PERSONAL STATEMENT
As my dad tightened the drawstrings of my oversized scrubs, I could tell his enthusiasm far outweighed mine. He and my mom were grinning from ear to ear at the sight of me in their work uniform. Meanwhile, I stewed with jealousy that I wouldn’t have as cool an outfit as my friend Jacob on Career Day: his dad was a firefighter. This was not the first or last time my parents’ profession of physician would fail to impress, if not outright disappoint me. I was too young to understand why they would miss my soccer games or be so exhausted on weekends.
It wasn’t until my grandfather was diagnosed with renal cancer that their sacrifices began to make sense. As I watched my parents at the kitchen table scouring over my grandfather’s MRI and CT films, I began to recognize the unique impact that physicians had. When I expressed my newfound respect, my mother warned, “Medicine requires a very specific personality type.” They explained the degree of compassion, composure, and resilience a physician needs to withstand the hardships of the field. They also gave me the age-old advice that if I could see myself doing anything else, do that instead. While I appreciate their advice, I also can’t deny that my experiences have continuously proved that I not only have the desire but also the disposition for medicine.
While volunteering at the non-profit My Brother’s Keeper, I often worked with disadvantaged kids that out of necessity had built up substantial emotional walls. A boy named “Tyson,” the indisputable leader of the group, had developed a particularly tough shell. Yet one afternoon, after a peer innocently asked, “What’s your dad’s name,” Tyson’s lip began to quiver. Seeing his friend had struck a nerve, I waited until we were alone to ask if he was ok. With tears in his eyes, he explained that his dad had died when he was two. I wrapped Tyson in a hug, fully understanding the bravery it takes to show that kind of vulnerability. A generic “it’ll be ok,” was my first instinct. However, I overcame my own insecurities and told him how much I personally loved and respected him for his honesty. I left this experience realizing that compassion required more than intellectual understanding; it requires a degree of intimate dedication and sacrifice that is often difficult to surrender. However, my time with Tyson and the other boys didn’t deter me from pursuing a caretaking profession; instead, they galvanized my pursuit towards medicine.
As I sought out more clinical experience, a shadowing opportunity in Italy seemed ideal. However, when I arrived, the program had assigned me to a geriatric psych ward. As the elevator doors opened, my first vision was a 92 year old patient, “Ava,” with her pants at her ankles, attempting to shatter the 10th story windows. Though I’ve always been the calm and collected one, this was a new challenge. I quickly recognized that medicine presents circumstances that the outside world fails to prepare you for. Nevertheless, I repeated to myself, “focus on their humanity and the solution,” never forgetting that as a medical personnel, I set the tone in the room. I kept this in mind over the next 4 weeks as I de-escalated patient aggression, encouraged engagement in therapy, and helped coax our most in-need through destructive delusions.
Still intent on proving that physician was my calling, I sought out a shadowing opportunity with Dr. S*****, an internal specialist. Though the majority of our cases had happy endings, there were plenty of haunting ones beyond saving. The first time I realized that medical practice meant more than “healing” was the entry of “Phillip,” a habitual smoker, into hospice care. Given that he was only 45 years old, his family was in utter shock at his Stage 4 esophageal cancer diagnosis. Shortly after Dr. S***** and I entered his room, an unconscious Phillip took a rapid and forceful inhalation. Sadly, it was his last. After the slow, silent deflation of his chest, we realized Philip had left us. At the end of our day, I asked Dr. S***** how he coped with losses like this. He wisely responded that for every loss, there were a thousand gains. As long as you give your all and preserve your patients’ quality of life, a physician can find peace after traumatic cases. I remembered his words as I watched dozens of other heartbreaking prognoses: honoring those lost while remaining dedicated to those still salvageable.
Though plenty of young men have doctor parents, my experiences have taught me that I am truly a doctor’s son. Whether inherited or earned, I have the same qualities that make my parents excellent physicians. I have the compassion to forge long-term relationships with my patients. I possess the composure to establish trust and patient compliance. I have the resilience to ensure my longevity in the field. I am not here for the perceived prestige or payoff of medicine, as I’ve seen firsthand the utterly unglamorous reality of this profession. I stand on the doorstep of medical school with pure intentions and the unwavering desire to make an impact on countless lives and my community as a whole.