Effective communication, particularly for physicians reaching across cultures, is essential for compassionate patient care and nurturing relationships with peers, patient families and culturally diverse communities. For Margaret Giggey, a medical student with a sincere desire to connect with and serve others, the fact she is Hard of Hearing (HOH) helps drive her mission to find smart, creative ways to communicate with insight, empathy and dignity.

In Miss Giggey’s winning entry for PracticeLink’s Spring 2025 First Practice Fund, she described a lifelong calling to medicine, rooted in an emotional and inspiring moment from her youth. Her story impressed the judges as authentic and evolving. 

According to the team of judges, Miss Giggey exemplifies respect, compassion and the humanistic side of care, particularly relevant to osteopathic principles. She doesn’t just aspire to serve; she’s already taking action in advocacy, education and systems change. 

PL: Why did you enter medicine? 

Margaret Giggey, OMS III: My desire to become a doctor has been an evolutionary process from middle school to college. I can remember the very first moment I thought about going into the field of medicine.

It all started in seventh grade. I was being myself: short, skinny but athletic, and mousy looking. My glasses were too large and would slip off my face, and my teeth were in the early stages of getting braces. I was the “quiet, smart girl.” Whenever someone beat me with a grade, they’d gloat about it. But it was in seventh grade where I found the beginning of my dream.

I sat at the black lab table in the very front of the room. We all listened to the Channel One news drone on. I normally paid very little attention to it, but that day I had an epiphany. The screen’s pixels showed me a neonatal intern standing over a precious, tiny baby with wires snaking around her limbs and a protective mask over her eyes. The baby was the tiniest newborn I had ever seen. I sat there in awed silence while all my other classmates chatted incessantly behind me. That was it. That was what became my dream. It has now become my goal.

Now I have tried and failed to find that video of the neonatal intern despite all the keywords in the world I could come up with. I do not think I would even recognize it if I saw it again, but I will forever remember that feeling of awe, not just over the newborn, but also over the health care professional. I was captivated by the person behind the care and had never even known such a profession in neonatology existed at 13 years of age. I continued to foster my passion in high school with the biomedical pathway.

A group of us crowded around the double doors of the classroom closet. Being short and in the back, it was difficult for me to view the scene, but when the students parted, I could see it—a fake dead body complete with stew throw up, food coloring blood splatter, shattered glass, overturned furniture and small placebo pills strategically placed on a white tarp. Every year new students in the Biomedical Science pathway walk in on Anna Garcia in a different medical tragedy. Our goal: to look for clues, view autopsy reports, and research diseases in her medical records. By the end of the year, we found cause of death: a brain aneurism from diabetic complications. In just one year of the pathway, I learned about type one diabetes, sickle cell disease, the heart, and medical treatments. I became fascinated by all things medical.

I had only just started to delve into my curiosity, and college allowed me to continuously explore aspects of this new world. I even discovered medical genetics, sign language and Deaf Studies due to my sensorineural hearing loss. I am committed to applying these skills in my future profession. My interests have also taken me to South Africa where I studied and learned from a local doctor to discover pertinent negatives and avoid falling in love with a diagnosis. It was in South Africa where I found that fostering connections regardless of language enhances the human experience.

The Creche is a small day care center in the Elgin farming community. We walked into the main room as little heads turned to smile at us and start asking questions in Afrikaans—they had not yet learned English which created a language barrier. 

In South Africa, English is one of 11 official languages. Many children learn English as their first language, however around 80% of Native children transition to English as a second language in Grade 4, according to the International Association for the Evaluation of Educational Achievement.

To approach the challenge, I came up with a copycat game that involved drumming on empty puzzle boxes with a young boy. Every time he or I got the rhythm right we would high five or do this cute little hook thumb game. I even attempted to show him a thumb war using a classmate as my example, but he preferred his version. The experience was reminiscent of my American Sign Language (ASL) class. Communication does not always have to be through spoken language. Interactions can also occur through body language, facial expressions, and shared interests. 

The boy enjoyed creating rhythms and teasing me when I got it wrong, and his beautiful laughter made the effort of connection worth it.

What drives me to pursue medicine? It is hard to put a finger on it and say, “This is it. This is the reason I want to become a medical professional,” because it is a continual process of discovery to find what I love and enjoy. I want to become a doctor for the curiosity with the human body—the behind-the-scenes genetic players, the outward expression and the treatments; the language and communication—how doctors interact with patients and create connections; and the joy—the ability to create an impact in even a single person’s life. I want to be a doctor for the challenge, the mystery of discovering what is amiss and ultimately to engage with people. I cannot see myself doing anything else.

I am still short, but my glasses fit my face, my teeth are straight and I no longer look mousy. I have learned confidence, and I am ready to walk proudly into the world representing myself and the medical field at large. I will persevere until I make my developing dream into a reality, so throw me everything you have got because I know I can withstand it and make a difference.

PL: How have you demonstrated professionalism in your medical training?

MG: I consistently demonstrate respect by treating both patients and colleagues with empathy and dignity, actively listening to their concerns and validating their experiences. I strongly believe in advocating for my patients, ensuring their voices are heard and their needs addressed—especially when they are vulnerable.

During one of my rotations, I encountered a particularly anxious, hard-of-hearing patient. She was struggling to hear the physician and asked several questions that were inadvertently left unanswered due to the complexity of the case. Although the doctor reassured her that he would address everything by the end of the visit, her anxiety visibly increased with each passing minute. While waiting for the doctor to return, I seized the opportunity to check in with her. I sat down, made sure to face her so she could read my lips and noticed she was using some fingerspelling and mimicking our speech movements. When I asked, she explained she was learning fingerspelling but did not know American Sign Language.

She asked about her PT and PTT blood levels, so I calmly explained that these labs are used in preparation for surgery. When she inquired about transfusions, I reassured her the lab results would help determine if one might be necessary. Before leaving the room, she asked if the door could remain slightly open due to PTSD from childhood experiences. I told her she could let me know when she felt comfortable, and slowly closed the door until she said to stop. I could see this small gesture helped alleviate some of her anxiety. Moments like these reinforce my belief that respect is rooted in presence, listening and compassion.

I also demonstrate respect for patient autonomy by ensuring clear communication, encouraging informed decision-making and honoring patients’ values and preferences. My goal is to empower patients to take an active role in their care while feeling seen and supported throughout the process.

Reliability is another core value I bring to every clinical rotation. I consistently arrive early—usually by 15–20 minutes—prepared and ready to engage. I hold myself accountable and strive to earn the trust of my preceptors through my work ethic and dedication to learning. During my Pediatrics rotation, for example, my preceptor was initially cautious, as pediatricians often are when it comes to the care of their youngest patients. For the first week, I observed. As he saw my genuine enthusiasm and commitment to Pediatrics, he gradually gave me more responsibility, eventually allowing me to see patients on my own. He came to recognize I was deeply invested in learning and could be trusted with the care of his patients.

Above all, I am committed to treating each patient holistically—the D.O. (osteopathic) way. I recognize that behind every diagnosis is a person with a unique story, background and set of needs. I strive to treat not just the disease, but the whole person, taking into account their lifestyle, emotional well-being and social circumstances. I make it a priority to ensure patients feel comfortable, fully understand their care and know that I am doing everything possible to support their recovery.

PL: How have you built and utilized strong interpersonal and communication skills in your training?

MG: Throughout medical school, I’ve had formal training in interpersonal and communication skills, especially through working with standardized patients and learning to speak the language of medicine. However, these skills truly came to life during my third-year clinical rotations, when I had the opportunity to interact with real patients—each with unique needs, emotions and ways of understanding their health. One experience in particular, during my Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) rotation, stands out as a meaningful example of how I have built and utilized these skills.

A six-year-old girl came into the clinic with a chief complaint of tonsillar hypertrophy. From the moment I greeted her with a cheerful, “How are you doing, little lady?” I focused on building rapport and making her feel at ease. She smiled brightly and said she was doing well. When I asked if she knew why she was visiting the doctor, she confidently replied, “I have big tonsils.” I then asked if she knew what tonsils were. When she shook her head, I used a diagram to show where they’re located, explaining them as “two small balls at the back of your throat that help keep you from getting sick.” She lit up with curiosity, pointing to her throat and asking questions.

Throughout, I tailored my language and explanations to her level of understanding, ensuring she felt included and heard. I asked her about symptoms like snoring and sore throats, and she giggled when she said she sometimes wakes up her brother. When she wasn’t sure of an answer, her grandmother stepped in, and I made sure to include both of them in the conversation. During the physical exam, I carefully explained each step to help her feel comfortable and safe. Afterward, her grandmother told me how much the girl had enjoyed our interaction.

This experience reinforced how essential it is to meet patients—especially children—where they are. Building strong communication with pediatric patients involves identifying knowledge gaps, adjusting language appropriately and creating a safe space for them to engage. It’s not just about gathering information; it’s about empowering children to participate in their care, helping them feel valued and modeling healthy communication.

As someone passionate about pediatrics, I strive to create these connections with every young patient. By encouraging children to speak for themselves and ask questions, I’m not only building trust—I’m also helping them develop their own interpersonal and communication skills. These moments are some of the most rewarding in my training and have solidified my commitment to becoming a compassionate, communicative and empowering pediatrician.

PL: What are your career goals and how will the First Practice Fund help you achieve them?

MG: When I was five, I outsmarted a hearing test. I mimicked other kids, raising my hand whenever I saw the administrator press the red button… but I only heard the beeps half the time. A year later, I officially failed the test and left the audiologist’s office with two ear-shaped molds and a new identity: a child with hearing loss.

I grew up learning to explain my hearing loss in simple terms—telling others I had “80% of the hearing” they did. But as I got older, I began seeking more than just understanding—I wanted connection. In high school, I learned about audiograms and inner ear hair cells. In college, I attended a genetic hearing loss conference and completed an honors thesis analyzing the size of a gene deletion causing deafness. Still, science alone couldn’t explain what it meant to live in the space between Deaf and hearing worlds.

As a Hard of Hearing (HOH) individual, I am both “disabled” and “not deaf enough.” I live at the intersection of two communities and I’ve come to see myself as a bridge between them. I pursued a Deaf Studies minor to learn American Sign Language (ASL) and better understand Deaf Culture. These experiences shaped my career goal: to become a pediatrician who advocates for Deaf and HOH children and their families.

Ninety percent of deaf children are born to hearing parents who often lack cultural awareness and access to visual language. I want to change that. I aim to catch hearing loss early, promote ASL accessibility and connect families with Deaf mentors. Through seminars on Deaf patient-centered care and my work at the Deaf Independent Living Association, I’ve prepared myself to help parents make informed, inclusive choices.

At WVSOM, I’ve led efforts to bring Deaf/HOH cultural competency into the curriculum and hosted an ASL learning group. After three years we finally secured funding to bring in Corey Axelrod, a Deaf leader, to speak on cultural awareness. These initiatives have shown I don’t need to wait until I become a physician to make a difference—I can advocate and educate now.

Wherever I ultimately practice—whether in Outpatient Pediatrics, Neonatology or Clinical Genetics—I will continue working to improve care for the Deaf community. The First Practice Fund will help me take this mission into residency and beyond by supporting opportunities to build ASL-accessible materials, engage in Deaf-centered clinical experiences and advocate for inclusive practices in medicine. With this support, I will be better equipped to serve as a compassionate, culturally responsive physician who bridges the gap for Deaf and HOH children and families.