"It used to be part of my identity. Now it’s just a part of my story."
Joseph didn’t hesitate when he said this. There’s a kind of quiet strength in the way he talks about his experiences, with tones of candor and resilience.
Many kids grow up knowing what they want to do with their lives, and for Joseph, that was soccer. Committing to college for this sport that he loved had always been the plan. Practices after school for hours each day. Training sessions right after. Weekend games. 15-20 hours a week. Play. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. “That’s what I lived for,” he said, so when the diagnosis came, letting go of that future was devastating.
When Joseph was first diagnosed at 16, everything changed. The sport he loved, the future he had imagined, the way people looked at him, all of it shifted. The body he had trained and trusted suddenly became something he had to monitor, limit, and protect.
Joseph’s diagnosis wasn’t sudden, but it was inexplicable at first. Heart murmurs had been a common occurrence throughout his life, but in the months prior to his diagnosis, he found them to be more intense. These palpitations were coupled with hemiplegic migraines, and this is when Joseph first went into the hospital. Hemiplegic migraines can mimic the symptoms of a stroke, causing headaches and weakness in the body. So, while the initial assumption was that his symptoms were neurological, it was really cardiovascular, which spurred a multitude of cardiac testing over several weeks.
Joseph describes this period of ambiguity with mixed feelings. He knew that going to all these appointments was how they’d figure out what was wrong. But at the same time, it meant facing the possibility that something was wrong. And that’s daunting. “Going to appointments, knowing there’s something wrong with you… It’s scary.” And before Joseph knew it, at the next appointment, the cardiologist walked in, sat down with him and his parents, and said, “I have some very heavy news to tell you.” You don’t expect it. You don’t imagine what might come next. But that news was the diagnosis of his heart condition.
Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. A congenital heart disease.
In patients with HCM, the heart muscle becomes abnormally thick, making it harder for the heart to pump blood. For Joseph, this explained the heart murmurs, palpitations, headaches, and weaknesses he had been experiencing. But the hardest part wasn’t the symptoms; it was what HCM took away. The Journal of the American College of Cardiology highlights the risks of fainting, arrhythmias, and even sudden cardiac arrest during intense physical activity. So, this meant letting go of soccer. The sport he loved, the game that had always been part of him, was now suddenly off-limits.
Following the diagnosis, he recalls, "I think it was harder for [my parents] because they knew that this was something I worked hard for.” Joseph remembers his mom crying more than he did. After working his whole life, having to stop wasn’t easy. For about two months, he kept playing soccer, even as the palpitations continued. It wasn’t until they got a second opinion from a cardiologist at Stanford that the reality fully set in.
"That was the moment I realized, damn, I’m really not going to play anymore."
Even though HCM isn’t a ticket to a sedentary life, Joseph felt the shift in other ways. "I felt like people saw me differently. Or maybe I just felt different." It was isolating, especially as his teammates continued to play the sport he couldn’t. “I remember a friend asking if I couldn’t play anymore,” he said. “I couldn’t even answer, I just started crying in the backseat.” It wasn’t just about soccer, it was about losing a huge part of who he was.
Part of this isolation came from how people misunderstood what his condition meant, not just in the jokes his friends made, but more broadly in how HCM is often portrayed. For example, in One Tree Hill, Lucas Scott’s character hides his HCM diagnosis to keep playing basketball until he collapses on the court. These kinds of portrayals make it seem like you either push through and risk your health or give everything up entirely. But for Joseph, it wasn’t that simple. “There’s this idea that if something is wrong with your heart, everything else must be wrong too,” he said. “Like you can’t be active or live normally. But that’s not always true. There’s always that part of me that has to hold back, but it doesn’t have to define me.”
“There’s this idea that if something is wrong with your heart, everything else must be wrong too,”
Finding new ways to stay active, he started going to the gym and joined the weightlifting club in college. In soccer, every sprint, every kick, every goal, carried a risk. But weightlifting gave him back control. “I don’t feel like I’m about to explode every time I lift,” he said. In many ways, it’s filled the space that soccer once held.
As his focus shifted away from the field, Joseph found space to explore new goals. “I think I was very good at pivoting my goals in life. Before that, everything was about soccer.” Not being able to play anymore allowed Joseph to focus on academics instead. Still driven, just differently. “That’s why I’m here.” Now a first-year premedical student studying Physiological Sciences at UCLA, Joseph looks back and realizes that without the diagnosis, he may never have ended up as a Bruin at all, with new passions, new opportunities, and a path in healthcare he wouldn’t have found otherwise.
Being a patient gave him a unique perspective he carries into his own goals as a future physician. Dr. Wright became more than just his doctor–he was a mentor, someone who encouraged him and saw him beyond his diagnosis. Joseph went on to shadow Dr. Wright, working in the same rooms where he himself once sat as a patient. “It was kind of full circle,” he said. “I was sitting in that chair not too long ago, and now I was watching how he thinks when diagnosing patients.” Reflecting on his own experiences as a patient, he also recalls moments with doctors who made him feel seen, heard, and comforted. These instances taught him the kind of doctor he wants to be: not just knowledgeable, but compassionate and empathetic.
Joseph’s relationship with his diagnosis has changed with time. “I don’t think about it every day anymore,” he said. “It’s always there, but lately it’s just been in the back of my mind.” At first, the diagnosis dictated his life. But now, it’s just one piece of his story. He hardly brings it up unless it’s relevant. “If someone invites me on a run, I’ll say something. Otherwise, I don’t really mention it.” And this isn’t secrecy. It’s just not his whole story.
Because there’s so much more to an HCM patient than just their disease. For Joseph, he’s found new ways to stay active, reshaped his identity, and redirected his goals. But most importantly, he’s accepted his limits while still moving forward.
"It’s a part of my story and it always will be, it’s just not the whole story…because HCM is just something I have, not something that has me."
"It’s a part of my story and it always will be, it’s just not the whole story…because HCM is just something I have, not something that has me."