Convocatoria de ayudas

By Louise Gliga (WRC ’12, UTMB)

At ten years old, I watched my dad operate on a tumor; eight years later, there was nothing I could do for his tumors. With a family background in medicine and a thirst for knowledge, I was rarely left without solutions. Although having answers shapes people signifi cantly, sometimes not having the answers has an even greater impact. Despite all the knowledge available today, many cases arise in which there is no protocol or step-by-step procedure. The science behind many events in nature may be documented, but often it is not enough, especially with injury and disease. My own injuries and experiences with others’ illnesses have been no exception to this. Swimming eleven practices a week in high school and working out at least twenty hours per week in college were bound to catch up to me, and they did in full force. My left shoulder remains a permanent issue and it has led to my right hip facing surgery. I lost my ability to ever fully participate again in a sport that has been a major part of my life since I was six years old. I had to take a year off from competition, and swimming changed from a stress release into an extra stress inducer. After fi ve attempts at physical therapy and with very little hope of returning to swimming, I began to feel lost. From rehab and visits with many doctors, I learned a lot about shoulder and hip anatomy and how my injuries occurred because of overuse. Despite this concrete knowledge, I still found myself asking why they had to happen and how I could have prevented them. After two years, I am competing again and I have fi nally come to terms with these setbacks. Despite joint pain constantly reminding me of that rough time, I can move on with the few answers I have and with knowledge of how to prevent further injury. With life and death situations, however, letting go of the questions is impossible, and there will never be enough science to justify losing someone.

In the winter of my senior year of high school, my dad—after a sudden collapse right in front of me and a subsequent weeklong stay in the hospital—sat me down and told me he had end-stage lung cancer. Devastation does not even begin to describe what I was feeling. Before I could even begin to ask the overwhelming questions in my mind, I was thrown into a new routine. I spent many days at home taking care of him and trying to convince him to eat and exercise, but I soon learned that simply talking to him was what he wanted most. Despite his displeasure at my skipping school to care for him, he began to rely on me. The roles were reversed; I became a primary care giver. My dad relied on me to prepare meals, take him in for treatments, and bring in the newspaper that kept him connected with the world. Being the person he relied on and looked to for help was such a great feeling and one of the main reasons I made it through that period. But could I have done more?

I knew what cancer meant ultimately, the biology behind it, that harsh treatments were necessary, and that the entire process would not be easy. I did not know how to give my dad his medications, or why I was observing the effects I saw. My parents also forbade from telling anyone about my father’s condition. This only placed it in a more hidden, distant place of things I did not understand. Frustration, confusion, and a sense of powerlessness were constant emotions, and I wished to know more about life and medicine so I could contribute. My mother would only inform me of a recent development in my dad’s condition, such as a new metastasis or a shrinking tumor, days after the fact, which did not help either. If I asked my parents specifi c questions about his prognosis, I never received straight answers. My mom was suffering too much pain to answer me, and my dad no longer had the strength. When I rushed home in February of my freshman year at Rice for my dad’s fi nal days, I did not understand why he was intubated, why getting him to breathe looked so violent, or why he would not wake up. I am a person who likes to have answers, means of obtaining answers, and I enjoy the process of discovery, so these unknowns were unacceptable. After my father died and I experienced my fi rst of many swim seasons from the sidelines, I knew that I did not just want to be a doctor, but that I would be a doctor. I too will have the knowledge others had throughout my dad’s illness, and I will be able to help myself and others care for

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themselves and their loved ones. The process will never be perfect—we cannot hope to understand, and cure all diseases and injuries. But by understanding more fully what is occurring during sickness and injury and how to prevent both, I can directly help patients and families fi nd more of the peace I still struggle to fi nd after watching my father’s illness and in confronting my injuries.

Personal Statement No. 2

By Michael Torre (Sid ‘12, Northwestern)

When I want to achieve something, I set my mind fi rmly and do whatever it takes. I realized this truth as a seventeen-year-old soccer player when my coach told me I could lead our team to a state championship. After my coach’s blunt lecture, I resolved to earn the state title and we won every game thereafter. I have applied the principles of unwavering follow-through to every goal I set for myself, especially to becoming a physician.

My interest in medicine began in my high school science courses. I was fascinated by the chemistry of living organisms; I was amazed that our bodies consist of millions of perfectly coordinated reactions that remarkably sustain life and function. Seeing some of these reactions live in my own heart every year in an echocardiogram during checkups for my congenital defect has been made astonishing with the biological knowledge I acquired in my classes. I was further amazed to learn how when a reaction goes awry, medicine can be used to restore it. While every human being does have similar systems that may be studied, each individual, more importantly, has unique capacities and drives. For example, sincere interest combined with a challenge lead me to achieve at the highest levels in Bioengineering. My brain works like a top fuel dragster, which is fully engaged with 90% nitromethane fl owing through its engine. I realize that my academic success has been inextricably tied to my desire to comprehend complex bioengineering concepts and my goal to become a physician. It is surprising that I avidly enjoy and absorb material from a tissue engineering textbook, while a novel cannot sustain my attention in the same way.

What pulls me to medicine most is the understanding that I can use my knowledge and talents to benefi t people. As an academic Fellow at my university, I have tutored my peers in general and organic chemistry - both through one-on-one tutoring and group review sessions. Helping my peers learn about the science that inspires me has been most rewarding. I enjoy reviewing material with underclassmen, sometimes until four in the morning, in order to prepare them for their exams. My experience has lead to my selection as Head Fellow next year. I look forward to having this position because I plan to expand the presence of the Fellows society within the student community, which will allow more students to mutually benefi t through this altruistic program. Although I enjoy sharing my interests indirectly as a Fellow, I have also directly applied my knowledge of science as a Research Assistant. In this role, I use the concepts I have read about and then learn to conduct experiments from the results. Recently, I used my computer programming skills from class to model and design proteins. Each day that I apply what I learn, whether by tutoring about hydrocarbons or investigating viruses and bacteria to test my models, I am making progress toward my goal.

I also look forward to becoming a physician so I continuously expand my medical ability by working with people possessing distinctive personalities requiring indiviudal attention, unlike simple test tube organisms. While working as a scribe, for example, I saw fi rsthand the importance for a doctor to maintain composure with others in any situation. During one of my shifts, a patient complained that his heart had not been beating for almost a week. Initially shocked, I wondered how a person could earnestly list this as their chief complaint, but the physician was undaunted and handled the man with compassion and professionalism. I later learned that the man was a schizophrenic patient. Ultimately, I realized this lesson in sensitive doctor-patient interactions could not be found within the pages of a textbook. Furthermore, this summer I am assisting with a clinical research project in which I work directly with participants

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in cardiology. After reading and understanding the pathways that control blood pressure, I am getting the chance to talk with people and study their habits to learn more about cardiac fi tness in a clinical setting. This extraordinary opportunity will benefi t people and further research, while serving as a vital step toward my ultimate goal. Although I have volunteered and worked alongside emergency department physicians, I have not directly helped others through my interest in human physiology. My goal for this summer is to combine my love of science and the human body with my passionate desire to help people.

As I prepare and look forward to medical school, I think often about my soccer coach, who has passed on. Even now, his words continue to urge me to whole-heartedly pursue my goals. I know that when I follow my goal relentlessly, I am already accomplishing it. I have used my passion for science and chemistry to succeed academically and help my peers. Next I will use my desire to apply my knowledge and abilities to become a physician.

Personal Statement No. 3

By Harry Han (Martel ‘12, Penn)

When I shadowed Dr. Schulz, a dementia-specializing neurologist, I noticed that most patients walking into the clinic, no matter how different they seemed at fi rst glance, fell into four groups: new patients hoping their fears were untrue, confused patients whose decline had progressed too far, and caretakers who continually asked for the “magic pill.” However, the worst were the patients who recognized their dementia. They carried a defeated look. Regardless of the medications taken, books read, and exercise regimes followed, they recognized that they were slowly declining. They could do nothing more than watch their mind, personality, and independence be ripped away. Refl ecting on their condition, I wondered how I would feel if I had dementia. Fear was the fi rst emotion I registered. I would be scared of losing my autonomy, afraid that today would be the last time I could drive or the last day I would recognize my loved ones. This realization has provided me with a conviction—how can I watch someone else go through this if I too am terrifi ed? Is there something I could actively do to contribute to alleviating that pain or understanding diseases? Perhaps I am naïve, but my parents taught me to use my interests towards contributing to the community.

First, I thought about focusing on the mechanisms of disease. Since my freshmen year, I have been fascinated by adult neurogenesis, the innate process by which neural stem cells give rise to functional neurons. The fact that the adult brain could regenerate mesmerized me, and since then, I have worked in two labs studying this cell population in normal and diseased brains. I even spent a year in the U.K. investigating genetic networks that regulate this process. Each project has brought forth new challenges: techniques to master, papers to read, and more questions to consider. My benchwork has taught me diligence, hard work, and perseverance and for a while, I considered a career in scientifi c research. The excitement of discovery, the many gaps in our understanding, and the baby steps I make towards understanding this unique cell population drive me to continue my research.

However, I always felt that something was missing from the bench. Although investigating pathogenic mechanisms of neurodegeneration was energizing, my benchwork did not address the human side of medicine. It could not alleviate the emotional consequences of disease on patients and their families. While shadowing Dr. Schulz, I saw that despite having only a few therapies for dementia, he could use unwavering compassion and patience to heal. Though initially hesitant, his patients soon trusted his advice and guidance but also were not afraid to question him and voice concerns. He would kindly answer their questions or would make note and later send a response. That extra mile Dr. Schulz took demonstrated that providing answers and support could also be therapeutic, in a way that conventional prescriptions could not. Overall, he continually showed me that a physician’s job goes beyond the science.

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Similarly, my experiences as an emergency medical technician also demonstrated the power of compassion and persistence. During my training, I met a 13-year old girl who fell off a bucket hurting her neck. She came into the ER but had little staff contact because her case was deemed “not urgent.” My approved skill set was limited to checking vitals and asking questions, and I could not prescribe medications or provide physical relief. I took interest in her case and checked in with her and her family every hour. Each time, I would make small talk, recheck vitals, and delivered updates on her case. After she was discharged, the family thanked me for checking up on them as it made them less scared knowing that someone was advocating for them. Despite my inability to provide a pill or perform surgery, I was reminded that treatments come in different forms. Sometimes, it is a diagnosis and prescription. Other times, it is holding your patient’s hand in an ambulance or reassuring a family by checking up on them.

In spite of seeing pain and uncertainty on a daily basis, physicians are relentlessly committed to their profession. Yes, the fi eld is not without frustration. How does medicine handle the “regulars” who come in each week? What do you do when a child has a life-threatening disorder, but has no health insurance? While a doctor cannot always “cure” illness or provide defi nitive answers to ethically gray areas, my experiences have taught me that regardless of having “a magic pill,” a physician’s compassion and spirit, which are crucial in establishing relationships with patients, are also transformative. I have found that the human side of medicine can sometimes be the most effective treatment. Rather than pure science or mere emotion, it is the doctor’s role at the intersection of both science and humanity, attempting to heal the entire person, which inspires me to pursue a career in medicine. I hope to continue developing my love for biomedical science and learn the subtle art of compassion and sensitivity that makes being a doctor so challenging. While the human condition pushes my benchwork, humanity and human connection pull me towards medicine.

Personal Statement No. 4

By Jessica Steinberg (Brown ‘10, Stanford)

My desire to become a doctor did not stem from a single experience. Rather, I can trace the development of this decision as if connecting a constellation, with each experience contributing to an outline that guides my course and shapes my ambitions. This celestial composition began as a fl ickering curiosity while working in a biochemistry lab and on an ambulance.

At fi rst, it was medicine’s scholarly aspects that provoked my intellectual enthusiasm. While working in the lab, I loved combing through the literature to fi nd alternative approaches and the best way to refi ne a procedure. Reading others’ reports provided a deeper understanding of biochemistry and fostered an appreciation for previous investigations. I often found myself staying late to discuss fi ndings and interests with my mentor. What did he think was the most important contribution of the PCR? How might mass spectrometry change clinical diagnostics? A career in medicine presents the same fascinating challenges of applying ever-changing technology and information to complex problems.

Apart from the scholarly allure, I enjoy the craft of clinical work. My time as an EMT exposed me to the gratifi cation of assisting others and of working with a team towards a common goal. On the truck, theory met instinct in the actions of my hands. Applying pressure to a stab wound and comforting a child with a broken arm both tested my abilities and buoyed my spirit. When these efforts synchronized with those of my partners, our movements harmonized like a well-rehearsed quartet, each playing their part to stabilize a heartbeat or establish an airway. Our shared confi dence and responsibility united our team. Leaving the hospital after an exhausting trauma, a pat on the shoulder from a coworker fi lled me with a profound sense of achievement. My satisfaction following each shift resonated with a future in medicine.

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revealed the potential impact of health care on broader societal issues. Noticing small fi nger- shaped bruises on the patient’s neck, I asked in Spanish for her history. Hearing her native tongue, the patient’s eyes widened and she began sputtering out her story. She was an abuse victim, but her insuffi cient command of English prevented her from receiving appropriate medical attention. When I helped her fi le a domestic abuse report, my concept of a physician’s role expanded to include patient advocacy.

The elderly woman’s case inspired me to explore the social obstacles to receiving health care while studying in Mexico. During my internship with Las Libres, I visited the state prison twice each week to interview six women. One woman, Ofelia, awakened me to the pleasure of lasting relationships with those I assist. When Ofelia miscarried her abusive father’s child, the Public Prosecution Offi ce accused her of abortion and charged her with homicide. Eight years in prison without visitors manifested in her evasive eyes and three-word responses to my inquiries. These stunted interactions continued for weeks until a coworker and I brought bracelets to celebrate Mexico’s World Cup victory. The red and green strings and our persistence lifted her emotional guard. Thereafter, she began to speak of her trauma and met us with kisses and hand-squeezes. The trust we built exemplifi es the relationship I aspire to foster with patients - a dynamic one that follows an intimate connection and moves me to be a better person.

Ofelia’s 26-year prison term demonstrated the consequences of a machista culture and legal system. As I worked with Las Libres to treat the symptoms of this asymmetry of power, I grappled internally with the sources of the societal ills. Insuffi cient access to quality health care and