Blog/Short Stories

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August 18, 2017


Sometimes a very small decision can change the course of your life. Especially if that decision requires stepping out of your comfort zone.

     I was fifteen years old. I was afraid of needles and terrified of the sight of blood. Even the smell of isopropyl alcohol, which I associated with hospitals, made me shake. But I needed community service hours for high school graduation, and the fastest way to get them was signing up as a volunteer for the latest pediatric vaccination campaign.  

      Why would a self-respecting Public Health Department trust a 15-year-old girl to give intra-muscular injections to little children and babies? Don't ask me. Irrationality comes with the Third World country. But the Dominican Republic Department of Health had no scruples entrusting me —and a handful of good-hearted, nearly illiterate volunteers— with the mission. All you needed was a two-session course.

previous releases

Did I go crazy? (Finding Love Against All Prognoses)

August 4, 2017

     “My poor friend Diely lost her mind. All that sleep deprivation and stress from Medicine and kids finally caught up with her and fried her brain”
     I smile, imagining that's what many of my friends and relatives must be thinking right now.
     Seriously! Why is a Board-certified physician with a bunch of degrees in dead-serious matters (from Hematology-Oncology to Clinical Investigation) writing about all this crazy stuff?

Overcoming Fear (Genes and Memes)

July 22, 2017

     One of the biggest psychological triumphs of my adult life –  which I'm convinced helped propel me toward finding love – was learning to eat sushi.

     All my life I had a love/hate, fascination/terror relationship with sushi.

     In the pre-globalization Dominican Republic, where I grew up, sushi was a joke. It proved that people in rich countries who didn't have to worry about hunger, water-borne epidemics, craters on the roads and lack of electricity eventually got so bored they lost their minds. 

Amazons and Mermaids (Forgiving Men)

July 11, 2017


My grandmother Casilda once used her seamstress scissors to cut off a doll's little penis. It was the first (and last) anatomically correct baby-boy doll my cousin Medry had. For a while, my sisters and I jokingly called our grandma “Lorena Bobbit.” (If you don't get that reference, you're way too young, or I'm getting too old. Please Google it).

Mamá Casilda's excuse that day was that she tried to put a diaper on the doll and it kept falling down. But the truth is that for her the view of a penis – even if an innocent, four-millimeter-long, plastic one –  was intolerably disturbing.

Getting married to America: A love letter to the USA

July 4, 2017

Dear America:

     I’m not marrying you for your money, or your social position.  I’m not marrying you because society is pushing me or because “it’s time.” I’m marrying you simply because I love you.

     When I first started getting to know you, over a decade ago, I didn’t imagine I’d fall for you this way. I admit that you did impress me with your amazing skyscrapers and highways, your incredibly well-stocked grocery stores and your shopping centers — even the fact that electricity and water always worked amazed me. But back then, coming from a place where chaos and lawlessness are the daily bread, you felt too strict, so full of rules — so stiff. 

Welcome to the boondocks!

June 15, 2017

  Welcome to Melbourne, Florida! A charming town on the Space Coast, strategically located not-far-from-anything-yet-close-to-nothing. Melbourne is also known as “Melboring,” “Ten miles past where Jesus lost his sandals,” and, as they say in the DR, “Where The Devil howled three times and no one heard him.”

      Moving to Melbourne implies becoming an expert in Florida geography – trying to explain to family and friends where home is. “It's three hours north from Miami, two hours south from Daytona Beach. Have you ever heard of Cape Canaveral? Do you remember that old TV series I Dream of Jeannie, happening in the town of 'Cocoa Beach?' No, it's not there, but not too far from there.” Eventually, I just gave up and simply said, “Close enough to Orlando.”


June 5, 2017

My mother used to say, “Daring the Devil isn’t the same as seeing him arrive.”

Her advice crossed my mind as I stood at the courthouse, pen in hand, staring at the still wet ink on the papers in front of me.

The documents had been signed.  My divorce was official. I was single.

A single woman—in my thirties—living in the United States.

For a terrifying instant, I remembered watching Sex and the City for the first time, when I’d nearly died of embarrassment.

Was THAT what was expected of me?

Uh-oh. I was in deep trouble!

the naked man

The first naked man I saw in my life was a cadaver. I was sixteen and a precocious college freshman. Around that time I had second thoughts about the crazy idea of signing up for medical school and knew that, unless I could prove myself able to face the morgue without fainting, it was a lost cause.


“Either my libido is dead for good... or I'm a lesbian and I still don't know it.”

The conversation with myself had been ongoing for a couple of days. It was my attempt to find a logical explanation for the fact that I had been celibate now for a year and a half and the thought of having sex with a man did not turn me on and instead was vaguely unpleasant.