I’ve never been satisfied with surfaces. What others call “enough” only makes me curious about what lies beneath—the thought before the action, the mercy inside the motion. That hunger has carried me through years compressed into months, mistakes that became mentors, and moments that taught me the difference between speed and direction.
Medicine called to me not because it promised certainty, but because it demanded sincerity. It asks the same questions I’ve wrestled with all my life: How do you balance precision with compassion? How do you serve without losing yourself? How do you keep your heart soft in a system that rewards hardness?
I study the anatomy of more than the body. I study the anatomy of patience, gratitude, ambition, restraint—the systems that make a person whole. My education is formal, but my formation is spiritual. Both have their cadavers. Both have their resurrections.
Faith keeps me centered. It reminds me that every delay, encounter, and detour has purpose even when I don’t see it. Every lecture, every long night, every unexpected meeting is a piece of design. I write to trace that pattern, to make sense of what tests me and what heals me. Writing is how I learn the medicine of meaning.
I’m not here to perform polish. I’m here to document process. What I learn in the lab I apply to the heart.
What I learn in hardship I bring back to the classroom. The goal isn’t perfection—it’s integration.
If you’ve found your way here, you’re likely looking for the same thing I am: a way to live with depth, to keep faith alive in the details, to build something that outlives the noise.
Welcome.
This is DabbaghMed—where medicine meets mercy, and where every test is a lesson in becoming.
