Havana, CUBA — In 2000, Teresa Glover was doing that “young twenties thing,” as she put it. She worked at Fidelity investments, lived in Castle Hill with her boyfriend, and had a gym membership.

She gave it all up a year later for late nights in emergency rooms and a dormitory wing split with 11 other women.

Oh, and all this was in Cuba.

Glover joined the inaugural class of Americans studying at the Latin American Medical School in Havana. The six-year program trains students from around the world to serve as doctors in low-income communities. Glover, a former Tracey Towers resident, had to forfeit American comforts and her cosmopolitan lifestyle. But the program’s price tag — free — made it irresistible.

“I can’t complain,” said Glover, 29, as she sat in the warm Cuban sun, in her white medical coat, last month. “My expenses in my whole six years might not even add up to one year of medical school at home.”

Going to a developing country to learn medicine might seem strange, but Cuba boasts a highly advanced health care system. After free schooling, doctors are fed into a free medical system that prioritizes local, preventative care.

“It’s quite striking to see a system where there are no barriers to access,” said Matt Anderson, a Bronx family doctor who took part in a medical delegation to Cuba last month. “You really have the feeling that the public health authorities want the people in Cuba to be healthy.”

All that investment has yielded dramatic results. “Cuba has health indicators that are comparable to those of developed nations,” Anderson said.

Giving Americans, and particularly racial minorities, an opportunity to learn from Cuba’s medical achievements is the program’s raison d’etre. Black Congressional Caucus members, including Congressman José Serrano, hatched the partnership with the Cuban government in 2000 to address the lack of diversity among American physicians. Only 6 percent of U.S. doctors are black, Hispanic or Native American, according to a 2004 study.

Melissa Barber, another Bronxite, heard about the program the day before the deadline. She dropped everything for the opportunity.

“My uncle said I was crazy, but I knew this was for me,” said Barber, 26, who is from Morris Heights. “I felt it in my heart.”

Barber was further encouraged after consulting doctors who had attended medical workshops in Cuba. “They said I’ll be doing flips and circles around [American] students,” she said.

Over 80 Americans are now enrolled in the program, which is administered by Pastors for Peace, a New York City-based nonprofit. The initiative was almost killed in 2004 when travel restrictions to Cuba were tightened by the Bush administration. It was saved by Caucus members.

Glover is quite aware of the political divide between the two countries, but she strictly focuses on studying. “Being here is a political statement, but I didn’t come to go to rallies,” she said.

During their studies, students delve into the sciences before rotating through different specialties — ranging from pediatrics to holistic medicine — and treating patients at a Havana hospital. The sprawling medical campus, where they work and live, features buildings in various stages of repair and decay. As in most parts of Cuban life, the embargo forces students to be resourceful. “You learn that if you don’t have this [medical supply], you use something else,” Barber said.

The program emphasizes local practice. Cuba has established hundreds of neighborhood clinics as part of its preventative approach to medicine. Family doctors in Havana tend to cover a four-block radius (roughly 500 to 800 people). Providers are expected to not just treat patients, but also document their total health picture.

“I had to know how many people are pregnant, how many have animals, if they are vaccinated,” Barber said. “It’s very intimate.”

So is the living situation for students. “You’re lucky to have a little foot locker,” said Glover about their dorm room, which features bunks beds separated by a narrow sliver of space.

The lack of privacy given to the students, whose progress and whereabouts are carefully monitored, can feel claustrophobic. “Your teachers want to know when you’ve gone to the gynecologist,” Barber joked.

Over the six years, when the pain of missing family and favorite foods swelled, Glover toyed with quitting. She wasn’t alone — many of her original classmates have left. But Glover is proud of her education and the ways she handled her blue moods.

“I live in the ER,” said Glover, who thrives on patient contact. “You find your way to cope.”

Carmen Gonzalez, one of Glover’s former patients, is glad she did. “She’s very caring,” said Gonzalez, 66, who greeted her with a big hug.

After they graduate this year, Glover hopes for a residency at Bronx Lebanon Hospital, while Barber wants to start in family practice. Both strive to work where basic health services are needed.

“[Students] know they’re not going to be at the Ritz Carlton when they go home,” Barber said. “You take away the attitude that you’re here to help.”