e jury would see through it.

Closing arguments came after three weeks of trial. I managed to arrive just as the trial resumed that day. I rushed from school to be in Court with my mom. What I witnessed that day caused me to apply to law school. Before that day, I was a biology major and was intent upon applying to medical school. You see, my father was a doctor and most of my family are doctors. I thought that was the path I'd naturally take. Not after witnes

I was 14 years old when my mother came home from the hospital and told me my father had died. "How did it happen?" I asked. "Why did it happen," my brother questioned. "What happened?" asked our dazed and confused family.

From that day forward, I began to learn what a malpractice lawyer does. I learned that we had more questions than answers. My dad was young, only 46 years old. He wasn't supposed to die. He had a family with three young children. He was gainfully employed and worked hard to provide for our family.

Our lawyer got the hospital records, and he had a medical expert review the records. The more our lawyer probed, the more questions we raised. "Why was he given that medication?" "When did the nurse arrive?" "Why wasn't a blood test ordered?" "What happened when..."

Years later, while I was in college, our case came up for trial. I joined my mom for part of the trial, since it was during final exams. Being in Court was unfamiliar territory. Everything was formal. The procedures, the words, the questions-all need explaining. Our lawyer was a big-time lawyer whose hair was gray and was respected by numerous lawyers who passed him in the hallways in the courthouse. Their nods and greetings were deferential- with respect for his accomplishments and greatness.

I watched with fascination the rapt attention everyone had during cross-examination of the primary target in the case- a young doctor in training who committed the gravest of medical sins. Our lawyer was intense. The barrage of questions put to the young unapologetic doctor were non-stop. The answers were not satisfactory to our lawyer, or to the jury, or so it seemed to me.

The tension in the Court room was palpable and created knots in my stomach. The defense attorney was gentlemanly and put on airs. In my book he was a phony and I was hoping the jury would see through it.

Closing arguments came after three weeks of trial. I managed to arrive just as the trial resumed that day. I rushed from school to be in Court with my mom. What I witnessed that day caused me to apply to law school. Before that day, I was a biology major and was intent upon applying to medical school. You see, my father was a doctor and most of my family are doctors. I thought that was the path I'd naturally take. Not after witness

was gainfully employed and worked hard to provide for our family.

Our lawyer got the hospital records, and he had a medical expert review the records. The more our lawyer probed, the more questions we raised. "Why was he given that medication?" "When did the nurse arrive?" "Why wasn't a blood test ordered?" "What happened when..."

Years later, while I was in college, our case came up for trial. I joined my mom for part of the trial, since it was during final exams. Being in Court was unfamiliar territory. Everything was formal. The procedures, the words, the questions-all need explaining. Our lawyer was a big-time lawyer whose hair was gray and was respected by numerous lawyers who passed him in the hallways in the courthouse. Their nods and greetings were deferential- with respect for his accomplishments and greatness.

I watched with fascination the rapt attention everyone had during cross-examination of the primary target in the case- a young doctor in training who committed the gravest of medical sins. Our lawyer was intense. The barrage of questions put to the young unapologetic doctor were non-stop. The answers were not satisfactory to our lawyer, or to the jury, or so it seemed to me.

The tension in the Court room was palpable and created knots in my stomach. The defense attorney was gentlemanly and put on airs. In my book he was a phony and I was hoping the jury would see through it.

Closing arguments came after three weeks of trial. I managed to arrive just as the trial resumed that day. I rushed from school to be in Court with my mom. What I witnessed that day caused me to apply to law school. Before that day, I was a biology major and was intent upon applying to medical school. You see, my father was a doctor and most of my family are doctors. I thought that was the path I'd naturally take. Not after witnes

inal exams. Being in Court was unfamiliar territory. Everything was formal. The procedures, the words, the questions-all need explaining. Our lawyer was a big-time lawyer whose hair was gray and was respected by numerous lawyers who passed him in the hallways in the courthouse. Their nods and greetings were deferential- with respect for his accomplishments and greatness.

I watched with fascination the rapt attention everyone had during cross-examination of the primary target in the case- a young doctor in training who committed the gravest of medical sins. Our lawyer was intense. The barrage of questions put to the young unapologetic doctor were non-stop. The answers were not satisfactory to our lawyer, or to the jury, or so it seemed to me.

The tension in the Court room was palpable and created knots in my stomach. The defense attorney was gentlemanly and put on airs. In my book he was a phony and I was hoping the jury would see through it.

Closing arguments came after three weeks of trial. I managed to arrive just as the trial resumed that day. I rushed from school to be in Court with my mom. What I witnessed that day caused me to apply to law school. Before that day, I was a biology major and was intent upon applying to medical school. You see, my father was a doctor and most of my family are doctors. I thought that was the path I'd naturally take. Not after witnes

e primary target in the case- a young doctor in training who committed the gravest of medical sins. Our lawyer was intense. The barrage of questions put to the young unapologetic doctor were non-stop. The answers were not satisfactory to our lawyer, or to the jury, or so it seemed to me.

The tension in the Court room was palpable and created knots in my stomach. The defense attorney was gentlemanly and put on airs. In my book he was a phony and I was hoping the jury would see through it.

Closing arguments came after three weeks of trial. I managed to arrive just as the trial resumed that day. I rushed from school to be in Court with my mom. What I witnessed that day caused me to apply to law school. Before that day, I was a biology major and was intent upon applying to medical school. You see, my father was a doctor and most of my family are doctors. I thought that was the path I'd naturally take. Not after witnes

e jury would see through it.

Closing arguments came after three weeks of trial. I managed to arrive just as the trial resumed that day. I rushed from school to be in Court with my mom. What I witnessed that day caused me to apply to law school. Before that day, I was a biology major and was intent upon applying to medical school. You see, my father was a doctor and most of my family are doctors. I thought that was the path I'd naturally take. Not after witnessing closing remarks.

It is now twenty three years later and I vividly remember the day our famous lawyer made his closing remarks to the jury hearing our malpractice case. Neither the lawyer or my mother are alive today, but my memory of that trial lives on till today.

I remember most clearly the accusations directed at the young inexperienced doctor. I saw his red face and neck. I wanted to reach across the aisle of the courtroom and pummel him with my fists. That would be true justice! That would satisfy my anger that had built up for years waiting for this disputed case to come up for trial. Fortunately for the doctor, my senses overcame my desires to quash this little bug. He never knew what I wanted to do to him that day.

On that day, I realized that this lawyer- this ordinary looking, gray-haired man, who had accomplished great things legal- was telling a story so simple and clear that I realized anyone could do this. That day, I decided to become a lawyer.

One would think that with such a great lawyer anything would be possible. Unfortunately for my family, the results were not what we would have hoped. Despite this second loss, the first being losing my dad, I picked myself off and sent out those law school applications. I had one thing on my mind...to become a trial lawyer.

I've been a medical malpractice trial lawyer for the past 17 years now. The first 4 years as a defense lawyer representing doctors, hospitals and folks sued in accident cases. The next 13 years I spent representing injured victims in their quest for justice. When asked by a colleague which I prefer, representing injured victims or the wrongdoing doctor, my answer has always been clear...the injured victim.

My experience helped me understand what injured people have endured. It has allowed me to be more compassionate about the people