Leading Through Humanity & Heart Scholarship

The values of resilience, service, and profound empathy have shaped my journey from a first-generation college student and single mother to a dedicated LVN for the past ten years. My passion for human health was ignited at the bedside, watching mentors provide care that blended clinical skill with deep human connection. This passion became personal when a severe postpartum infection left me septic and hospitalized. In an instant, I transitioned from caregiver to vulnerable patient, confronting the fear and isolation that patients can feel. That experience, coupled with serving on the frontline during COVID-19, cemented my commitment. I learned that health is more than the absence of disease; it is about dignity, empowerment, and being seen as a whole person. These experiences drive me to become a Registered Nurse. I am not just passionate about treating illness; I am dedicated to ensuring every patient feels heard and empowered in their care, especially those from underrepresented communities. My journey has taught me that true wellness requires both clinical excellence and unwavering compassion. To me, empathy is the bridge between clinical data and the human experience. It is not merely understanding a patient’s diagnosis, but actively seeking to understand the fear in their eyes, the frustration in their voice, and the weight of their personal circumstances. It is the practice of sitting with a person in their vulnerability without judgment, ensuring they feel like a partner in their care, not just a subject of it. In nursing, this quality is not a soft skill—it is a critical component of effective care. My own medical crisis after childbirth taught me this firsthand. Lying in an ICU bed with a wound vac, I was more than a case of sepsis; I was a new mother terrified I wouldn’t be able to care for my daughter. The nurses who saw me—not just my infection—made all the difference. They bridged the gap between my clinical reality and my human terror. This is especially vital in women’s health, where patients need to feel believed and supported, not just processed. Empathy builds the trust that allows for honest communication, which in turn leads to better outcomes and safer patients. To ensure my work is consistently human-centered, I will employ a few key practices. First, I will practice intentional listening. This means sitting down, making eye contact, and listening to a patient’s story without interrupting, just as I did when I used my personal iPad to connect isolated COVID-19 patients with their families. It’s in those unstructured moments that the most crucial information and fears are often revealed. Second, I will empower patients through education. My experience as a first-generation student taught me the power of demystifying complex systems. I will translate medical jargon into clear, actionable steps, ensuring patients and their families understand their care plan and feel equipped to participate in their own wellness. This transforms them from passive recipients into active advocates. Finally, I will champion cultural humility. Recognizing that my patients’ backgrounds and beliefs profoundly shape their health journey, I will ask questions and create a space where their values are respected. This commitment to seeing the whole person—their identity, their family, their fears, and their strengths—is the core of human-centered care. It is the practice of ensuring that the dignity of the person in the bed is always the priority, guiding every clinical decision and every human interaction.

As a first-generation Venezuelan and Latino immigrant, I grew up watching my parents work long hours while navigating financial and cultural challenges in a new country. Their sacrifices taught me resilience and the value of perseverance, but also the importance of giving back when you have the chance. Those lessons have guided every step of my journey toward medicine. At Chelsea Dermatology, where I work as a medical assistant, I’ve met patients who arrive anxious about their conditions or treatments. Taking the time to reassure them, answer their questions, and make them feel comfortable has shown me how much compassion matters in healthcare. I carry the same lesson from volunteering at Cass Clinic in Detroit, where many patients face financial barriers to care. There, I learned that even small acts such as listening closely and offering kindness can restore dignity and trust between the patient and provider. My passion for science has grown alongside these experiences. From conducting breast cancer research at the Kleer Lab to studying Minoxidil’s effects on estrogen receptors, I’ve come to see how discovery can directly impact patients. For me, medicine represents both the science of advancing treatment and the humanity of caring for people when they need it most. For me, empathy is the ability to see and feel the world from another person’s perspective. It means recognizing that behind every symptom or diagnosis is a person with fears, hopes, and a story that deserves to be heard. I have come to understand empathy not as an abstract concept, but as a daily practice that has shaped how I approach patients, research, and even my own challenges as a first-generation immigrant. One moment that stands out to me happened at Chelsea Dermatology, where I work as a medical assistant. A patient came in visibly nervous about a procedure. She asked question after question, her voice shaking with anxiety. I paused, sat down with her, and explained each step slowly, making sure she felt in control. By the end of the visit, she thanked me not for the medical care, but for taking the time to listen and treat her with patience. That moment taught me that empathy builds trust—the foundation of every successful patient-physician relationship. Volunteering at Cass Clinic reinforced this lesson on a larger scale. Many patients there struggle with financial insecurity and limited access to care. I remember a man who came in for help with a chronic condition. What struck me was not just his medical need, but how relieved he seemed that someone was finally listening without judgment. Empathy, in that moment, was about seeing him as more than his illness and offering him dignity in a system that often overlooks people like him. Empathy, to me, is not passive; it is active. It means using understanding to guide action for either calming an anxious patient, advocating for underserved communities, or remembering the human lives behind the science. In my future as a physician, empathy will not just be a quality I value; it will be the lens through which I care, connect, and heal.

1) My name is Sumaiya Sarwar, and the best parts of my life have always involved my family. As the oldest of my generation, I often take care of our family’s many younger children, all of them calling me “older sister,” regardless of our relation. Multiple times a year, I willingly plan elaborate sleepovers for us, happily managing the food, activities, and logistics in exchange for their delighted laughter. Through them, I learned responsibility, patience, understanding, and the joy that comes from simple pleasures such as arts and crafts or hand-made desserts. I would not stop these sleepovers for the world—various instances in my life have taught me to appreciate every moment with my loved ones, especially with human health as precarious as it is. I first learned this lesson when my father was hospitalized with Covid in 2020. It was reinforced two years later as I watched my cousin sprawled on the floor, fighting a heart attack. If both times had not ended in recovery, part of me would have died along with my relatives. Since then, I have resolved to guard human health, a person’s single most precious asset. In the medical field, I am determined to protect not only individuals, but their loved ones as well, ensuring families are never torn apart. 2) In the future, I am determined to be a nurse—one of the most human-centered occupations in the medical field. It is therefore crucial for me to approach medicine with a sense of empathy above all else. At its most basic level, empathy is understanding—the ability to glimpse a person’s feelings and comprehend what you are seeing. In healthcare, empathy is not only understanding, but also action. As a nurse, I cannot simply look at a person’s sadness; I must devote my entire being to alleviating that sadness. When faced with the indescribable pain, uncertainty, and vulnerability of patients and their loved ones, I must do everything I can to lighten such burdens. Whether it is through countless gentle explanations, rapid responses to patient needs, or any non-medical interaction that eases stress, it is my duty to always act selflessly when guarding human health. By employing this work ethic, nurses—and all healthcare workers—can improve human wellness to the highest degree. They would address mental strain as well as physical illness, strengthening patients in mind, body, and soul. To achieve this multifaceted approach to healing, empathy is crucial. Without it, our medical facilities would be cold and barren—a place of grim judgments and anxiety, devoid of any relief. Already, death and recovery often hinge upon clinical facts; without empathy, this helplessness would simply be unbearable. Empathy is therefore essential to human health. As a nurse, I resolve to always channel empathy within me, utilizing it in my frequent patient interactions. Maintaining this attitude will allow my efforts to shine in a human-centered lens. To ensure that I never deviate from this lens, I plan to always follow the example of my ultimate role models: the nurses and physicians who cared for me during my own hospitalization. Shocked, panicked, and unsure if I would ever recover, my grim disposition was tempered only by the devout hospital staff. Their unwavering love and support brought tears to my eyes on many occasions, assuring me that I would move forward regardless of my condition. Already, I think of their earnest diligence every time I find myself in need of strength and patience. I am certain their guidance will never lead me astray, especially in terms of human-centered healthcare. My hospital experience has also clarified what I have always known: my love of healthcare stems from my love of people. I want to be the dependable nurse I had, the dependable nurse patients wish they have. I want to help those I hold dear and those others hold dear. I want to comfort those who desperately need it, caring for them the same way I was cared for. As long as these desires burn bright within me, I will never lose sight of my empathy. Instead, I will use it to better the lives of patients in any way I can.