This is from my student Taylor (fake name). Details, names, and minor facts have been changed to protect his/her/their anonymity.
This essay was written using the MD Maker Method (MMM) with one-on-one guidance from Danny. See if you can identify the emotional core, the strong image, and the pathway in medicine.
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My family moved six times in three years when I was in elementary school. I was always the ‘new kid,’ and it was hard to make lasting connections in such a short time. As a result, I became inclined to see the best in people and to look past our differences. When time is short, it’s important to make every moment matter. After moving from one high school to another, I was ecstatic when my father told me we were finally settling down. I could make this place my home. At this second high school, I played varsity baseball for three years, one of my greatest passions. Through baseball, I met two of my best friends. The first, Jimmy, who was impossible to tease because he would just smile and laugh through any insult. The second, Connor, who played the same position as me, center-field; we’d stay up late playing video games even on school nights. Once Jimmy, Connor, and I graduated, we made a pact that even though we’d be on opposite sides of the country, we’d stay true to baseball and that we’d come back in a few years’ time, each with our own story of success.
In college, I was excited to be in control of my own journey and finally establish a sense of home. But when I tore my rotator cuff and labrum, I had to make a choice: pursue medical treatments in different parts of the country or give up baseball to stay in one place. I had moved so many times in my life, I thought I could tough it out if it meant being able to pursue my passion. I was fortunate enough to have competitive baseball offers at different schools, which allowed me to meet with specialists all around the country. It was during my many surgeries that my interest in medicine grabbed ahold of me tightly, like an ice compression wrap on an injured shoulder. I saw how proper and effective treatment could empower people to reclaim control of their lives despite the gravity of their injuries. In the midst of my recuperation from surgeries and my attempts to play baseball through my injuries, I received news that Jimmy had unexpectedly passed away in the middle of the night due to a heart-related abnormality.
The news of Jimmy’s death left me feeling hopeless and defeated. Due to his family’s limited resources, he lacked access to proper treatment that could have afforded him an early diagnosis, one that might have saved his life. I experienced a great sense of loss, which was heightened when I snapped my ulnar collateral ligament (UCL). Left untreated, this injury would end my career; however, treatment stopped me playing for twelve months. This injury left me feeling even further away from Jimmy. Baseball was always how I bonded with my friends. It felt like so much had been taken away from me. But I found a way to make meaning from my situation through medicine. When I watched a neurosurgeon that I was shadowing provide his services pro bono for US veterans that couldn’t afford the treatments, I was moved. It showed me how physicians can eliminate barriers to access to the underserved—to people like Jimmy—and how they can be a single decisive force in extending care.
As my elbow healed, I remained hopeful of returning to baseball. That was, until I heard that Connor had suffered from a cervical fracture when he dove for a ball and hit his head on the outfield fence. I visited him in the ICU, where I held his iPad as he video called his teammates, telling them he was paralyzed from the chest down. I was just grateful that Connor was alive, that he could talk to me, and that I hadn’t lost another friend. However, later that day he was dropped from his gurney, an incident of medical malpractice that left him fully paralyzed, unable to speak or respond until he passed a couple years later. I began to give up hope completely, after seeing how Connor’s injuries from baseball led directly to his slow and debilitating death. The only bright light in that despairing time for me was my physical therapy. During one of our sessions, I watched my physical therapist assist a wheelchair-bound professional bull-rider who suffered a similar spinal injury to Connor’s. The doctor would strap a belt to his waist and help him walk. The patient told me that all he looked forward to every week was being able to walk again for those thirty minutes. It gave me hope that I could regain control of my own life, and do that same thing for someone else one day.
I took Connor’s jersey number in my final season, and after he passed, created a website (xyz.com) to support his life, legacy, and future– an annual softball tournament, the proceeds of which sponsor a student-athlete like him. I wanted to take my own first steps towards having a real impact on people’s lives. I went on to volunteer in the ED of a local hospital, where I encountered, again and again, a persevering sense of ‘doing all that you can,’ one that continue to inspire me to pursue a career in medicine. I’ve seen firsthand the importance of access and proper care, and how that translated into Jimmy’s lack of diagnosis and Connor’s debilitating condition. As a result, I will strive to be the kind of physician that breaks down barriers to access, and that upholds a high-quality standard of care for every patient.
