My last ones haunted me. My mother had stayed by my side while I’d burned with fever, several years ago. She’d refused to give the task to someone else, insisting on tending to me personally. Thanks to her tireless nursing, I’d recovered from scarlet fever. She hadn’t. Her already weakened heart couldn’t fight the infection. She’d battled long enough to see me well before she passed away in my arms. Even surrounded by my father and brother, I’d never felt so alone as I did that day. Her death was my main motivating factor for pursuing science and medicine. Sometimes, in my most private
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