The essay originally focused on the story of what happened with my school and EMT program I joined, but at 11pm last night, I changed a lot of it to reflect how I got through the challenges and my love for EMT school. I'm worried about how it sounds colloquially. Please critique harshly. Thank you.
Call me a vampire. Despite the absence of glistening white fangs, I often find myself fascinated with blood. The human body is miraculous in its deep rooted complexity and unnerving fortitude. As an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT), I watch this perfect piece of machinery fail its operator. I watch as organs use their incredible complexity to play tricks on their owner, to develop diseases we can't cure and cause damage we can't reverse.
Well, watched. Within the Jewish, orthodox community I belong to, it is dishonorable for women to become EMTs and one can almost hear the ashamed whispers of those who dare to join volunteer squads. Despite my principal's incessant demands that I quit, I remained steadfast in my conviction. For those blissful moments of experiencing what I am most passionate about, I can tolerate social ostracization, but I cannot risk my diploma. The decision consumed me from the inside out, but I knew I had no choice.
The final night of EMT school was unbearable. As I performed CPR on the mannequins, I channeled my pain into perfect compressions. 30 pushes, 2 breaths. The colorful posters on the wall seemed to spin around, the organ systems taunting me like drunken ballerinas. As I looked into the mannequin Baby Annie's face and leaned down to give her rescue breaths, realization washed over me and I jumped, as though she had reached up and slapped me. An ethereal cloud settled and a brief moment of clarity penetrated through the tangle of emotions that were churning through my mind. I cannot control the obstacles placed before me, I can only control how high I jump to clear them.
The system I staunchly believed in was prohibiting me from doing the work that defined me, so the decision to approach my principal was unequivocal. A jumble of words such as school policy, no exceptions, negative consequences seemed to drift out of her mouth, but my ears barred the words I did not want to hear until she said, "We will consult with the rabbi's."
One side of my internal conflict felt paralyzed by my inability to make a decision integral to the definition of who I am, but the other side felt satisfaction in knowing that the strength with which I fight for what I believe will determine the magnitude of what I will gain. Medicine is the purpose behind my motivation and the reason I defy a system I once believed in. The diversity among the students at EMT school, a world I am told I should not associate with, ironically infused me with the morale to remain accepting of the world I find myself part of. (Needs to be revised)
The verdict was shocking. I could complete EMT school if it remained confidential, but I could not ride with a volunteer squad.(Is there a better way to say this?) The tears I shed from joy were not compromised with ones of sadness because I could not ride. My school has immutable religious standards, but they have stretched their boundaries to encompass my passion for medicine and the individual I have become. (I want to add more about my love for EMT school and what it means to me)
Throughout high school, I have been told that Jewish woman in my sect of orthodox Judaism should aspire to be mothers, not EMTs or doctors. I listen and nod, put up my invisible armor and watch as the comments rebound off of my shield. Smiling behind all the metal, the chinks do not bother me. They are the battle scars I have accumulated from fighting for my future.
Call me a vampire. Despite the absence of glistening white fangs, I often find myself fascinated with blood. The human body is miraculous in its deep rooted complexity and unnerving fortitude. As an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT), I watch this perfect piece of machinery fail its operator. I watch as organs use their incredible complexity to play tricks on their owner, to develop diseases we can't cure and cause damage we can't reverse.
Well, watched. Within the Jewish, orthodox community I belong to, it is dishonorable for women to become EMTs and one can almost hear the ashamed whispers of those who dare to join volunteer squads. Despite my principal's incessant demands that I quit, I remained steadfast in my conviction. For those blissful moments of experiencing what I am most passionate about, I can tolerate social ostracization, but I cannot risk my diploma. The decision consumed me from the inside out, but I knew I had no choice.
The final night of EMT school was unbearable. As I performed CPR on the mannequins, I channeled my pain into perfect compressions. 30 pushes, 2 breaths. The colorful posters on the wall seemed to spin around, the organ systems taunting me like drunken ballerinas. As I looked into the mannequin Baby Annie's face and leaned down to give her rescue breaths, realization washed over me and I jumped, as though she had reached up and slapped me. An ethereal cloud settled and a brief moment of clarity penetrated through the tangle of emotions that were churning through my mind. I cannot control the obstacles placed before me, I can only control how high I jump to clear them.
The system I staunchly believed in was prohibiting me from doing the work that defined me, so the decision to approach my principal was unequivocal. A jumble of words such as school policy, no exceptions, negative consequences seemed to drift out of her mouth, but my ears barred the words I did not want to hear until she said, "We will consult with the rabbi's."
One side of my internal conflict felt paralyzed by my inability to make a decision integral to the definition of who I am, but the other side felt satisfaction in knowing that the strength with which I fight for what I believe will determine the magnitude of what I will gain. Medicine is the purpose behind my motivation and the reason I defy a system I once believed in. The diversity among the students at EMT school, a world I am told I should not associate with, ironically infused me with the morale to remain accepting of the world I find myself part of. (Needs to be revised)
The verdict was shocking. I could complete EMT school if it remained confidential, but I could not ride with a volunteer squad.(Is there a better way to say this?) The tears I shed from joy were not compromised with ones of sadness because I could not ride. My school has immutable religious standards, but they have stretched their boundaries to encompass my passion for medicine and the individual I have become. (I want to add more about my love for EMT school and what it means to me)
Throughout high school, I have been told that Jewish woman in my sect of orthodox Judaism should aspire to be mothers, not EMTs or doctors. I listen and nod, put up my invisible armor and watch as the comments rebound off of my shield. Smiling behind all the metal, the chinks do not bother me. They are the battle scars I have accumulated from fighting for my future.
