As a child growing up in Romania, I was endlessly fascinated by the human body. While other kids played outside, I would sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by library borrowed anatomy books, tracing the delicate illustrations of veins and organs as if they held the secrets to life itself. No one in my family worked in medicine—my mother hoped I’d choose finance, thinking it would be easier—but I knew from a young age that my purpose was to help people heal. I loved learning, I loved science, and I was in awe of the ways the body could repair itself. To me, there was no greater gift to give someone than health.

Becoming a surgeon was the fulfillment of my childhood dream. I loved the precision, the problem-solving, and the ability to fix something tangible. It was straightforward—the body presented a problem, and I provided the solution. But everything I believed about medicine changed the moment I became a patient myself.

When my first son was born, what started as a normal delivery turned into an emergency C-section. Suddenly, I was on the other side of care—vulnerable, uncertain, and searching for healing that went beyond the incision on my body. At my six-weeks checkup, I was told I was “healed,” yet I didn’t feel whole. That experience opened my eyes to something I had never been taught in medical school: that healing is far more complex than physical recovery.

That realization stayed with me. It changed how I listened, how I practiced, and eventually, how I defined medicine itself. When my family and I immigrated to the United States, I carried that conviction with me. I studied English at night while my baby slept, dictionary in hand, determined to rebuild my career. In time, I completed my U.S. medical exams, matched into Internal Medicine at Rochester General Hospital, and was chosen by my peers to serve as Chief Resident.

Over time, I became increasingly aware of the limitations of corporate medicine. I found myself spending more and more hours behind a computer, meeting billing metrics and documentation requirements instead of meeting the needs of my patients. On average, I had about seven minutes face-to-face with each person. That wasn’t the kind of doctor I set out to be.

So, when I discovered the Direct Primary Care (DPC) model, I knew immediately that this was the answer. DPC allows me to practice medicine the way it was always meant to be—directly with my patients, without interference from insurance companies or corporate systems. It allows time for real conversations, prevention-focused care, and genuine connection.

In January 2022, I founded Athena Direct Primary Care & Lifestyle Medicine, the first DPC practice in the Rochester NY metropolitan area, to restore the patient-physician relationship and return medicine to its roots: one human caring for another. Here, I can focus on what truly matters—prevention, presence, and partnership. Every visit is unhurried. Every plan is personal.

As a triple board-certified physician in Internal Medicine, Lifestyle Medicine, and Menopause, I combine evidence-based medicine with lifestyle interventions—nutrition, movement, sleep, stress management, and emotional wellbeing—to help patients achieve lifelong health.

Through Athena DPC, I’m living the purpose that first led me to medicine: to help people not just get well, but stay well—to restore the art of medicine.

- Dr. Laura Petrescu