I am the combination of two very different worlds—my mother is originally from El Salvador and Catholic, and my father is from Pakistan and Muslim. My parents are original trailblazers in my mind, creating a life together despite the unsure gaze of their respective families, who questioned the durability of their relationship, largely because they had never experienced one like theirs before. As a child and into adulthood, I felt most comfortable floating in the liminal space between both cultures, religions, and languages. For as long as I can remember, I have had to balance feelings of never belonging to just one demographic and the resultant heaviness of proving to anyone who questioned that I was “enough” to claim my birthright within each one.
These feelings surprisingly surfaced again when I started practicing outpatient pediatrics. Many of the first patients I encountered were confused—I fielded many well-meaning questions from Latinx patients wondering why I spoke such great Spanish. The receptionists at our clinic confessed to me that patients were discussing amongst themselves, saying, “Take your kids to see the new Hindu doctor that speaks great Spanish” (me). On the flip side, I received many startled looks and inquiries when I entered the clinic exam room for the first time with my Muslim patients, especially those from Pakistan. “You’re Dr. Amna Khan?!” I could not help but feel their initial astonishment and confusion when I walked in the door and struggled with how to process what I interpreted as their disappointment.
At the same time, I realized a pattern that slowly started to develop in myself while learning the tricks and trades of my new job. In order to prioritize speed and efficiency within the clinical exam room as a very green, junior physician, I found myself generalizing behaviors, personality traits, and values to the different communities I served. I minimized asking for their perspective on what mattered most to them and instead made fast-paced generalizations and assumptions. Making this my practice boxed families into stereotypes that I depended on to keep things “easier.” I paused once I made this realization, drawing parallels with my experience of patients making superficial inferences about my own personal history. I did not want my patients to experience the same discomfort I felt in those situations. I committed to finding ways to offer families the space to express their values, beliefs, and priorities when raising their children. I do this by asking them these questions directly. I ask in order to see them more clearly and completely, just as I wanted patient families to see me for who I really am at my core—not a half, but a double of the identities I feel so privileged to call my own.
What initially caused me discomfort and felt laborious, I now see as an opportunity to share with my patients my all-inclusive narrative that they had never been exposed to before. With love and patience, I explain when, where, and to whom I was born. I am from a Muslim family, not a Hindu one, and there is a difference, I explain. I owe my wonderful Spanish-speaking skills to my mother, who gifted me her natal tongue, so I will be sure to pass along your compliments. Actually, I am Dr. Amna Khan, and my family is from Pakistan. Where are you originally from? In my experience, sharing these moments is greatly appreciated by all.
Simultaneously, I am getting better at recognizing when I am not giving families the same grace to express who they are—what cultures, religions, and languages they subscribe to, along with their most cherished family values, hopes, and dreams. With more detailed information about each patient family, I am reminded of how, as humans, we are much more similar than different. These differences make us beautiful and should be celebrated, not feared. This principle is the gift my parents lovingly bestowed upon me and the powerful force behind my ability to make space for all patients and families within my daily clinical practice.
Amna Khan is a pediatrician.
