Prompt: If majoring in nursing or occupational therapy, write on the following topic: Tell us why you would like to major in nursing or occupational therapy and what contributions you see yourself making to the profession.
The little bell placed above the dim, white door sounded every time I entered the fresh scented barbershop. The first thing I would see was the talented barber agilely trimming away hairs upon someone's head. As he picked my eight year old self up from the ground and placed me onto the snug chair, I remember myself demanding a beautiful hair cut.
"Don't worry Little Jen, I'll make you the most gorgeous of them all!" I would giggle, situate myself in the chair, and sit there patiently as strands of my hair fell to the ground. Every month, my mother would bring me to the same barbershop, and each time, I would allow the skilled barber to snip away my messy hair. As years passed, my family had become close friends with the barber and his wife.
As I entered one day, I noticed that the scene had changed and the man I deemed my masterful beautician was no where to be seen. With a distressed expression, his wife stood in his place, fumbling hesitantly with clippers. I sat myself down on the nearby waiting chairs wondering why his wife was cutting hair instead of himself. Finishing her customer's hair, she informed us that her husband had suffered from a stroke. Initially, I thought a stroke would be easy to recover from and that he would be able to resume his expertise. Not until we visited his home a few weeks later was I able to see the immense damage the attack had brought upon the once expert stylist.
Slumped in his recliner, he sat there motionless and unable to greet us. His head did not lift and his gaze remained on the ground. I took a few paces toward him before my mother pulled my arm, holding me from advancing. At that point, I knew something was incredibly different. Something in my heart had changed and for some reason, I knew that this man would never be the same. His wife explained that his whole left side was paralyzed and that he had completely become dependent on those around him to do everyday tasks.
We visited him periodically and each time, his condition did not seem to improve. My parents stayed around for hours, helping around the house and trying to speak with Mr. Zhu. When I asked him pondering questions, he would give a sympathetic glance and nod solemnly.
"Mr. Zhu, can you cut my hair again? Uncle, will you ever get better?" I constantly found myself grabbing his once adept hands and giving it a good shake. I wanted to do something but found that there was nothing I could do or say to make him do what he used to do so beautifully before. The only thing that I could do was let him depend on me like I depended on him to fix my tangled hair.
With this account, I learned the climax and downfall of the human anatomy. My patience, compassion, and love for people is what defines occupational therapy in my world. With confidence, I know that my dedication and reliability will bring those that are impaired and disabled to a whole new stage of life. There's a thin line between just helping and wanting to help. I want to help. Not only did Mr. Zhu make me beautiful, he helped me discover my passion of wanting to help.
I wanted to approach the prompt with a personal story to make it more interesting but I am afraid that it may not actually answer the prompt.
Any suggestions and corrections welcomed.
Thank you!
The little bell placed above the dim, white door sounded every time I entered the fresh scented barbershop. The first thing I would see was the talented barber agilely trimming away hairs upon someone's head. As he picked my eight year old self up from the ground and placed me onto the snug chair, I remember myself demanding a beautiful hair cut.
"Don't worry Little Jen, I'll make you the most gorgeous of them all!" I would giggle, situate myself in the chair, and sit there patiently as strands of my hair fell to the ground. Every month, my mother would bring me to the same barbershop, and each time, I would allow the skilled barber to snip away my messy hair. As years passed, my family had become close friends with the barber and his wife.
As I entered one day, I noticed that the scene had changed and the man I deemed my masterful beautician was no where to be seen. With a distressed expression, his wife stood in his place, fumbling hesitantly with clippers. I sat myself down on the nearby waiting chairs wondering why his wife was cutting hair instead of himself. Finishing her customer's hair, she informed us that her husband had suffered from a stroke. Initially, I thought a stroke would be easy to recover from and that he would be able to resume his expertise. Not until we visited his home a few weeks later was I able to see the immense damage the attack had brought upon the once expert stylist.
Slumped in his recliner, he sat there motionless and unable to greet us. His head did not lift and his gaze remained on the ground. I took a few paces toward him before my mother pulled my arm, holding me from advancing. At that point, I knew something was incredibly different. Something in my heart had changed and for some reason, I knew that this man would never be the same. His wife explained that his whole left side was paralyzed and that he had completely become dependent on those around him to do everyday tasks.
We visited him periodically and each time, his condition did not seem to improve. My parents stayed around for hours, helping around the house and trying to speak with Mr. Zhu. When I asked him pondering questions, he would give a sympathetic glance and nod solemnly.
"Mr. Zhu, can you cut my hair again? Uncle, will you ever get better?" I constantly found myself grabbing his once adept hands and giving it a good shake. I wanted to do something but found that there was nothing I could do or say to make him do what he used to do so beautifully before. The only thing that I could do was let him depend on me like I depended on him to fix my tangled hair.
With this account, I learned the climax and downfall of the human anatomy. My patience, compassion, and love for people is what defines occupational therapy in my world. With confidence, I know that my dedication and reliability will bring those that are impaired and disabled to a whole new stage of life. There's a thin line between just helping and wanting to help. I want to help. Not only did Mr. Zhu make me beautiful, he helped me discover my passion of wanting to help.
I wanted to approach the prompt with a personal story to make it more interesting but I am afraid that it may not actually answer the prompt.
Any suggestions and corrections welcomed.
Thank you!
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