Today would have been my mother’s 74th birthday.
She passed away far too young at 68.
My mother was a nurse, and in many ways she is the reason why I became one too.
I grew up inside the world of healthcare. Both of my parents worked at Yale New Haven Hospital, my mother as a nurse and my father as a security officer. They often brought me to the hospital with them during shift change, and I got to see the inner workings of both of their jobs.
As a child, I listened to nurses give report. I heard patient stories of illness, resilience, and recovery. I watched the teamwork it takes across multiple disciplines to care for people in the hospital. I also attended many full-day continuing education conferences with my mom as she worked toward and maintained her specialty in rehabilitation nursing. I would sit quietly in the room while nurses learned how to help patients rebuild their lives after injury or illness.
Even then, I understood something important about my mother. She believed deeply in helping people regain their function, dignity, and independence. She didn’t just want patients to survive, she wanted them to live their best lives again.
But like so many women of her generation, when it came to her own health, the system failed her.
My mother lived with morbid obesity, chronic pain, menopause, and heart disease that eventually became inoperable. Looking back now, I often wonder how different her life might have been if medicine had understood then what we know today about metabolism, hormones, and women’s health. Today we know that medications like semaglutide and tirzepatide can transform metabolic health for many people struggling with obesity and insulin resistance. We also understand far more about the protective role that Hormone Replacement Therapy can play for women when it comes to cardiovascular health, joint pain, and quality of life.
But in her time, much of this knowledge was either unavailable or misunderstood. Her chronic pain was never fully explained. Today, I suspect that the profound physiologic changes that accompany the loss of estrogen may have played a significant role. Instead, she became another quiet casualty of a healthcare system that often knew too little and did too little too late for women. She was also caught in the wave of the opioid epidemic, when pain was often treated with higher doses of medication rather than deeper investigation into its root causes. She slipped through the cracks.
And yet, despite her own struggles, she never lost the heart of a nurse. My mother specialized in rehabilitation nursing, a field devoted to helping people rebuild their lives after illness or injury. The goal was to restore function, dignity, and independence.
Looking back now, I realize how much that philosophy shaped the way I practice medicine today. Many women come to see me because of something aesthetic, a concern about their skin, their face, or how they look in the mirror. But those visits often open the door to deeper conversations about how they feel: fatigue, brain fog, weight changes, joint pain, and dismissal from healthcare providers who find nothing wrong. These are not simply cosmetic concerns. They are signals from the body.
The work I do today, helping women understand their hormones, metabolism, and long-term health, is, in many ways, a continuation of the philosophy that guided my mother’s nursing career. Helping people reclaim their lives and function at their best. The difference is that today we know more. We have better science. We understand more about metabolism, menopause, and the powerful role hormones play in women’s health.
But there is still work to do. Too many women are still told their symptoms are simply part of aging. Too many are dismissed and still fall through the cracks.
My mother’s story is a reminder of why this work matters. Because every woman deserves the chance to feel strong, vital, and supported in her health long before it becomes too late.
Every time a woman sits across from me and begins to understand what is happening in her body, every time she regains her energy, her strength, her confidence, I feel like a small part of that healing belongs to my mother too.
She taught me what it means to care for patients.
Her story taught me why we must do better for women.
Happy birthday to you Mom wherever you may be in our spiritual world.
Your nursing continues through me.
Author’s Note
My mother’s story is one of the reasons I have dedicated my career to advancing women’s health.
For decades, women were told to simply endure the changes that come with midlife, such as fatigue, weight gain, joint pain, brain fog, cardiovascular risk, and the loss of vitality that can accompany menopause. Today we know that many of these symptoms are connected to changes in metabolism and hormones that deserve thoughtful evaluation and evidence-based care.
My work focuses on helping women understand their options earlier, through education, metabolic care, and hormone therapy, so fewer women fall through the cracks the way my mother did.
If sharing her story helps even one woman ask more questions about her health, advocate for herself, or find care that helps her feel better, then her legacy continues.