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Personal Statement for AMCAS
'I hope my brain doesn't start melting.' I don't recall much of what happened next, but I do remember thinking that as I watched my temperature creep past 104F. When I regained my composure, I was out of the heated chamber and in a cold shower, my sweat-drenched clothes still on and the temperature probes still dangling from my body. Slumped over, my mind slowly started to function again as a sense of satisfaction settled in. Another experiment done, another data set complete... all in all, another good day at work. I hope that by testing on myself I'll be able to take the necessary risks to make discoveries that can improve lives and push the envelope of current knowledge. Moreover, I hope that one day all of my self-testing and probing might help treat heat stroke victims, develop new cooling techniques, and save lives. After a quick cleanup and snack, I gather myself together, leave the exercise lab, and start running. Most of the time during the 3 hours of swimming, biking, and running I think about the Ironman. Just thinking about the race fills me with a sense of excitement, fear, and pride all mixed into one. I chose this race because I admire how its finishers are made, not born. I'm not a natural swim champ, a Lance Armstrong, or a Kenyan runner. I'm a guy who believes in the value of challenges and discipline, and that the easy road may not take you where you really want to go. When I finish my workout and my body's pain finally turns into relaxation, I head back to the lab to work. I enter the hospital and walk by the myriad of patients lining the hallways leading to my office. Whenever I take this route I feel an unfulfilled sadness. I see crippling pain in each person's face, posture, and gaze as they watch people pass by. They sit in their wheelchairs trapped, unable to move and live freely. It feels unfair that I can workout when so many around me can barely move. Every day I want to help these individuals and alleviate their physical suffering. As a result, every day my desire to become a doctor grows stronger. Sitting at my desk and analyzing stacks of data, afternoon transforms into night. I start thinking about the events of my day and I ask myself: why do I do all this? I pause for a few moments to reflect. I do all this because I want to better prepare myself to help people like those who shared their lives with me during my high school and undergraduate clinical experiences - people with heart disease, diabetes, cancer, leukemia, and AIDS. I do all this because I want to personally and directly improve the quality of people's lives, and because I believe there is no greater good than helping the sick become healthy. Walking through the darkness to my car, I can't help but think about journeys and destinations. The average hyperthermia experiment is 15 miles of cycling and lasts 60 minutes. The Ironman spans 140 miles and takes roughly 12 hours. The road to becoming a good physician has no set distance and can last a lifetime. However, it is the one that I am more eager to travel than any other, and it is the one I am the most prepared to work for, commit myself to, and pursue no matter what it may require.
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Optional Essay
To my future patients, I am writing this letter as I apply to medical school. I want you to know who I am at this very moment, where I have come from and hope to be, and why I am dedicating my life's work to providing you with the best possible care. Every so often, my father will show me a card from one of his patients that typically opens with something like, 'Dr. X, thank you for saving my life.' But as I read further, I begin to see that they are thankful for more than just his provision of healthcare. With each card, I more fully understand the genuine appreciation for the time that he spends to hear them, to understand their fears, and to comfort them in sickness and in health. Growing up surrounded by medicine, I have witnessed the intimacy of the doctor-patient relationship as unlike that of any other profession. I dream of being able to connect with people like my father has with his patients. At each stage in my life, I have wanted to develop my interpersonal and leadership skills, skills that will be most useful to me as your physician. During my senior year in high school, the student body elected me as one of four prefects to lead the school and all of its activities. I thrive in situations that require teamwork and integrated leadership. I was always most satisfied knowing that I had harnessed the energies and directed the talents of dozens of people to derive success. Satisfaction is not always enough, though, as I realized in my experience with Chloe, the two-year-old daughter of a Resident Fellow at Stanford. After being diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia, Chloe was in need of a bone marrow transplant. As president of my Fraternity, I directed the efforts of our members to complete a record-breaking bone marrow typing drive. Despite typing over 600 people in two days, we were unable to find a match. A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed me. Yet Chloe is still fighting each day with a smile. Cancer hasn't changed her spirit. Learning recently that one of my mentees from Project AIYME will be attending UCLA this Fall, I recalled how our relationship began five years ago. Daniel was thirteen and more likely to join a gang than go to college. As a freshman at Stanford, I remember the challenge of fostering trust and respect between us. But somewhere between orientation day and the night of our last weekend retreat a year later, Daniel and I had moved beyond the guarded relationship of mentor and delinquent; we became close friends. Daniel taught me that active listening is paramount. I believe, in the same manner, my patients will always lead me to their diagnoses as long as I am there to hear them. A particularly vivid memory from my Outreach Coordinator position at the Asian Liver Center recalls an interaction with the Lam Family. Following an outreach event, Mrs. Lam informed me that her husband had hepatitis B. Mr. Lam was told by his physician that he was a 'healthy carrier' and that he need not worry. However, they had read that hepatitis B is known as a 'silent killer' in the Asian community. I could see confusion and anxiety in their eyes. I walked them through our health informational brochure as well as the specific precautions important to patients and families with hepatitis B. The frowns of confusion and anxiety soon became gleams of comprehension and appreciation. During a ten minute conversation, I functioned as a caregiver, a teacher and a supportive friend. While momentarily satisfied by my small contribution to their peace of mind, I felt frustrated with the limitations of what I had to offer. Again, I wanted to do so much more. My experiences thus far have inspired me to seize every opportunity, to take on new challenges and to always move forward so that I can make the largest impact on the world possible. I am a third generation Chinese-American that never wanted to go to China. I can't speak Chinese. But here I am in China, writing this letter, immersed in a new environment with an entirely different culture and language. The glamorous story is that I came here to help implement and evaluate a program that aims to vaccinate 100,000 students against hepatitis B. The not-so-glamorous story is that I left a comfortable life in California for a relatively uncomfortable one to help people that don't necessarily want to be helped. Behind all the stories, I am impassioned every day by the notion of making a tangible - and sometimes intangible - difference in the lives of many. Chloe showed me the strength of the human spirit. Daniel taught me the importance of connecting with people different from ourselves. The Lams underscored the power of family in times of need. Medicine will give me the opportunity to make a difference across generations, cultures and languages. I believe that this speaks to the essence of the practice of medicine. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life working to optimize the health and well-being of as many people who will allow me the privilege of doing so. I know that medicine is my passion and calling in life, and medical school is where I belong next. But for now, I look forward to the privilege of being your doctor. Respectfully,
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Major essay question: What is your opinion about facial transplantation? Is it an important new extension of organ donation, or has it stepped over certain ethical boundaries?
Facing the future of transplantation surgery 'Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God's kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.' - Mother Teresa People have said that life can be measured in smiles and frowns, and that if you smile at life it will smile back at you. Growing up in a Chinese household, I was frequently told a famous Chinese proverb which simply states that 'A smile will gain you ten more years of life.' Whether a smile endows a decade or is simply a mantra for healthy living, it is undeniable that we as a species place enormous importance on our ability to express ourselves. The physical expression of emotions has been a source of inspiration and influence for art, culture, society, and the interpersonal relationships which shape our daily lives. The face transplant recently performed by French surgeons is an extraordinary testament to the advancements in transplantation surgery as well as the dual physiologic and qualitative healing power of modern medicine. It is an achievement which will undoubtedly benefit both patients and science for years to come. This year marks the 52nd anniversary of the first successful human organ transplant, an astounding feat now commonly taken for granted in the medical community. Breakthroughs in organ transplantation research over the past half-century have propelled our understanding of the body's immune system by leaps and bounds, making it possible to successfully transplant organs such as the bowel, heart, lung, and skin and develop life-saving immunologic therapies. Dr. Jean-Michel Dubernard has now performed the first face transplant, an accomplishment deserving the highest praise and ethical consideration. Transplantation surgery as a whole remains a largely existential endeavor which puts into question our sense of self and identity. Are our personalities and lives separate and distinct from the organs and tissues that comprise us, or do they inherently determine our experience of life? In most cases, the organ transplanted is tucked beneath flesh and bone, hidden away from scrutiny which would spark regular contemplation. Now, though, the organ itself bears the expressions characteristic of rumination. After a savage dog attack mutilated her nose, lips, and chin, Isabelle Dinoire received replacement facial tissue last November from a brain dead woman whose family had given consent to the procedure. Articles heralded the procedure to the world with both acclaim and contempt. The idea of face transplantation is wrought with major medical, ethical, and moral issues. It is first important to understand the vast complexity and risks involved with face transplants. Vascular blockages in any of the hundreds of microvessels could damage or kill the graft, and powerful anti-rejection drugs that will increase the likelihood of cancer will have to be taken on a permanent routine. In addition, risks of graft rejection (10-50% over the first 5 years) could put patients in a worse medical situation then before the operation. These potential pitfalls beg the question: Does this predominantly aesthetic procedure warrant the health risks involved, not to mention the psychological issues that undoubtedly arise from looking in the mirror only to see a stranger looking back? I would argue that yes, in the case of Isabelle Dinoire the potential benefits to the patient and medical community warranted the risks. Although Ms. Dinoire's life was not in danger without the surgery, that does not mean she was without suffering. The pain associated with disfigurement and the traumatic loss of one's facial movement is not confined by functional boundaries. How can you objectively assess the value and meaning of a look of joy or sorrow on a person's face? For many, the ability to fully express ourselves is synonymous with life itself. The late Ray Charles once said 'I was born with music inside me. Music was one of my parts. Like my ribs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart. Like my blood. It was a force already within me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me - like food or water.' Although Mr. Charles's ability to hear his music was not integral to his physical health, it was a vital part of his soul. Many critics have stated that Dr. Dubernard's decision to perform the first face transplant was rash and motivated more by fame and recognition than a physician's duty to practice beneficence or non-malfeasance. While it is true that a high-profile, risky procedure such as face transplantation carries with it media attention, the same can be said of the first kidney transplant in 1954 by Dr. Hamburger or the first liver transplant in 1963 by Dr. Thomas Starzl. Both procedures were highly publicized and considered extremely risky and potentially fatal if unsuccessful. However, both also significantly furthered our scientific understanding, making it possible to now routinely save and improve lives using these techniques. With any groundbreaking work there is a concomitant fissure in ethical viewpoints. In modern medicine, life is often objectified by risks and benefits in a series of computations, algorithms, and equations. While modern medicine accomplishes its goals, it does not give due credit to qualitative health concerns. I agree that Ms. Dinoire's situation still remains precarious and that much of the physical success of her operation will be determined in the upcoming months. I also acknowledge that her operation will carry with it a psychological component which remains to be seen. However, as a future physician I value the diversity of opinions, choices, and lifestyles which encompass the human experience. Ultimately, in the years to come I believe the success for Isabelle Dinoire and future face transplant patients will not be measurable in terms of symmetry, nerve function, or immunity. As articulated by Mother Theresa in the quote above, I believe their success will be based on their ability to use the gift they were given to benefit humanity.
