In the Summer of 2006, David Berry was living under an I-10 overpass in South Louisiana. Seven years prior to being homeless, after graduating from Tulane Medical School, he worked as a resident at Baton Rouge General Hospital; his wife was studying neonatology in post-graduate studies at Tulane’s medical school. On March 15, 1998, they had our first child — a daughter we named Hailey. They both loved her with every ounce of our being. Ten months later, on January 3, 1999, Hailey died of a rare childhood illness. David and his wife were holding her when she took her final breath. Hailey’s death sent David spiraling into an addiction that ultimately led to a felony arrest for falsifying prescriptions (to support hi opiate dependence); rehab at the Betty Ford Center (alongside a host of famous, and ignoble, characters); a brief career in film (including the Coolio short, I Don’t Wanna Die); two more stints in rehab; electroshock therapy; estrangement from his wife and parents; loss of all assets; divorce; and, ultimately, homelessness. For four years, he lived in and walked among the underbelly of American culture — drug addicts, prostitutes, gang members, homeless men and women, and professionals who had fallen from grace. He’d lost his physicians license, but he still retained my skills in emergency medicine — particularly treating trauma. David found himself as a first responder to these outcasts — reviving a meth dealer who dropped dead in front of him; diagnosing a fellow addict’s girlfriends’ acute appendicitis in time to prevent her death; and giving life-saving instructions on the treatment of gunshot wounds. A fortuitous 2006 appointment with a physician, who also happened to be an addiction specialist, led to a medical miracle. He prescribed a new drug called Suboxone. The treatment isn’t for everyone, but after David’s first dose, His cravings for opiates — and all other narcotics — disappeared. That course of treatment was the beginning of his journey back. His efforts to regain medical licensure took David to the notorious Angola Prison (treating infamous convicts, and working alongside former Heisman trophy-winner — and convicted counterfeiter — Billy Cannon); a weight loss clinics that hired other physicians on probation (including one “recovering physician” who moved from exam room to exam room leaping like a frog); a law firm owned by Richard “One Call, That’s All” Schwartz (an attorney who was featured on billboards across the state advertising to injured parties hoping for insurance settlements) who wanted David to access the viability of cases; a corrupt, for-profit college (also owned by a physician who had lost her license) where he taught science classes to young women seeking a “medical assistants” license; a truck driving school where he conducted exams on drivers needing to pass a physical in order to get their DOT license; a soup kitchen serving the homeless and downtrodden in Jackson, Mississippi; and ultimately, in rural Mississippi emergency rooms where he treated gunshot victims, children in a school bus that had been hit head on by an 18-wheeler, and an 800 pound-woman who he had to send to the Memphis Zoo for a CAT scan (typically reserved for hippos). David received his medical license on May 4, 2010, but he continued to battle with individuals who hindered my efforts to practice medicine without supervision, including the director of the state’s re-admittance processes. During his tenure, David was subjected to 500+ random drug tests (he passed each one) but he refused to advocate for David release from supervision. In 2019, David was elected for a two-year term as chief of staff at Tallahatchie General Hospital in Charleston, Mississippi, and he currently serve as director of emergency medicine.