Dr. Vincent DeGennaro Jr. '02 | Aug. 21, 2013 | Notre Dame Magazine
Most of the people at the Dominican embassy started lining up at 4 a.m., but some of them had even been there since the day before. We rolled up at 8 a.m., expecting the staff to open the doors half an hour later. Daniel, a 15-year-old boy with a massive throat tumor, and his mother, dismounted from the truck and followed my lead. I feigned that we had no desire to cut the line by milling about on the sidewalk adjacent to the line, but in reality I was looking for an in as I handed Daniel and his mother their passports. I fumbled in my backpack for my stethoscope, draping it around my neck even though I had no intention of examining a patient while waiting in line — the stethoscope commands access to all sorts of places that I wouldn’t normally be welcomed in. I approached the only other two white people in line and asked in Spanish how we might get a medical visa, but they informed that they hadn’t had any luck getting a visa the day before and now had returned to attempt again.