Why I Want to Become a Doctor

There is one Haitian proverb that has never lost its potency, despite the atmosphere of economic adversity, numerous civil wars, and political unrest: Ð'ÐŽÐ'oPiti, piti, wazo fe nich li.Ð'ÐŽÐ'± Literally, the phrase means, Ð'ÐŽÐ'oLittle by little, the bird builds its nestÐ'ÐŽÐ'±; figuratively, it represents building oneÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs way, Ð'ÐŽÐ'olittle by little, Ð'ÐŽÐ'± toward oneÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs goals in life. To further understand the sayingÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs significance, we should first consider the nature of birds. From tailorbirds that suture leaves together to some hummingbirds and pee wee wrens that use lichen and spider webs to build their nests, we can see the resourcefulness birds demonstrate in obtaining nest-building materials. My life has been a similar process of building a metaphorical nest -- acquiring such qualities as compassion, dedication, and leadership through a variety of experiences to prepare for a successful career as a physician.

As a bird builds through changing seasons, I too have prepared for the study of medicine through variously themed Ð'ÐŽÐ'oseasonsÐ'ÐŽÐ'± in my life. During high school, for example, I focused my activities on serving the various communities of which I am a part. After joining Mt. Olivet SDA Church, I became involved with the community of Williamsville, New York -- participating in an anti-drug rally and health fair, leading local public speaking events, singing in church choirs at nursing homes, and visiting hospitalized church members. I was also a mentor and counselor for underprivileged children at the Buffalo Reading Recreational Center leading group meetings to the museum and the park. In these activities, I experienced both the rewards I hope to gain and the challenges I expect to face as a physician; to be an comforting assistance to those in need.

During my time working and volunteering at the Mt. Olivet SDA Church, I had the pleasure of briefly meeting and cherishing two people that had an incredible touch on my life. Two representative relationships -- with Sally Rutherford, a cancer survivor, and Brother Dill, who later lost his life to a heart condition -- illustrate the key lessons I learned. Deacon DillÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs military experience made his biceps big and his grip strong; an exuberance for life perhaps accounted for molding strong cheek muscles and dimples when he smiled. Though his ailing heart would not stand up to the measure of these other qualities, his funeral evoked his strength and his humility, allowing him to leave on an inspirational note. Last year, Sister Flowers, as we volunteers called the seemingly blossoming Sally, was diagnosed with cancer. Trying to maintain her graceful smile and hopeful eyes in the midst of her weakness, she continued to hold her frail hand out for prayer, symbolizing an unwavering faith for better times to come. As I look ahead to my career, I recall Brother DillÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs legacy and determination and Sister FlowersÐ'ÐŽÐ'Ї testimony and rejuvenated smile. Having been immersed in the needs of my churchÐ'ÐŽÐ'Їs urban community, I have seen countless such cases that inspire me to continue my service in underserved areas on a greater plane as a medical doctor.

The next season engaged me in introspection and self-learning at a summer course I took at State University of New York. Although I had always been aware of many of the moral breaches of science and medicine, it was my first real exposure to ethical