The Last Few Weeks of Class

As we wind down the school year, I'm wondering where the time went. It seemed only yesterday I was sitting in my first class of the semester, going over they syllabus. Now I am looking at finals coming up and wondering what I have been doing for the last 10 or so weeks.

What have I been doing these last few weeks. I would be lying if I said that my classes are easy. They are extremely difficult, and a couple weeks ago was a culmination of all the difficulty coming together in one fast blur. I really don't remember doing anything but all the work for class. I had a test in Chemistry, a quiz in Biology, homework due in both, and a 10 page paper to due for my Global Topics in Sexual and Reproductive Health class. Who knew that writing 10 pages on assisted reproduction could be so tedious?

I am now in the last throes of class. As these weeks go quickly by, I realize that there still is a lot to do. I have to find out whether or not I can take summer classes or whether or not I need to get a job. Since the financial aid office is only open before 1 PM for consultations, it will be difficult for me to find this out in time, but I think I can get this accomplished. Hopefully, I can do summer classes, because jobs are still pretty few and far between.

All I have been doing lately is tons of classwork, and I have gone on a few dates with a few guys, all of which I thought weren't for me. I have another date tomorrow, so we will see how it goes.

Yay for Spring Break

To say that I need the vacation is an understatement. I have been steamrollered by classes, so this break is more than a welcome time for me to relax. Then again, I have assignments that are due during break, so it isn't all vacation. I may actually use this time to get ahead in some of my classes. It isn't every month that you have a whole week to yourself.

As for what has happened lately, I have officially graduated from Mini Med School 2. Granted, I can't practice medicine (this is not actual medical school), I learned a lot from it. I also got to see the technology that I will be practicing on when I get into nursing school (it's kind of cool but kind of intimidating as well). I still look forward to applying and getting into nursing school in the near future.

I have also been contemplating whether or not my career path is realistic. The more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe it isn't realistic for me to expect to get into medical school. My grades are somewhat competitive, but are not that competitive. Maybe I'm getting down on myself, but then again, medical school is something that takes years to prepare for. I won't be able to get in by merely getting by. I have to do more to show that I actually want it, and this means learning to balance stress on a needle's tip. This is not entirely possible. However, I still have my dreams. What I am planning on doing is to get my Master's degree and possibly my Doctorate in Nursing. This will make me a nurse practitioner: someone who has the same prescribing rights as a doctor, but without the huge price tag associated with medical school. I think this is a more realistic aspiration, don't you agree?

Then again, I have been through hell and back, and it's surprising that I have done so well depending on what I have gone through. My counselor commends me on keeping this sense of right and wrong and in being attentive to my problems. I agree with her that I am more conscientious, and that makes me more capable of communicating my problems to my psychiatrist and those that support me, but I'm the last one who will say that I'm perfect. I may be one of the easier people to deal with then other people, like say my mom, but I still sometimes find it difficult to talk to people. I have discovered that I have this sort of wall that sometimes keeps me from relating and attaching to people. The way I look at it, this is just one more thing that I will conquer. I have conquered many other things, why not this as well?

On this same topic, I have some news on the Schizophrenia stuff. My dose has been increased again, and I will be on this dose until summer, which I then will be weaned to a lower dose. I started having symptoms again after becoming stressed about a dreaded chemistry test and having to do all the cleaning around the apartment...I hate the fact that my 24 year old brother that I live with has no idea how to keep the apartment clean. What's more gross is that he says that he hasn't cleaned the apartment once since he moved in, which was 4 years ago!! Eeeeeeewwwww, eeeeeeeewwwwwww, eeeeeeeeewwwwwww!!!!!! I guess that is how life is. Oh, and the shower broke about 3 days ago and he has yet to call maintenance to have it fixed. Luckily the faucet for the tub still works, or there would be no way for me or him to get clean. If it would have stopped working period, I would have lost it.

As for my brother, I have taken the attitude that I am not his mother and will not clean up after him. It drives me crazy living in filth, but he needs to learn that there won't be people to always clean up after him. I'm really thinking that I will be moving out to the on-campus residences in the fall because I really need to be in a place where I won't be so stressed out. What do you think?

As the night wears on, I think about what my break will be like. I don't want it to be a prolonged study session, but I also need to do my homework. I think I will go out with my friend and maybe wander 16th Street Mall for a while. I don't know. I guess I'll do whatever I want during this break. After all, break is all my own and a time to take for myself.

My Testimony...One Who Has Greatly Conquered

My life has been a journey of epic proportions. I have been through highs and lows and the only way that I can describe it is that it ebbs and flows, like the ocean’s tides ebb and flow. One of the things that I enjoy about this ever-changing lifestyle is that it is always constantly changing. As the waters of a river are never the same at any given moment, the story of my life is ever-changing. On the flip side of it, I haven’t been given the kind of stability that I have craved, but that is one of only many things that I may have missed out on in my life. Nonetheless, the events of my life have shaped me as a person, but they do not define my future. I am not defined mainly by my past, as I am defined by many aspects of my life. No one aspect of my life takes precedence, as no one feature determines the organism as a whole. Rather, it is all the characteristics combined that form the organism.

                My journey starts in the windy state of Wyoming, where I was born on a cold January morning to my parents. Being a child of a tough pregnancy, my mother was glad when I was born. She had many mornings where she was praying to the porcelain goddess, and there were even a few times where she was hospitalized due to severe uterine infections. I came as a healthy child with no problems, unlike my brother, who ended up having seizures several years after he was born. My parents were glad for this, as they were emotionally exhausted from having to take care of my brother.

                Throughout my childhood, I thought of myself as a diva. I loved to sing. My earliest memory of singing consisted of me trying to sing louder and better than my peers. Other than that, I was a daddy’s girl. I loved being around my father, especially when he took me to McDonalds on the weekend. I would play in the PlayPlace while my dad would eat. I don’t remember much about my mother except that she worked during the day while my dad took the night shift and would sleep during the day. He was a very loving father that dutifully took care of my brother and I whenever he could. The one thing that I found troubling was that I often craved for attention from my parents, but I was often turned away. That is when I decided to take up being around with others my age, or being down at the creek by my house. There I would catch snakes and other living things and would put them into containers that I pulled out of the trash. Often I spent my whole summer down at this creek, investigating things both upstream and downstream, and my hair was bleached a beautiful platinum blond, which proved to be my pride and joy. One summer, while looking at what was downstream, I found a makeshift treehouse among a cluster of trees.

                I loved the treehouse, but I hated the smell. Surrounding the treehouse arose the stench of decomposing leaves and “blueberry mud” (mud that I found mottled with black decomposing matter), but I didn’t find that to be a deterrent. I still played among the treehouse, often on my own, during those long summer days. I would often return home with sand in my shoes, hair and clothes and wound up smelling really bad from handling the blueberry mud all day. What I enjoyed most was perfecting my skills of catching the little minnows that called the creek their home. I became very adept at seeing these fish and following them to their hiding spots. I often was not afraid of sticking my hand underneath rocks, despite the fact that crawdads, too, resided in these waters. Often, I brought these minnows home and tried to keep them in a fish tank that my brother had. Not one of them lived for long, as I didn’t know what they ate nor did I have the capacity to properly care for them. This did not deter me from catching more of these little striped fish and bringing them home.

                Often I had fantasies about what resided in these waters of this creek. In one small pool, I envisioned a large fish splashing about. I never saw this fish, but I still thought that one existed. As a result, I never went near that pool of water.

                The creek that I knew of is now blocked off by a chain link fence. Even though I now can’t go near it, this creek still evokes many memories of many summer days. It will always remain open to me in my imagination, evoking images of me catching many creatures and bringing them home, sometimes without the knowledge of my parents.

                As a child, I loved animals. I remember spending some time watching veterinary shows and admired what these people got to do. I was very outspoken about animal abuse and other things that would cause animals harm that they didn’t have to necessarily experience. One of the things that I was outspoken against was the declawing of cats. I thought this to be cruel and taking the freedoms away from such majestic animals. When I got my first cat, I was ecstatic. Here I was, given the responsibility for caring for my first pet, which was a black and white long-hair Ragdoll named Chase. He had very eccentric patterns, especially at night. He would often crawl up next to your head and would sit there, purring and kneading (sometimes it was the pillow, but other times it was your scalp). If he wasn’t doing this, he was often running around the house, chasing things that were unseen in the inky darkness. After I got my first cat, I was offered a volunteer position at a nearby animal clinic, which I relished.

                I was immersed in my own world to notice the rumblings at home. My mom was absent from home for days at a time, but I often didn’t notice it. It wasn’t until after I had gotten my first volunteer position at 12 years old that I really began to take notice of what was happening between my parents. The first day that I volunteered, my father had forbid me from doing so, but I still decided to go up to the clinic anyways. I came home later that night to a cop car in front of the house. I said where I was, and was surprised to be able to volunteer anymore. The reason that the cops were called was because it was my mother’s turn to take my brother and I, and she wasn’t happy that I wasn’t at home.

                My mother decided to move out around December 2001, in which my father had shared with my brother and I that she was gone and wasn’t coming back. I felt sad because I loved my mother dearly and wasn’t sure that I would see her again. After a few months of not seeing my mother, she suddenly came back, with a man that she had met and decided to move in with. He was tall and skinny and proved to be a person that would change my life forever.

                This man, George, proved to be a very abusive man. He would drink strong alcoholic drinks and would therefore not be in control of his anger. There was one night in particular that I remember very well. My brother, George and I were all playing Monopoly together, and I was starting to become discouraged because George and my brother were both winning and I was losing (as evidenced by the little amount of money that I had compared to them). My mother took notice and suggested that they allow me to win for once. George, who had been drinking earlier that day, flipped out and lost it. I don’t remember much about the details that went on that day, but I did remember that George and my mother ended up in a fight. My brother walked out on the fight, intent on getting to my father’s house on the highway, while I stayed and observed the whole fight (sometimes I ponder what would have happened had I walked out with my brother-would my mom have gotten arrested? Would she still be alive? Would I have to live with the memory of George for the rest of my life?). My mom and George began to yell, then my mother sat down for some reason (I don’t remember why). George then took her head in his hands and said, “I’m going to fucking kill you!” My mom, pleading for her life, told me to call the cops, which I did. George then let go of my mother’s head and the two of them then took the argument to the kitchen, where they threw glasses at the wall, and finally they took it to the bedroom. In there, they physically fought, my mother biting and clawing George and George pinning my mother down. There was a loud thud and then my mother came out of the bedroom, holding her head, saying that she couldn’t remember why they were fighting. She proceeded to sit down, and George left, intent on trying to find my brother. Not long afterward, the cops and paramedics came, and my mom was taken to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with a concussion. She was later taken away in cuffs for domestic violence. I witnessed several more fights, each of which were burned in my memory forever.

                The details of that night may be out of order from what I have recalled here. After that night and witnessing the other fights that my mom had with both George and my father, I would become extremely sensitive to when another fight was going to start up between my mother and those that she was romantically involved with. I remember one other time after this that my mother had gotten into a verbal altercation with someone that she was romantically involved with. As soon as that happened, I proceeded to hide underneath the stairs outside of the apartment of this person my mother had been dating. My brother followed, and I told him that I was scared that the cops were going to be called and that my mother was going to be arrested again. I remember that my mother had been arrested three times for domestic violence and that after the third arrest, she spent several months in prison. During her stay, I remember visiting her once. It was hard having the inch of glass between her and I and only being limited to a matter of minutes with her. I never wanted that to happen to her again. (And another thing that happened after this was that I no longer trusted men, seeing that they would get angry easily. It took me years of being in the presence of men at my church for me to finally realize that my experience of men was not a common one and that men weren’t as scary as I portrayed them as being).

                Custody was a hard thing to have to endure during childhood. As soon as I would get comfortable staying somewhere, I would be shipped off to another place, often for months at a time. I loved both my parents dearly, but with one spending most of his days sleeping and the other caught up in her relationship with her new love, I began to feel the weight of how truly alone I was. I was always a social outcast among my peers, but I often didn’t care. I found enough to do on my own that I never realized my loneliness. It wasn’t until I was taken out of my own world that I began to realize my life in reality. I began middle school as a social outcast, and that is when I met Brittany Fiechter and Courtney Brown. Brittany and I were in the same choir class together and we often drew and laughed at each other’s pictorial portrayals of the teacher banging on the piano, trying to get the class to settle down enough to begin singing. I remember that this class was a class in which things were being thrown to and fro: binders, pencils, paper; you name it and it was something that was probably thrown across the classroom. It wasn’t until my birthday that I realized what I was doing was wrong.

                The teacher gave each person a pencil and a certificate for each person’s birthday, and mine was no exception. I got mine and decided to lay it out in the open next to my stuff on the counter. By the end of class, The certificate was in shreds on the floor and my pencil was missing. I felt so dejected by it that I began to cry. That is when my teacher had printed me a new certificate and gave me another pencil, which made my day. After that, I decided to quit making fun of her, which eventually cost me my friendship with both Brittany and Courtney. They allied against me and spent the school day talking behind their hands about me (I knew because I often heard what they said as I passed). I made my final pronouncement to them: “I’m walking out with my head held high!” I tried to ditch the rest of the year because of the humiliation that these girls brought upon me. To make matters worse, Brittany was friends with the police officer in the school, who then sided with Brittany. I was portrayed as the problem in the school, so I didn’t want to ever come to school again. However, my mother found out I was ditching and forced me to go. I hated that year! I failed all of my classes except for choir!

                The next year proved different. My mother decided that she needed to move to the Northern Colorado area, away from my father and stepfather. In her mind, they were working together to get her arrested. Whether this was real or not is something I don’t know to this day. This was the beginning of my mother’s decline. She began to fear people and to think that people were out to get her. She believed that she had to pre-emptively strike people before they were able to get her. She alienated herself from the rest of her family and began to date. She ended up going through a different date every week when we were in the northern Colorado region. She often would excuse these dates by saying that they were because of these men. I believed this for years. It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that my eyes were becoming gradually opened to the truth behind my mother.

                This year I had changed schools, since my mother decided that it was time to get her own place. I observed her dating and began to see that my mother wasn’t all that she was making herself out to be. She became very controlling of me, to the point where she would often threaten to evict me if I spent time with other people. In order to finish high school, I abided by her rules. As soon as I began my freshman year in college, I began to slowly drift away from her. I spent less time at home and more time in ministries in my college and at my church. If there was choir practice, I often found a way to be there and not at home. This was because I felt that my mother was smothering me emotionally. In the middle of this year, I began to look at Colorado Christian University, as the university that I was attending was too big and impersonal I thought. The more I looked at the college, the more I loved the sight of it. I eventually decided to transfer, but not without resistance from my mother.

                My mother didn’t want me to attend this college and especially didn’t want me to live on campus away from her. She threatened to commit suicide until I told her that I would live off-campus with her, but I persisted. In January 2010, I moved to the on-campus residences at the college.

                This was a huge step for me to take that would lead to one of the biggest decisions I have ever made in my life. When I moved on campus, the relationship became strained to the point where I was forced to either end the relationship with my mom or discontinue seeing my dad. At this point in my life, I was distanced from my father for about seven years, so I felt entitled to see my father at least once during that time. This ended up making my mom so mad that she eventually disowned me (she told me in a phone message that she wished that I was never born and that I was no longer her daughter). After I got the message, I tried to work things out with her, but the damage was done. At the end of January, I made the decision to keep her off campus. When that boundary didn’t keep her from belittling me less for the decision to see my father and to respect him as a person (she wanted me to get $500 a month from him in order to send it all to her), I decided to change my phone number and block her from my e-mail. I thought I had all my bases covered and that she wouldn’t contact me anymore.

                Toward the beginning of March, 2010, I end up getting a message on Facebook from her. In it, she belittled me and told me to get my stuff from her apartment or it would be gone. I disregarded it until I read to the end of the message, then my heart sank and sheer panic arose within me. Toward the end of the letter she began expressing how hurt she felt (however, I learned later that this was more of a means to control me rather than a true expression of her feelings). She ended the letter with a suicide threat. Knowing that she was capable of taking her life and confused on how to handle it, I decide to talk to my Resident Director, who then instructs me to call the police. I do so, and as soon as I’m off the phone with the police, a friend of mine calls, asking for my mother’s address. I ask her if my mom left a suicidal message and she confirms, so I decide to give her the address for my mother. This all seemed a dream to me, and I remember it all as a blur. I remember praying, asking God to make sure that my mother is all right. Before I know it, I get a call back from the police. My mother has been taken to the hospital. She did take a few pills, but she was mostly out of it and not overly hurt. Relieved, I break down in front of my Resident Director (by that time, my father and my brother were there as well and were in the room with me as I got the phone call. They had thought that my mother had indeed taken her life, but my tears were tears of joy. Thank God my mother’s okay! I thought as I hung up the phone. My mother’s safe, I don’t have to worry about her anymore!

                It turns out that night, she was released the same night and not held for a suicide hold. I found out later that year that this happened and was infuriated. How could the system fail her? It was obvious that she needed help, and they   failed to give her the help that she needed! To this day, I feel like the system that is meant to protect people from hurting themselves and others has failed. I cannot rely on anyone to help my mother get the help that she so desperately needs, except through the power of my own personal testimony. Even though the story pretty much ends here and you know the rest of my   difficulties (transferring schools and the financial problems I faced by doing so, my not-so-recent diagnosis), my story will never stop being written, just as the tide doesn’t stop ebbing and flowing and the waters of a river are constantly moving. When my story is finished, my life will be too. I hope that I will influence the lives of others in a positive way and that there will be many people that will be able to say good things about me at my funeral. The biggest goal I have in my life right now is seeing to it that my mother will get the help she needs. I know that one day there will be someone that will listen to me and will take what I have to say about my mother seriously, and will help me to help my mother get help. In doing so, I hope to bring healing to my family and a fair bit of closure. However, I know that there is also the possibility that my mother will take her life before I can help her get help. If this happens, I know that it is not my fault that she would take her life. In the meantime, I have to resist the urge to wish that my mother would take her life (this would bring a lot of closure to the family and would be the end of her seeking me and my brother out at the cost of the rest of the family’s happiness and sanity), and hope that she is out there and will be receptive when the time comes to contact her. I must keep my hopes up and my head even higher and finish college on a high note. I know I’m a survivor, but I must live not as one who merely survived, but as one who has greatly conquered.

My Philosophy Explained: Two Cases

                What is my philosophy in life? I would say that my philosophy in life is to pursue what you want to pursue despite what others say you should pursue. If you love something or someone enough, there will be nothing that will stop you from doing what you want to do or being with the person you love. When it comes to people, you have to respect their boundaries. I don’t know how many times guys have asked me out on the bus, or have violated some very personal boundaries without getting to know me as a person. It freaks me out when guys touch me in some intimate way or want to have sex on the first date. The rules of winning a woman over is to move very slowly, and allow the woman to set the pace. Don’t assume that if she is letting you touch her hair that she is ready to make out. I had one guy take me to a dark area and rub my neck. This really turned me off, as I don’t really know him. He then progressed to trying to French kiss me. This was a no-no. Granted, I will no longer see this guy again due to my fear that he will fondle or rape me, I have learned that I am not anticipating dating anytime soon. Guys should honor this and try not to force themselves on me, as I am not ready, nor do I think I ever be, for that serious relationship. Really, since I have no feelings for this guy, I don’t think we can progress much further than just fellow students studying with each other. This means no kissing and no hugging, but it also means that I will be within my own comfort zone and there won’t be things done that either one of us will regret.

                When it comes to pursuing your dreams, I would say to go for it as long as it truly makes you happy. There will always be that person that chooses to be the one that talks down to you. Don’t allow that person to discourage you from doing the things that you love to do. Dream big, aim for the sky and shoot. The worse that you can do when shooting for the moon is to fall short and land among the stars. I have discovered that life is riddled with its difficulties, but these difficulties have the power to render you a helpless, crippled , crying heap or they can build you up into a better person, it is all in how we choose to view life that determines whether or not we will be effective people or ineffective bumps on a log. Don’t allow anyone’s talk bring you down, do what you love and love what you do (just as long as what you love to do can also pay the bills). So don’t be afraid to aim high, after all, you will be a better person for what difficulties you undergo in life.

The Game of Life

Life is a game; there are those that are good at this game, and there are those who are terrible at it. What determines who is good at the game of life and who is not good at it? Survival and what you make of it makes this game of life worth playing. Some people merely exist, mere shadows of whom they are and who they want to become. Then there are those that more than survive, making the most out of life’s rules and having fun while at it. These people turn the horns of life around not to nail them in the butt, but to nail life in the butt. They don’t merely exist, their life is flavored by a sense of fun and excitement and they walk with purpose. I am both of these people at times; there are days where life is exciting and there are days where it is bland. After all, people can’t play all the time, as this is life. Play will eventually exhaust you, so there must be times that you rest. I guess life is what you make of it, and that will be what determines your mastery of it. Nothing in this world matters much except other people and God. Nothing will give you more of a sense of accomplishment than seeing how you can help other people and serving God; not money, a large house, and many material possessions. The happiest people aren’t those with everything, aren’t those who don’t have to worry about financial problems because they have all the money in the world. The happiest people are those who have nothing yet are able to give all. These are the experts of the game of life, for they know life’s hidden treasures and know the true value of relationships. They are rich despite being poor. They are the kind that are always surrounded by people and can be seen with a smile on their face. They don’t worry about what toy they need next because they have never gotten to taste that addictive luxury. To them, the holidays aren’t about how many presents they got, but about the time they spend with family and other people. They are selfless in nature, making sure the needs of others are met before their own needs are met. These are the people to be admired, for they have the treasures that are the most valuable treasures you will find: a sense of genuine love for people and for God, which is a quality that is dying off in mankind and being replaced with a kind of greed. These people are the people who can smile even though their valuables have been stolen. I admire and want to become more like one of these people, as these are the true diamonds in society that no one should dispose of in favor of a lump of coal.

The Way I View Difficulties

I think people will try to talk me out of medicine because of my mental illness. Allow me to present my rebuttal to such an argument. I am like many other people; I have dreams, desires, relationships and responsibilities. The only difference that I have from other people is how my mind functions. Some people’s minds are focused on math and science, crunching numbers from the moment they get up to the moment they go to sleep. Other people’s minds are focused on the arts, allowing music to gauge their emotions and what they are experiencing at a particular moment. I am a healthy mix of the two. Some days I allow myself to trail off on a harmonic symphony; other days, I enjoy learning about science. Just because my mind operates on these two different levels doesn’t negate the impact I could have on someone’s life, nor does it negate my devotion to a career field.

It is said that many medical students are depressed in medical school, especially female medical students. While I have seen the role that conflicts tends to play on the attitudes of medical students (I have a medical student friend who has recently found it difficult to want to stick with medicine and has found herself questioning why she had even gotten into the profession), I believe I possess an advantage over my peers. 56% (or possibly even more) of all medical students in one study were discovered to have clinical symptoms of depression. Most of these people may not be getting actual treatment for it. That is where I possess the greatest advantage. I am aware of my problems and am getting treatment for it. While I do struggle with symptoms every once in a while, I at least have some control over them. I am not allowing it to dictate my life, as these students may be allowing them to do. Second of all, the treatment for my depression can also help me get advice on how to reduce stress during school, how to manage time well, how to balance my personal and professional life, how to deal with family and conflict and so on and so forth. In this respect, therapy for me is mostly beneficial.

The question of the century on this topic is how will my mental disorders affect my professional ability to administer medicine in a compassionate, patient-centered way? Being mentally ill has no negative deviation towards any unhealthy tendency when properly treated. Just because I am getting treatment wouldn’t make me any less of a great physician or nurse. In fact, the opposite is true: getting treatment will improve my ability to be able to give the kind of prestigious, world-class care that is often demanded of the profession. Treatment has liberated me to think clearly, communicate effectively, and overcome obstacles that would otherwise still loom before me. Not getting treatment would have been detrimental to both me and those that I would care for, as I would still be interrupting due to racing thoughts, and I wouldn’t be able to learn as much as I have, which would end up detrimentally affecting my patients when I would make medical errors.

Another question that should be assessed is: how do you think you will cope with the stresses of medical school and the medical profession? The answer: I think I would cope better than most people with these stresses now that I have the tools to be able to cope and handle these stresses when they are thrown at me. I have a lot of resources at my disposal, and I am not afraid to utilize them when I need. Most people figure that they can handle things on their own and will struggle with them for a prolonged period of time before realizing that they need help. In acknowledging my shortcomings, I also acknowledge that it will be the help of others that will help me get through the difficult times in my life. I spend less time floundering about on my own and more time seeking help from others. This helps me to realize not only the potential in myself, but the potential in others. Medical school, I believe, should be focused on building a community of people that will work together for the care of their patients, not as a means of competition against peers. I have utilized community resources wherever I went and have discovered that there is more power in five minutes of asking for someone’s help than there is in five hours of frustratingly trying and failing to figure things out on your own.

Overall, I believe strongly that mental illness is no reason to discount someone from attending medical school. If someone is passionate enough for the field, there will be nothing that will stop them from succeeding at whatever they put their mind to. In the end, mental illness may prove beneficial in helping patients overcome their own shortcomings in life and to potentially seek out the advice of other health care professionals and professional counselors should they need it. Talking about an illness and genuinely experiencing one are two completely different things. I believe that by experiencing a disease, the health care worker, be it physician, nurse or even CNA, they gain an appreciation and genuine understanding of what their patients are going through at a particular moment. Not only that, but often the difficulties of our life form us into better people and therefore better healthcare workers. I often see these times of difficulty as the proverbial heat and pressure that forms the coal into a diamond. This view has allowed me to conquer many difficult times in my life and to rise above them. My life is not dictated by a series of defeats, but rather an alternating series of victories and defeats that have refined me into who I am. I am not always at war, but I’m also not always at peace. I have learned to take these moments in stride, and to learn to live life in the moment, never worrying needlessly about the future and not allowing myself to be haunted by my past. I think that this is what is often required in medicine, and I strongly believe that I will do well in this field despite my shortcomings. It is all in the way that I look at my difficulties and life.

Dreamer

Dreams, what are these worth to people? To some, dreams are interference, a wall that ends up splitting people from the world of reality. To others, dreams are reality, the means that they can use to do great things for many people. I am no exception. My ultimate dream is to become a doctor, to transcend the barriers of poverty that have so easily constrained me for many years. I know that I can do it, but how is another question. I will need help, but where will that help come from. I don’t know now, but I know that I will meet many people along the way and that I will touch the lives of these people in very special ways. I have already touched the lives of others. People look to me for inspiration, a sort of example of what perseverance entails.

My life hasn’t been the perfect life. I am the image of a broken person, a person that has been made new through experience and relationship. Through my times of brokenness I have learned to value things more than some of my counterparts. For the most part, family is very important, a sort of cheerleader troupe to encourage you through life. Each of us is given a different family, and whether we are born into a family who cares or not is pure luck. For those that are born into a loving family, I have discovered that a lot of people take this for granted. They tend to resent the kind of care that their family has for them. For those not born into a loving family, I have discovered that they resent not being loved. What does this mean? This only demonstrates that the world is not perfect, and that we, as people, are not content. The best that we can get is a temporary sense of elation, but true happiness is often elusive. Where is this true happiness? I think that true happiness is not found in things or even people, but in simple living and loving God and others. In realizing this, I hope that I can provide better care for my patients.

I admit, I am a dreamer; I hope to teach others in medicine and hope to be taught myself. However, my heart is for the poor and the hurting, which is what drives me to become the best physician I can be. My vision is to help the poor, as I have been helped by others in the past. I want others to receive the kind of compassionate care that I have received in the past, despite not being able to afford the care. Who are we to decide who gets medical care and who doesn’t? It is not up to us as physicians to turn people away who need it. That is why I want to work with the poor. On top of it, I have discovered that some of the best stories come from those who are poor, and I want to hear those stories and learn from those who have learned a lot. I refuse to turn these people away like they have been turned away in the past.

Like I mentioned before, I need help to realize this dream. In order to fulfill my dream, I need help, from studying for the MCATs to financial help for medical school. I ask that you pray about what you feel is in your heart to give. I will take just about anything, as that will help me to turn my dreams into reality and to turn my dreams into something that will benefit the world. Like my persuasion teacher said, “God transforms nations through transformed people.” Please help me transform nations through my transformed self.