I walk into a dark room with the sunlight trying to squeeze its way through the window’s barely-open blinds. Judge Judy is arguing with two teenage girls on the television and Kevin is lying in bed. About a year ago, he was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. My mom received a call that he had surgery today and his anesthesia is wearing off, so I decide to go. I am given some time alone with him, but I search my thoughts and the room to find something to talk about. My eyes wander to the bandages around his neck, the machine next to him, and the television.

“So, do you like Judge Judy?”

“It’s all right. It’s just two girls with too much makeup suing each other.”

We sit in silence for some time before a nurse walks in and I have to leave. I glance back pitifully to see Kevin struggling to get out of bed. I want to stay a little longer, but I know that accomplishes nothing.

“I hope that Kevin can make a full recovery from his surgery quickly,” I pray later that night. “I don’t understand how or why he has cancer, but I want to find a way to help him. What I’m doing seems futile.”

Before this whole incident, I was considering medicine as a career. Now I’m sure. Even though Kevin is in remission, there are others that will need medical attention. As a doctor or a pharmacist, I’ll know what to do provide the necessary medical attention and have a part in healing people. I don’t know what I want to specialize in yet, but I know that at whatever college I’ll attend, I’ll gain a solid grounding to go to medical school to gain the necessary knowledge to help people in need.