“Dr.” — Two Letters. One Lifetime of Meaning

 “Dr.” — Two Letters. One Lifetime of Meaning

Every year on Doctor’s Day, I take a moment to reflect on the journey that led me here - not just the years of study, the relentless night shifts, the sacrifices, or the clinical milestones. But the real beginning of it all: a dream planted in me by my mother.

To the world, the letters “Dr.” before my name are a mark of achievement - a badge earned through hard work and perseverance. But to me, they represent something far more intimate and enduring: my mum’s belief in me before I believed in myself.

This is not just a Doctor’s Day tribute. It’s a story of maternal mentorship, the invisible threads of legacy, and the way one woman’s dream became the foundation of another’s calling. And yes, I do know Doctors Day is over and this whole blog started as a Doctor’s Day awakening. 

I didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming a doctor. I didn’t play with stethoscopes or declare my future profession with certainty in school. In fact, I was full of questions, pulled in a dozen directions, uncertain about what I was meant to do.

But my mother - she knew.

Long before I could articulate it, she saw in me a healer. A nurturer. Someone capable of holding both science and soul in one steady hand. She didn’t say it often, but she planted little seeds. Her words were soft, but consistent:

“You’d make a wonderful doctor, you know.”

“You’re good with people. That matters more than you think.”

It wasn’t pressure. It was belief. A mother’s quiet intuition that her daughter was meant to heal.

Medical college is often portrayed as a grind - sleepless nights, endless exams, intense competition. And yes, it was all of that. But for me, it was also a process of transformation. Not just into a physician, but into the woman my mother always believed I could be.

I remember long study nights where my mind faltered, but her words echoed louder than my self-doubt. I remember days of clinical training that felt emotionally overwhelming, only to hear her calm encouragement: “You were made for this.”

She went through those exams with me, I still remember her sitting with me, eyes wide open, making me coffee in the middle of the night (and for every night I stayed awake) making it to my exams - Anatomy, Physiology, Biochemistry. 

When I graduated and first introduced myself as “Dr. Santoshi,” I felt the weight of those two letters — not in exhaustion, but in gratitude. I didn’t get here alone. I was carried by my mother’s faith, her sacrifices, and her unwavering support.

Today, I run an integrative women’s health clinic - a space dedicated to not just treating illness, but nurturing the whole person. My work involves supporting women as they create and nurture life, guiding them through fertility journeys, pregnancy, postpartum transitions, hormonal shifts, and emotional well-being.

It’s not just about lab results or prescriptions - it’s about presence, empathy, and listening. About understanding that a woman’s health is not just physical, but mental, emotional, and spiritual.

When I step into my clinic, I often pause at the door. I imagine her standing beside me - proud, warm, smiling. The ‘DR’ I carry before my name, isn’t mine alone. It’s the one she envisioned years ago, long before I believed I could earn it.

She dreamed it, and I built it. She planted the seed, and I helped it bloom. And now, every patient I see, every mother I support - carries a piece of her dream forward.

Not every mother-daughter relationship is the same. But if there’s one universal truth I’ve come to understand, it’s this: Every daughter has her share of love-hate relationship with her mum, it always ends with a heart that can’t contain the love and hardly remember the hate when mum leaves. 

My mother never forced a career path. She simply created space for me to explore, to evolve, and to find purpose. In doing so, she taught me one of the greatest lessons I now pass on to my patients:

Healing doesn’t start with medicine. It starts with belief.

Her Absence, Her Presence

My mother isn’t physically here anymore. Her absence is something I carry with me every day — in the quiet between appointments, in the first cries of a newborn I help deliver, in the comfort I offer to another mother navigating loss or uncertainty.

But her presence? It’s everywhere. It’s in the way I speak to patients. It’s in the structure of my clinic. It’s in the fierce empathy I bring to every consultation. I’ve grown more fond of her and her love, in recent times, much more than I could ever imagine. They say it gets easier with time. For me it was easier in the beginning, but it’s starting to grow deeper now. 

Doctor’s Day often comes with bouquets, heartfelt messages, and recognition from colleagues and patients. And while I’m deeply grateful for the appreciation, this day means something different to me.

It’s not about me.

It’s about her.

This Ones for You, Amma

To my Mum:

I miss you in ways I can’t put into words.

I love you beyond feeling, beyond thought.

And this white coat? This life I’ve built?

It’s yours as much as mine.

This one’s for you, Amma. ♥️

This Doctor’s Day, I want to extend my gratitude not just to my own mother, but to all the women who believe in other women. The ones who:

See potential before it’s visible

Offer encouragement instead of expectation

Lead quietly, but with fierce love

Raise daughters who change the world in their own way

You are the silent architects of progress. You are the roots beneath the white coats, the stethoscopes, the breakthroughs.

Whether you’re a teacher, mentor, sister, friend, or colleague - your belief can change someone’s life. Never underestimate the power of one woman telling another, “You can do this.”

The path to becoming a doctor is paved with textbooks, exams, and training. But for many of us, it’s also paved with unseen love, sacrifices quietly made, and faith passed from one woman to another.

“Dr.” may only be two letters - but behind them lies an entire lifetime of meaning.

So this Doctor’s Day, while I receive gratitude from my patients and peers, I want to return all of it to the woman who made it possible.

To my mum.

To your mum.

To every woman who saw greatness before it bloomed.

If you’re reading this and you’re a mother, a mentor, or a woman who believes in others - know this:

You are a healer too.

Even if you never wear a white coat.

Even if you never enter a clinic.

Because belief heals. And love heals. And faith? It creates miracles.