Prompt:Describe the path that brought you to your current interest in the health professions. Give a brief personal history, describing your previous career (or career goals), explaining why you have decided to pursue professional training in the healthcare field. This should include a description of previous experience in health care; please be specific about the amount of time spent (either paid or volunteer).
My path towards medicine started at the age of seven with a near-fatal car accident. The damage to the car was so extensive that the front wheel rolled off and into our cul-de-sac. The wreck was not a result of drowsiness, distraction, or mechanical failure-it was a result of Becky, the neighborhood menace. At the pinnacle of her reign of terror, she decided my beloved remote-controlled car looked more like the cross between a pińata and a soccer ball. After a sequence of punts and blows the future of my little car was in jeopardy and it seemed the only path it would travel would be towards little remote-controlled car heaven.
To me the trampling of my favorite toy was devastating. I gathered the broken remains of my little car-tears streaming down my face-and headed home. It might have been from the many hours beside my father as he repaired the washing machine, helped the neighbors change their engine oil, or the other countless other repairs he did; but I was not hesitant disassemble my toy car. I climbed onto the workbench and pulled some screwdrivers out of the toolbox. Seeing my car in tiny pieces made me sad yet fascinated me-every gear, pulley, pivot, and motor. How did it fit together? How did it all work? I had no clue how to put it back together, but with fervor, ingenuity, and some superglue the sound transformed from a faint "eeeee" to the familiar "vroom." Thrilled with my success, I called myself "Robinson Crusoe, the fix-it-man."
This small success repairing my broken car gave me courage to attempt bigger projects. Driven by a desire to see how things worked, I would find broken things around the house to dismantle and repair. It wasn't until high school that I realized there were some things that I could not fix on my own. While preparing for the regional wrestling tournament my freshman year, I heard a noise similar to the sound of a carrot snapping in two. My training partner had accidentally fractured my tibia. I was rushed to the local hospital where a compassionate doctor warmly greeted me, set my broken leg, and reassured me everything was going to be okay. Over the next three months my leg healed and I reflected upon the role the doctor played in my recovery. Intrigued by the doctor's role in my recovery, I shadowed a group of physicians for my high school senior project. For nearly one hundred hours I watched doctors improve the lives of patients by performing procedures the patient could not do on their own. How doctors skillfully mend broken bones and other ailing bodies sparked a fascination in science and the complexity of the human body.
I decided to hone my other fixing skills in preparation to one day become a doctor myself. I learned to diagnose automobile problems in addition to working as a bicycle mechanic. Both of these experiences helped me feel the gratification that comes from helping someone in need. But more importantly, while working on cars and bikes I reflected on the similarities to the human body. A faulty piece or small misalignment could hamper the performance of the object as a whole. This helped me realize the importance of each small part of the human body. During college I was thrilled as I studied science and examined many of the small parts on human cadavers in physiology class. These classes gave me a glimpse of the interactions that go on in our complex bodies. Though I get numerous requests to fix all sorts of things, I realize that the human body is quite different from mechanical objects. Yet with each repair, my desire to become a doctor grows stronger.
Despite my increasing success at mending broken things, one day I received a call about something that just couldn't be fixed. The realization that I couldn't fix everything came while serving a mission for my church. My grandmother, Lola, was diagnosed with cancer for a second time. She was a tenacious woman and had survived the Japanese occupation of the Philippines during World War II. She consulted with some of the best doctors in the country, endured chemotherapy and radiation treatments but she was not able to escape the disease overtaking her body. I felt powerless as her condition worsened and robbed her of basic functions. I vividly remember crying with my mother over the phone when Lola died, and I realized how all my hours of fixing things could sometimes just not be enough. I felt useless. I wished there was something more I could do for her. I knew that there must be some untouched facet of medicine available to "fix" the cancer in my grandmother's body.
Inspired by Lola's death, I returned to school and searched for some way to help "fix" cancer. When I heard my chemistry professor mention her aim to develop anti-cancer drugs I asked to help in her lab. Here my problem-solving skills were tested. I meticulously made light-activated compounds as BYU Cancer Research Fellow, and immersed myself in caner-related activities for the next three years. I was almost convinced that I should pursue a career in research to help others. When I heard about a local run supporting cancer research I jumped on the chance to organize the marketing scheme. I surrounded myself with other ambitious people and tripled the number of race participants within three years and ultimately became the BYU Cancer Awareness Group President. Through the loss of my grandmother I was able to relate with people through these experiences in some small way. I witnessed the great impact I had to mend broken hearts and restore hope and couldn't rationalize spending my life tilting glassware and mixing chemicals under a red light in a drafty fume hood.
To get a broader perspective of the medical profession, I pursued an internship with the Retina and Vitreous Surgeons of Utah. For two years I worked full-time as an ophthalmic medical assistant constantly observing these wonderful doctors display the importance of knowledge and compassion during meticulous procedures and unique situations. To their patients they are nothing less than miracle workers who would toil to repair their vision problems-and in truth, this was their goal. I looked for opportunities to emulate their actions and chances where I could also provide some comfort, encouragement, and peace of mind. The patient's resulting trust was evident as I obtain sensitive medical histories, conduct diagnostic tests, and perform fluorescein angiograms and retinal imaging. I learned that there was more to the medical field than presented in evening sitcoms. Problems are not always resolved within a thirty-minute time frame. I also witnessed the difficulty of juggling relationships with patients, staff members, hospital administrators, and insurance carriers. I also discovered the massive amount of physical, mental, and emotional commitment to be a doctor, but also the equally impressive rewards for sincere and meticulous care. Most importantly, I have learned how a sterile and uninteresting hospital room can be filled with a welcome feeling and warmth.
These varied experiences have prepared me for a career in medicine. I believe the opportunity as a physician to diagnosis problems, mend broken bodies and hearts will be challenging, exciting, and rewarding. I understand that medicine demands dedication to both science and human relations. I have come a long ways since the evening I dismantled my toy car, and look forward to helping repair a young boy's broken tibia, help someone find hope through sight renewed, and perhaps inspire a future generation of doctors.
Thanks for all the help. I look forward to reading your responses!
My path towards medicine started at the age of seven with a near-fatal car accident. The damage to the car was so extensive that the front wheel rolled off and into our cul-de-sac. The wreck was not a result of drowsiness, distraction, or mechanical failure-it was a result of Becky, the neighborhood menace. At the pinnacle of her reign of terror, she decided my beloved remote-controlled car looked more like the cross between a pińata and a soccer ball. After a sequence of punts and blows the future of my little car was in jeopardy and it seemed the only path it would travel would be towards little remote-controlled car heaven.
To me the trampling of my favorite toy was devastating. I gathered the broken remains of my little car-tears streaming down my face-and headed home. It might have been from the many hours beside my father as he repaired the washing machine, helped the neighbors change their engine oil, or the other countless other repairs he did; but I was not hesitant disassemble my toy car. I climbed onto the workbench and pulled some screwdrivers out of the toolbox. Seeing my car in tiny pieces made me sad yet fascinated me-every gear, pulley, pivot, and motor. How did it fit together? How did it all work? I had no clue how to put it back together, but with fervor, ingenuity, and some superglue the sound transformed from a faint "eeeee" to the familiar "vroom." Thrilled with my success, I called myself "Robinson Crusoe, the fix-it-man."
This small success repairing my broken car gave me courage to attempt bigger projects. Driven by a desire to see how things worked, I would find broken things around the house to dismantle and repair. It wasn't until high school that I realized there were some things that I could not fix on my own. While preparing for the regional wrestling tournament my freshman year, I heard a noise similar to the sound of a carrot snapping in two. My training partner had accidentally fractured my tibia. I was rushed to the local hospital where a compassionate doctor warmly greeted me, set my broken leg, and reassured me everything was going to be okay. Over the next three months my leg healed and I reflected upon the role the doctor played in my recovery. Intrigued by the doctor's role in my recovery, I shadowed a group of physicians for my high school senior project. For nearly one hundred hours I watched doctors improve the lives of patients by performing procedures the patient could not do on their own. How doctors skillfully mend broken bones and other ailing bodies sparked a fascination in science and the complexity of the human body.
I decided to hone my other fixing skills in preparation to one day become a doctor myself. I learned to diagnose automobile problems in addition to working as a bicycle mechanic. Both of these experiences helped me feel the gratification that comes from helping someone in need. But more importantly, while working on cars and bikes I reflected on the similarities to the human body. A faulty piece or small misalignment could hamper the performance of the object as a whole. This helped me realize the importance of each small part of the human body. During college I was thrilled as I studied science and examined many of the small parts on human cadavers in physiology class. These classes gave me a glimpse of the interactions that go on in our complex bodies. Though I get numerous requests to fix all sorts of things, I realize that the human body is quite different from mechanical objects. Yet with each repair, my desire to become a doctor grows stronger.
Despite my increasing success at mending broken things, one day I received a call about something that just couldn't be fixed. The realization that I couldn't fix everything came while serving a mission for my church. My grandmother, Lola, was diagnosed with cancer for a second time. She was a tenacious woman and had survived the Japanese occupation of the Philippines during World War II. She consulted with some of the best doctors in the country, endured chemotherapy and radiation treatments but she was not able to escape the disease overtaking her body. I felt powerless as her condition worsened and robbed her of basic functions. I vividly remember crying with my mother over the phone when Lola died, and I realized how all my hours of fixing things could sometimes just not be enough. I felt useless. I wished there was something more I could do for her. I knew that there must be some untouched facet of medicine available to "fix" the cancer in my grandmother's body.
Inspired by Lola's death, I returned to school and searched for some way to help "fix" cancer. When I heard my chemistry professor mention her aim to develop anti-cancer drugs I asked to help in her lab. Here my problem-solving skills were tested. I meticulously made light-activated compounds as BYU Cancer Research Fellow, and immersed myself in caner-related activities for the next three years. I was almost convinced that I should pursue a career in research to help others. When I heard about a local run supporting cancer research I jumped on the chance to organize the marketing scheme. I surrounded myself with other ambitious people and tripled the number of race participants within three years and ultimately became the BYU Cancer Awareness Group President. Through the loss of my grandmother I was able to relate with people through these experiences in some small way. I witnessed the great impact I had to mend broken hearts and restore hope and couldn't rationalize spending my life tilting glassware and mixing chemicals under a red light in a drafty fume hood.
To get a broader perspective of the medical profession, I pursued an internship with the Retina and Vitreous Surgeons of Utah. For two years I worked full-time as an ophthalmic medical assistant constantly observing these wonderful doctors display the importance of knowledge and compassion during meticulous procedures and unique situations. To their patients they are nothing less than miracle workers who would toil to repair their vision problems-and in truth, this was their goal. I looked for opportunities to emulate their actions and chances where I could also provide some comfort, encouragement, and peace of mind. The patient's resulting trust was evident as I obtain sensitive medical histories, conduct diagnostic tests, and perform fluorescein angiograms and retinal imaging. I learned that there was more to the medical field than presented in evening sitcoms. Problems are not always resolved within a thirty-minute time frame. I also witnessed the difficulty of juggling relationships with patients, staff members, hospital administrators, and insurance carriers. I also discovered the massive amount of physical, mental, and emotional commitment to be a doctor, but also the equally impressive rewards for sincere and meticulous care. Most importantly, I have learned how a sterile and uninteresting hospital room can be filled with a welcome feeling and warmth.
These varied experiences have prepared me for a career in medicine. I believe the opportunity as a physician to diagnosis problems, mend broken bodies and hearts will be challenging, exciting, and rewarding. I understand that medicine demands dedication to both science and human relations. I have come a long ways since the evening I dismantled my toy car, and look forward to helping repair a young boy's broken tibia, help someone find hope through sight renewed, and perhaps inspire a future generation of doctors.
Thanks for all the help. I look forward to reading your responses!