It’s a gut feeling.
That’s what my mother always says. Confidently, like a fact.
Her childhood in the Dominican Republic, full of domestic violence and poverty, tried to convince her that that would be her reality many times. However, she always had a feeling her life would change.
I didn’t understand what she meant.
When I was eleven, I was confused when she left for a month. What I thought was a retreat turned out to be a tumor in her uterus that needed emergency surgery. After months of bleeding, doctors said her survival was uncertain due to heavy blood loss.
“Were you not scared?” I asked over and over again when I found out.
She never hesitated. “I had a gut feeling I was going to see you grow,” she said.
Years later, we packed our lives into bags and left the Dominican Republic. After years of failed visa appointments, isolation, and my father’s abuse, we were finally leaving.
I doubted many times.
She wasn’t surprised.
“I always knew our home was in the United States,” she said.
Time passed. I would call her when I felt anxious, overwhelmed, and unsure about my readiness as a medical student, but she remained certain.
When I told her I had passed my Step 1 exam, she celebrated—but wasn’t surprised.
“I knew you would,” she said.
Of course she did.
Sometimes, I think about losing her. The thought sits heavy in my gut. She has always been my anchor, and her passing would be unbearable to me. I wonder who will calm me when I’m anxious.
But she tells me not to worry: “I have a feeling you’ll be okay.”
Melfry Gonzalez Andujar
Greenville, South Carolina
