Francesca Bartolozzi

I'm sitting at my desk at the hospital in Florence, Italy. When my father died, I had his desk shipped from Calabria, a poor region of southern Italy. I emigrated to study and had great expectations when my parents accompanied me to a northbound train. My father's words are still impressed in my mind: You must use your talents. Study. When you're a doctor, you must work day and night to cure the sick. “You must” was my father's credo and his blessing.