The Story
This essay is one of my favorites. The applicant tells a story and weaves
a lot of information about his background and interests into it. Note how the
lead grabs attention and the conclusion ties everything together.
The AIDS hospice reeked from disease and neglect. On my first day there,
after an hour of "training," I met Paul, a tall, emaciated, forty-year-old AIDS
victim who was recovering from a stroke that had severely affected his speech. I
took him to General Hospital for a long-overdue appointment. It had been weeks
since he had been outside. After waiting for two and a half hours, he was called
in and then needed to wait another two hours for his prescription. Hungry, I
suggested we go and get some lunch. At first Paul resisted; he didn’t want to
accept the lunch offer. Estranged from his family and seemingly ignored by his
friends, he wasn’t used to anyone being kind to him — even though I was only
talking about a Big Mac. When it arrived, Paul took his first bite. Suddenly,
his face lit up with the biggest, most radiant smile. He was on top of the world
because somebody bought him a hamburger. Amazing. So little bought so much.
While elated that I had literally made Paul’s day, the neglect and emotional
isolation from which he suffered disgusted me. This was a harsh side of medicine
I had not seen before. Right then and there, I wondered, "Do I really want to go
into medicine?"
What had so upset me about my day with Paul? Before then nothing in my
personal, academic, or volunteer experiences had shaken my single-minded
commitment to medicine. Why was I so unprepared for what I saw? Was it the
proximity of death, knowing Paul was terminal? No it couldn’t have been. As a
young boy in gutted Beirut I had experienced death time and time again. Was it
the financial hardship of the hospice residents, the living from day to day? No,
I dealt with that myself as a new immigrant and had even worked full-time during
my first two years of college. Financial difficulty was no stranger to me.
Neither financial distress nor the sight of death had deterred me. Before the
day in the hospice, I only wanted to be a doctor.
My interest in medicine had started out with an enjoyment of science. From
general biology to advanced cellular/behavioral neuroscience, the study of the
biological systems, especially the most complex of them all, the human body, has
been a delightful journey with new discoveries in each new class. Research with
Dr. Smith on neurodegenerative diseases further stimulated my curiosity. Equally
satisfying is my investigation with Dr. Jones of the relevance of endogenous
opiates to drug therapies for schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s dementia, Parkinson’s
disease, Huntington’s chorea, and drug abuse. I love research. Looking at the
results of an experiment for the first time and knowing that my data, this newly
found piece of information, is furthering our knowledge in a small area of
science is an indescribable experience. I have so enjoyed it that I am currently
enrolled in two Departmental Honors programs, both requiring an Honors Thesis. I
will graduate next year with two majors — Neuroscience and Biological Sciences.
While I want to incorporate research into my career, after meeting Paul I
realized that the lab’s distant analytical approach wouldn’t help me show
compassion to my patients. Even worse, it could contribute to the emotional
neglect I found so repulsive.
Dr. Nelson, the general practitioner for whom I volunteered for two and a
half years, had always told me that the desire to become a doctor must come from
deep within. In his office, I took patients’ vital signs and helped them feel
more comfortable. I also spent a significant amount of time with Dr. Nelson
learning about the physician’s role. He became my mentor. I learned of the
physician’s many responsibilities — personal integrity, an endless love of
learning, and the awareness that throughout his or her career every physician is
a student and a teacher. I also realized that in medicine many decisions are
based on clinical approximation, as opposed to the precision of the lab. Still
after two and a half years in his Park Avenue office, I was unprepared for the
AIDS hospice in a blue-collar neighborhood, and my experience with Paul.
Even my work at the Family Clinic, which serves a large poor and homeless
population, failed to prepare me for Paul. In the clinic, I worked a lot with
children and interacted with their families. I recall an episode when the
parents of a twelve-year-old girl brought her to the clinic. They were nervous
and frightened. Their daughter had a hard time breathing because of a sore
throat and had not been able to sleep the previous night. I took her vital
signs, inquired about her chief complaint, and put her chart in the priority
box. After she was seen by the physician, I assured her parents that her illness
was not serious — she had the flu, and the sore throat was merely a symptom. The
relief in the parents’ faces and the realization that I had made them feel a
little bit more comfortable was most fulfilling. During my stay at the clinic, I
thoroughly enjoyed the interaction with patients and dealing with a different
socio-economic group than I found in Dr. Nelson’s office. But while I was aware
of their poverty, I was not aware if they suffered from emotional isolation and
neglect.
The abandonment that caused Paul’s loneliness nauseated me. But after I
thought about it, I understood that meeting Paul and working in the hospice gave
me an opportunity, however painful, for accomplishment and personal growth. And
medicine offers a lifetime of such opportunities. I didn’t turn my back on Paul
or medicine. I’m glad I met Paul. He and I were friends until he died, about
eight months after I first started working at the AIDS hospice. I visited him
and others in the hospice at least once a week and frequently more often. My
experience with Paul and other AIDS patients led me to re-commit to a career as
a physician — the only career I want to pursue — but a physician who will always
have a minute to comfort. Yes, my research is exciting and important. Yes,
medicine involves problem solving and analysis of symptoms as I learned at the
Family Clinic. And yes, medicine frequently involves clinical approximation as
Dr. Nelson taught me. But more than any of the above, as I learned at the AIDS
hospice, medicine requires compassion and caring — and sometimes a Big
Mac.