The impostor, by Leonor Henríquez

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  It sounds like the title of a soap opera.

But I think it was more of a betrayal of my subconscious.

I can explain.

I always wanted to be a doctor. I remember that, when I told my father, a great otolaryngologist from Caracas, my desire to study medicine, perhaps with the intention of protecting me, he told me: Oh daughter, it is a very hard profession, you see a lot of pain and death.

He didn’t have to say more, for me to decide to study engineering.

So, I did it.

However, my admiration for the medical sciences and doctors, those great professionals who, with their kindness and wisdom, dedicate their lives to relieving “suffering humanity”, is immense.

And so, this was my brief immersion in this other universe.

It happened in a clinic in Barcelona, ​​where I stayed for a couple of days, accompanying a relative.

In the midst of the nerves of waiting, in the labyrinthine corridors of the clinic, looking for the cafeteria, my head decided to ignore a large sign in the elevator that said: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

I entered the elevator as if I belonged there. On each floor that it stopped, nurses, doctors and patients on stretchers came and went.

Me, the impostor, mute, in a corner.

I escaped from the elevator on a floor with a sign that said: Critical Care.

I trembled from head to toe.

Finally, a nurse noticed my panic and asked me if I was lost. I said yes, and kindly, without calling security, he showed me the way out and how to get to the cafeteria.

Breathless, I arrived to the coffee shop. Instead of a “cortao” (expresso with a touch of milk) I opted for an Alhambra brand beer.

I toasted to medicine, to doctors, those of bodies and souls, and I thanked my dad for his wisdom.

I think, for me, it is better to build bridges than to witness when people are about to cross them.

As they say, cobbler, to your shoes.

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