STUDENT ADDRESS MAY 2, 2009

Jessica Chan MD'09

Good morning family, friends and teachers. My name is Jessica Chan and I would like to thank you for joining me and my class on such a wonderful occasion today. I will be speaking to you not only as a graduate, but also as a fervent fanatic of eighties movies and hence, it is only appropriate that I speak of The Karate Kid - a movie that defined a generation and our path during medical school, in so many ways. For those of you who haven't seen it, The Karate Kid is a martial arts film - a classic story about the triumph of an underdog.

Our main character is Daniel LaRusso, a scrappy kid from New Jersey. He arrives in Paradise, otherwise known as the San Fernando Valley, the new kid on the block with gumption but no skill and finds himself under threat by a local bully, the star student of the malicious Cobra Kai dojo, a karate school known for its particularly vicious brand of martial arts, one that preaches violence and no mercy. A disgraceful loss during an initial fight and an obligation to defend the girl of his dreams forces Daniel to teach himself karate from how-to books.

Like Daniel LaRussos, we came to Paradise, otherwise known as medical school, in late summer of 2005. Some of us new kids on the block, some, the Brown veterans on the block, known as the PLMEs. Wide-eyed and bright-faced, armed not with karate books but with short white coats and bookstore stethoscopes, we set out to save the world.

I came here, not from New Jersey, but from California, by way of New York City. After two years as a 6th grade teacher, I came to Providence believing that nothing could be more difficult … But in time, and you can believe me... I faced my Cobra Kai.

Daniel LaRusso's Cobra Kai was a lawless group of bullies. The Cobra Kai, in us, represents all that is seemingly impossible and our misgivings about our capabilities.

Anatomy was my first Cobra Kai. Jeremy, Cliff and Elizabeth were my first partners in battle as we hacked and toiled away at our cadaver, desperately trying to understand the human body while we turned him into a pile of grey mush.

We became ungainly, increasingly pudgy and unattractive, feeding on free Pizza Pie-er and hiding out in basements, libraries and a place fondly known as the "Fortress of Solitude," emerging occasionally for sustenance.

We took repeated and severe beatings from Anatomy and his friends Biochem, Pharmacology and Doctoring. Brutalized by the memorization of pathways, drug side effects and standardized patients, we headed towards a much-dreaded and lonely month of boards studying, bleary-eyed and over-caffeinated.

Luckily, amidst all of this, we became good friends, became one large family and a few of us even fell in love (You know who you are). Bound together by a similar fate, we braced each other for the worst.

Third year, the year we began our clinical rotations in the hospitals, provided us numerous opportunities to test our resolve. We were forced to not only recall the science we had learned, but to weave that in with the complexity of the human lives we would encounter.

In the meantime, Daniel LaRusso, our Karate Kid, continues to be harassed by the Cobra Kai and finds himself in need of a teacher, a person who will train his body and spirit to face his final showdown at the All-Valley Karate Tournament. This person was Mr. Miyagi, sensei and life coach.

Fortunately, each of us had our Mr. Miyagi-- you know, the one person who was there to tell you "Daniel-san, use head for something other than target!"

Before med school, the PLMEs had Dr. Julianne Ip with calm voice of reason and an invite to dinner to all who were far from home during Thanksgiving. During the first two years, Dr. Dick Dollase was there, standing quietly in the back of the classroom, arms crossed, making sure that everything was seamless and handouts plentiful. Dr. Macko taught us how to treat our patients with dignity. ur preclinical faculty - wonderful and wise - gave us the vocabulary we would need to hit the wards.

Our third year of medical school required a new kind of Mr. Miyagi, the kind that infuses compassion and humanity in all that we do—the Mr. Miyagis named Dr. Charles and Dr. Fagan, ones named Dr. Alverson and Dr. Taylor, the Drs. Coustan and Ryder. And Dr. Feller remained the voice of reassurance through it all, reminding us that you did, in fact, matter and that life always works out somehow.

When Mr. Miyagi watches us get bullied and beaten down by call night after shelf exam after unfeeling resident, he takes pity and shares with us the secrets of his art, through such acts as "paint the fence" and "wax on/wax off," which in our case came in the form of "stand for 10 hours without a bathroom break" and "one hour's sleep in Gerry House during q3 trauma call." They remind us of why we do what we do, by living passionately by the words that they teach.

And in our frustration we might lash out, but ultimately through our labor we discover that we have unknowingly learned our defensive blocks and our muscle memory kicks in, making it possible to close an incision with the perfect subcuticular stitch and decipher systolic from diastolic murmurs (well, maybe not quite for me, luckily I'm going into OB). And we accomplish this all while trying to maintain balance in life—being good daughters and sons, parents, significant others and friends to those outside of this strange microcosm.

And finally, through it all, we have not merely trained our minds and our stomachs to feel no fatigue or hunger, but have also learned to recognize our limitations and to be humble in the face of that which we have yet to learn.

Today, we are being given the ultimate responsibility, the most precious of privileges - that of caring for others. Our class is about to spread across this continent, with just the memory of these last four years... and we are not treading into easy territory. Forty-seven million people in our country have no health insurance, our doctors are overburdened and emergency rooms are stretched beyond capacity and we watch as our healthcare system collapses before our eyes. Even as med students, we were first-hand witnesses of the negligence and cynicism that plagues our hospitals.

Let us refuse to never be beaten down by the hours, the insurance companies, a failing health care system, by the Cobra Kai that we have yet to encounter. Let us refuse to be nothing but advocates of positive change.

And of course there will be times when we are knocked down and disabled with an illegal kick to the knee, "Sweep the leg!" they will cry. There will be a time when it feels like there's no way to continue. In those dire moments, you must remember Mr. Miyagi. "Look eye! Always look eye!" And it is at that time that we maintain our focus, to remember and cherish the reasons why we decided to become doctors in the first place.

And we've reached the end of our film. It is time for the All-Valley Karate Tournament. Daniel LaRusso, our underdog, will face his adversary. The fight is not easy or fair, but, with a final crane kick, our graduation into the real world, we deliver a winning blow and celebrate our triumph over the insurmountable as we are hoisted into the air, with cheering roars below.

Congratulations to everyone in my class and thank you for giving me the chance to speak to you today. And thank you, especially, to our families, who witnessed and supported us through this amazing and bizarre journey called med school, who listened patiently while we broke down before exams, who tweaked our personal statements beyond recognition, who looked at our rank lists for the 30th time. I feel so lucky to be in a room so full of love and pride today.

Thank you mama and papa.  All of this is for you.

And to my sister Chewy so wise beyond her 25 years - thank you for being my Mr. Miyagi all these years. I love you the most.

And to leave you with one final piece of Karate Kid wisdom: "Man who catch fly with chopsticks accomplishes anything!"

Please join me in saying bansai, a word of celebration! Thank you, congratulations and good luck everyone! Bansai!