In 1980, a life-threatening illness struck me in a rural area of South Vietnam: icteric hemorrhagic fever that claimed the lives of over two hundred children on the hospital ward within a single day. Yet I survived, along with two others, thanks to the physicians whose skill and compassion surpassed the limits of medicine at the time. During my long recovery, I vowed that if given the opportunity, I would become a physician who could save lives the way mine was saved. Since then, medicine has meant more than treating disease; it embodies empathy, strengthens human connections, and fosters belonging. It reminds us that we are not alone in our struggles and that healing extends beyond the physical, touching the deepest parts of our shared humanity. My family’s journey amplified this conviction.

In the early 1980s, we arrived in the United States as political refugees, facing immense barriers to essential medical care. Our struggles shaped my understanding of privilege and the urgency to reduce healthcare disparities so that people like us—vulnerable, overlooked, and unseen—could receive compassionate, dignified care. My experiences ignited a steadfast desire to serve my community and to ensure that everyone has a neighbor or clinician who sees and cares for them. After the communist takeover of South Vietnam in 1975, my father’s imprisonment as a former officer and our family’s label as criminals deprived us of basic freedoms. I worked in the rice fields at age ten—learning humility and resilience while continuing to excel academically. Although I was the top student for many years, the regime limited my opportunities, denying academic, religious, and social participation.

In 1981, after my father’s release, our family fled Vietnam in an overcrowded little boat and found our first safe harbor in Indonesia, my second country. The courage of that escape and our eventual resettlement as political refugees in the United States shaped my understanding of freedom, perseverance, and the power of community. We arrived in the United States in 1983, facing an unfamiliar culture, climate, and, most daunting of all, a language I could not speak. Yet education proved to be the ladder of life. I began as an English as a Second Language student in the ninth grade, and by high school graduation, I earned straight-A honors. My early exposure to medicine in high school came through caring for patients as I delivered meals to those at St. Anthony’s Hospital—an experience that, while simple, brought me face-to-face with the human side of healthcare and the tangible difference compassionate care can make. In 1991, I began my medical education at Texas A&M University Health Sciences Center. After completing my internal medicine training at Presbyterian Hospital of Dallas in 1998, I chose to return to Amarillo, returning to the community that welcomed me as a refugee and helped shape me into the person I am today.

These experiences have shaped my life philosophy: education is essential, but caring is the conduit to meaningful life change. I am drawn to primary care because it allows me to stand on the front lines of health, advocating for patients, and strengthening the trust-based relationships that underlie effective care. I am committed to serving my community and Texas rural areas, where access to quality healthcare remains a persistent challenge. Technology can prolong life, but it is the doctor–patient relationship that eases pain, alleviates suffering, and combats isolation when technology falls short. My aim is to build a sacred bridge that connects diverse cultures and backgrounds through empathy, trust, and shared healing. I want to empower individuals to lead healthier lives and to ensure they are seen, heard, and valued in every step of their healthcare journey. Each patient’s well-being is my greatest reward, and while I may not be able to change the world alone, I am dedicated to making the world a little better—one patient at a time.

Nam Do, MD, FACP