drink. That’s where it starts—not where it ends.


Recovery is about taking care of my mind.

My body.

My soul.


It’s about the people I surround myself with, the conversations I have, and the thoughts I allow into my life.


As I help edit blog posts, brainstorm ideas, and publish articles for A Godd3ss3s Cr3ation, I’m constantly reading about gratitude, letting go, protecting your peace, managing stress, self-care, healthy habits, and slowing down long enough to check in with myself.


I can’t spend hours editing articles about becoming healthier without asking myself if I’m doing the same.


The blogs aren’t just helping readers.


They’re helping me.


I’ve always believed that if I'm around positive people long enough, some of that positivity rubs off on me. The discussions I have with Aisha and Alicia aren’t about gossip or negativity. They’re about growth, healing, perspective, and trying to become better than we were yesterday.


That reinforces the principles I’ve tried to live by throughout my recovery.


One thing I’ve learned is that sobriety requires maintenance. It isn’t something you accomplish once and never think about again. Just like physical fitness, healthy relationships, or a successful career, recovery requires attention.


Helping launch A Godd3ss3s Cr3ation has become part of that maintenance for me.


If one of our blogs encourages someone to pause before reacting…


If it inspires someone to take better care of themselves…


If it helps someone choose hope over despair…


Or simply reminds someone that they’re worth investing in…


Then we’ve accomplished something worthwhile.


If you haven’t visited the site yet, I’d love for you to take a look.


Visit https://agodd3ss3scr3ation.com, spend a few minutes reading through the Blog, and if you enjoy what you find, subscribe. It’s completely free, and you’ll receive new articles as they’re published.


And if a particular blog resonates with you, please share it with someone you care about. You never know whose day—or life—you might brighten with a simple act of kindness.


Thank you to Godd3ss Aisha and Godd3ss Alicia for trusting me to help bring this vision to life. It’s been a rewarding experience, and one that continues to strengthen my own journey every day.

Back Where I Never Wanted to Be

There are places in life you hope you never have to visit again.

For me, the hospital is one of them.

This time, I’m not here as the patient. I’m here as a visitor and caregiver for my mother.

In 2023 and 2024, the hospital became a place I knew far too well. My first extended stay came after a severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic. The second marked the beginning of my End Stage Renal Disease journey. Those experiences changed my life in ways I never imagined.

After each acute hospital stay, I was transferred to a physical rehabilitation unit. One of the most eye-opening lessons I learned was that simply lying in a hospital bed can cost you about 10 percent of your strength each day. It’s amazing how quickly the body can weaken when it’s not moving.

During rehab, the therapists asked me a question I’ll never forget:

“What kind of quality of life do you want to have?”

That question became my motivation.

The first rehabilitation stay lasted about two weeks. The second was about a week. Every exercise, every painful step, every frustrating moment had one goal—to reclaim as much of my independence as possible.

Walking through these same hallways today feels surreal. There are familiar faces everywhere. Several providers have recognized me, which is both heartwarming and a little funny. It’s strange when people remember you not because you were a regular customer, but because they helped you through some of the hardest chapters of your life.

Now the roles have changed.

I’m the one sitting beside the bed.

I’m the one encouraging someone else.

I’m the one helping navigate questions, translating when needed, and trying to bring a little comfort during an uncertain time.

Life has a funny way of bringing us full circle.

As difficult as hospitals can be, they also remind us of something important: healing doesn’t always happen the way we expect. Sometimes we’re the ones receiving the care. Other times, we’re fortunate enough to be the ones giving it.

If there’s one lesson I’ve learned, it’s that difficult seasons don’t last forever. They shape us, strengthen us, and prepare us to help someone else when their turn comes.

So today, I’m choosing gratitude—for the caregivers, for the second chances I’ve been given, and for the opportunity to be there for my mother the same way so many people were there for me.

Tomorrow may bring new challenges, but it also brings new hope. And hope is a powerful medicine.

Life Happens… Vegas Will Have to Wait

Earlier this week, what started as a normal Tuesday quickly turned into a family crisis involving my mother. It was one of those moments where priorities become crystal clear in an instant.

There were decisions that had to be made, questions that needed answering, and someone needed to be her advocate. My mother was confused and, because English isn’t her strongest language, communicating with doctors and fully understanding what was happening became even more challenging. I spent the night at the hospital, then headed straight to dialysis the following morning without ever making it home.

As exhausting as it was, there wasn’t another option. Family comes first.

Unfortunately, that also meant making another difficult decision—canceling my trip to Las Vegas.

I was incredibly excited to spend time with my amazing children, hear about school, laugh at their stories, and just enjoy being Dad for a few days. Those moments become more valuable every year, and missing them hurts.

I was also looking forward to attending CCW, hearing about innovation, learning best practices, and connecting with leaders from across the customer experience industry. It’s always energizing to be around people who are passionate about improving the customer journey and sharing new ideas.

But sometimes life tells me that my place is somewhere else.

So, I pivot.

That’s something life has taught me over the past few years. Whether it’s losing a leg, sitting in dialysis three days a week, navigating health challenges, or unexpected family emergencies, I adapt, adjust, and keep moving forward.

Vegas isn’t going anywhere.

CCW will come around again.

Hopefully my children understand that Dad wanted to be there, and hopefully my mother continues to improve.

And for those of you who have been following my ongoing commentary about Nextdoor… don’t worry. I hope someone from Nextdoor still makes it to CCW, picks up Natalie Beckerman’s book When Did You Stop Caring?, and saves us all from the in-person confrontation my followers have apparently been waiting for. I suppose what happens in Vegas should probably stay in Vegas anyway!

For now, my place is exactly where I need to be.

Sometimes the greatest trip I can take is simply showing up for the people who need you most.