Behçet's: A Medical Student Becomes the Patient
As a private person, I contemplated whether I should share my story, but for the benefit of those who may be going through the same situation, let me tell you about how I almost quit medical school.
I had always felt a deep calling to medicine, though I was not sure why. None of my parents are doctors. I have no relatives who work in the medical field. But from a young age, I knew I wanted to heal and make a difference in people’s lives.
I was told that the road to becoming a doctor was an arduous one. You have to finish elementary and high school, get into a pre-medical program in college, graduate from medical school, complete a post-graduate internship, pass the board exams – years and years of schooling and being a student. It will take a lot from you. I was ready to make these necessary sacrifices all for chasing my dream. Yet, fate seemed determined to test my resolve.
Along the way, I faced health issues that perplexed doctors. It began with joint pains as a child, then recurring mouth ulcers that started in my teenage years. Unpredictable fevers plagued my college years, alongside skin lesions resembling inflamed pimples along my thighs and back. Ulcerations then developed on my genitals and groin. All of these manifested whenever I was perpetually stressed. I would then be asked about my sexual history, which was empty, but still be given antibiotics regularly, all to no avail. It wasn’t until medical school that I learned about Behçet’s disease, a rare autoimmune vasculitis condition that matched my symptoms. With the knowledge that I gained in my classes, I was able to look for the right specialist, a rheumatologist, to receive an official diagnosis. Suddenly, the disease that was discussed in one of our lectures became my reality.
The diagnosis brought relief but also a heavy realization. I had been living with Behçet’s all along, its symptoms quietly shaping my way of life. Alongside this, I battled persistent depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder, invisible adversaries that grew throughout the years of not understanding what was wrong with my body. All of these weighed heavily on my spirit.
Medical school is grueling – the demanding schedule, the pressure to excel, and the physical toll from being on duty during clerkship year pale in comparison to what lies beyond that. Residency or being in practice as a doctor is not any easier. Due to my symptoms or “flares” being active or worse during times of stress and exhaustion, I was left to question if chasing my dream was worth my body’s well-being. Is continuing medical school a sacrifice I was willing to make?
In the depths of my struggle, a.k.a. as during clerkship year, I found strength I didn’t know I had. There were multiple days when I had to interview countless patients while enduring the pain of talking with multiple aphthous ulcers. I would stand for long hours in the OR despite experiencing joint pains. I take more pills for my maintenance medication than most of my patients. On my duty days, it was me extracting blood from patients; on my off-days, I am the one being drawn from. Some days I played the doctor; on others, I was the patient. Through this cycle, I saw firsthand the gaps in care for patients with chronic illnesses, the emotional toll of not being heard or understood. It fueled my determination to become not just a doctor, but an advocate for those facing similar battles. My experiences with my illness taught me to listen deeply, to see beyond symptoms, to see the person beneath. In my resilience, I have found my purpose.
My medical school journey was marked by setbacks and breakthroughs. Each step forward was a testament to the unwavering support that I had from my generous parents, loving sisters, caring Abeleda and Paglicawan family, supportive friends, and all my loved ones. I dedicate this achievement to all of you. May God continue to bless all of you and grant your heart’s desires.
In my time in the hospitals and clinics, I have yet to meet another person who has the same diagnosis as me. But to everyone else who is battling vasculitis and other autoimmune diseases, I hope my humble story reminds you that our diseases don’t define who we are. They may limit our physical capabilities, but they should never hinder our spirits. Life goes on, and I hope we all achieve remission one day.
Written by Harold Emman Paglicawan Abeleda, M.D., Class of 2024 – Batch Talaghay
