How I Became A Puerto Rican
I wasn't born a Puerto Rican; I became one. After college, I arrived on the island a bit lost, wandering through small villages, coastal towns, and the verdant interior of mountains and rainforests. I didn't stay in hotels, but mostly with families of modest means, each passing me on to the next with a word of mouth introduction. They embraced a stranger in their midst. It was the first time in my life I felt seen and accepted, without being judged.
For a time, I lived with a Seventh-Day Adventist family in Mayagüez. The father, Victor, invited me along as he made his rounds. I soon learned he was one of the top surgeons on the island, specializing in pediatric surgery. On weekdays, he performed surgeries in local hospitals, but on weekends, we drove to nearby clinics and villages, where he provided free care. After just a few days, I was nearly collapsing from exhaustion, but Victor kept me moving.
He soon introduced me to his classmates from medical school. They seemed like clones—equally driven and skilled. I watched these top surgeons perform complex procedures, including heart and kidney transplants, and then spend their evenings and weekends practicing general medicine in free clinics. They were also training the next generation of doctors and surgeons.
I traced this extraordinary group back to their remarkable teacher, Dr. Raffucci who developed Puerto Rico's first cardiovascular surgery program. Sometimes, when I see the vapor trail of a fighter jet, I think of “Maverick” Raffucci leading his squadron of top surgeons on their next mission. And when I’m down or feeling sorry for myself, I know what Maverick Raffucci would say: “Get up. There’s work to do. Let’s go.”
When I think of Puerto Rico, I think of a magical island with warm-hearted, generous people. But I also think of the spirit of service embodied by Dr. Raffucci and the generations of nurses, doctors, and surgeons he inspired.