Why I Chose Healthcare and How I Hope to Make a Difference My decision to pursue a degree in healthcare comes from a life shaped by illness, resilience, and the people who cared for me when I could not care for myself. I spent my senior year of high school attached to a fifteen‑inch line coming out of my body, connected to milrinone while waiting for my second heart transplant. I attended classes, danced, applied to colleges, and tried to live like a normal teenager, but every day was a reminder that my life depended on the hands and hearts of healthcare workers. Their compassion, skill, and humanity carried me through moments when I was terrified, exhausted, and unsure of the future. Those experiences did more than save my life. They shaped my purpose. Healthcare is not just a career path for me. It is a calling born from lived experience. I know what it feels like to be vulnerable in a hospital bed, to wait for test results that determine your future, and to rely on strangers for comfort when your family cannot be at your side. I also know what it feels like to be treated as a whole person rather than a diagnosis. The nurses who sat with me, explained procedures, and treated me with dignity made an impact that went far beyond medicine. They showed me the kind of woman I want to become in this field. As a woman pursuing healthcare, I hope to bring empathy, strength, and representation to a field that needs diverse voices and perspectives. Women have always been essential to healthcare, yet we have historically been underrepresented in leadership roles and research. I want to help change that. My experiences with chronic illness and mental health challenges give me a unique understanding of the emotional and physical layers of patient care. I hope to use that understanding to advocate for patients who feel unheard, especially young people, women, and those navigating complex medical conditions. I also hope to contribute to the growing movement toward mental health awareness in medicine. I have struggled with depression, anxiety, and panic attacks since I was sixteen, and I have been in therapy for years. I know how deeply mental health affects physical health, recovery, and a patient’s ability to trust their providers. As a future nurse and eventually a physician, I want to help create environments where patients feel safe discussing their mental health without shame. I want to be the kind of provider who listens, validates, and supports the whole person. My long-term goal is to work in a field where I can combine clinical skill with advocacy, whether that is cardiology, transplant care, or mental health–integrated medicine. I want to help push healthcare toward a future where compassion and equity are as valued as innovation. As a woman in healthcare, I hope to lead with empathy, challenge outdated norms, and show other young women that their voices belong in every room where decisions about health and healing are made. I chose healthcare because it saved my life. I hope to make a difference by helping others feel seen, supported, and cared for in the same way.

Ethel Hayes Destigmatization of Mental Health Scholarship Essay My journey with mental health began abruptly on the first day of my sophomore year of high school. I was sixteen, sitting in class, trying to convince myself that I could handle the pressure I had placed on my own shoulders. Without warning, my chest tightened, my vision blurred, and I could not breathe. I did not know it then, but I was having my first panic attack. That moment forced me to confront something I had been trying to ignore: the weight of perfectionism, fear, and silence had become too heavy to carry alone. Only a few months later, my school experienced a shooting that ended in the death of a student. The entire school and city were shaken. The grief, fear, and confusion that followed settled into all of us in ways we did not know how to express. For me, it deepened the loneliness I already felt. I was scared to make friends, scared to trust people, and scared to let anyone close. I worried constantly about being judged or misunderstood. I kept people at a distance because it felt safer than risking more pain. On the outside, I looked like a high-achieving student. On the inside, I felt isolated, anxious, and overwhelmed. After the shooting, I began therapy, and I have continued ever since. Therapy became a place where I could finally speak the truth I had been hiding. I learned that my panic attacks were not random. They were the result of years of pressure, fear, and unspoken emotions. I had multiple panic attacks throughout high school, each one a reminder that my mental health needed care and attention. My depression became especially heavy during my senior year. While my classmates were celebrating milestones and planning their futures, I was fighting a quiet battle inside myself. I struggled to get out of bed, and I often felt disconnected from everyone around me. During that same year, I was also living with a fifteen-inch line coming out of my body, connected to milrinone while waiting for my second heart transplant. I balanced hospital visits with dance rehearsals, classes, and college applications. I looked strong, but inside I was terrified. I did not know how to talk about the fear of dying, the exhaustion of being medically fragile, or the loneliness of watching my friends live normal lives while mine revolved around survival. I suppressed everything because I thought that was what strength looked like. Eventually, I started taking antidepressants, a decision that felt frightening but necessary. Mental health struggles run deeply in my family, and beginning medication felt like acknowledging a truth I had been avoiding. I was not immune to the challenges that shaped the generations before me. I needed help, and accepting that was an act of courage. After my transplant, I realized I could not keep living in silence. I began opening up to people I trusted, letting myself feel instead of shutting down, and acknowledging that vulnerability is not weakness. It is honesty. I learned that mental health is just as real and important as physical health, and that healing requires compassion, patience, and support. These experiences have shaped my beliefs, relationships, and aspirations in profound ways. I no longer see mental health struggles as something to hide. I see them as part of being human. They have taught me empathy for anyone who feels alone, overwhelmed, or misunderstood. They have strengthened my relationships because I now communicate openly instead of pretending everything is fine. And they have shaped my future. I want to become a nurse, and eventually a physician, who understands not just the physical symptoms patients face but the emotional ones too. I want to be the kind of healthcare provider who sees the whole person, not just the diagnosis. My journey with mental health has taught me resilience, compassion, and purpose. It has shown me that healing is not linear and that strength is not silence. It is the courage to keep going, to ask for help, and to speak openly about the struggles so many people face in the dark. My experiences have not only shaped who I am. They have shaped the future I am determined to build.

Doing What Is Expected of Me—and Then Doing More Doing what is expected of me has never been a simple checklist of responsibilities. It has been shaped by the realities of my life, the challenges I have faced, and the determination that has carried me through moments that could have easily stopped me. Expectations, for many people, mean showing up, completing tasks, and meeting basic standards. For me, expectations were shaped by medical uncertainty, academic pressure, and situations where I had to advocate for myself even when I felt completely alone. Those experiences taught me that meeting the minimum is not enough to build the life I want; doing more is how I create purpose and stability. Meeting expectations became a skill I learned early. During my senior year of high school, I was living with a fifteen‑inch line coming out of my body, attached to milrinone, balancing hospital visits with dance rehearsals, classes, and graduation requirements. I still completed my coursework, still applied to colleges, and still pushed myself to participate in the world around me. That was the baseline I held myself to—not because anyone demanded it, but because I refused to let my circumstances define my limits. Doing what was expected meant showing up even when it was painful, exhausting, or frightening. Doing more, however, has always been something deeper. While waiting for my second heart transplant, I applied to eleven colleges. I planned for a future I wasn’t even sure I would get to experience. After my retransplant, I started college just one month later. Many people would have taken a year off to recover, but I chose to begin my education immediately because I wanted to move toward the life I had fought so hard to keep. Entering a nursing and pre‑med path was not just an academic decision—it was a commitment to turning my experiences into compassion and competence for others. Doing more meant choosing growth even when the future felt uncertain. This year, when my roommate suddenly moved out without warning, I was left blindsided and unsupported. My CDA was unavailable, Housing did not communicate with me, and I found myself crying while my roommate packed her things in front of me. Even then, I advocated for myself. I insisted on a conversation, communicated clearly, and handled the situation with maturity despite feeling alone. That moment reminded me that doing more is not always about pushing harder; sometimes it is about standing up for myself when no one else does. It is about refusing to shrink in the face of confusion or hurt. Doing more does not mean overextending myself or carrying burdens that are not mine. It means using the resilience I have built to create a positive impact. In nursing and medicine, doing more will look like advocating for patients, improving communication, and bringing empathy into every interaction. It will mean using my history—not as something that weighs me down, but as something that strengthens my ability to care for others. My life has already shown that I can meet expectations under extraordinary pressure. Now, doing more means choosing where my strength can create the greatest change. It means building a future shaped not by what I survived, but by what I am determined to achieve.

Healthcare Equity in America: A Journey from Research to Real Impact An issue that resonates deeply with me—both intellectually and personally—is the ongoing attack on Medicaid, a program that millions of Americans depend on for life-saving care. For me, this isn’t just a policy debate—it’s my life. I was born with a chronic heart condition and received a heart transplant as a child. Medicaid has been my lifeline, making it possible for me to access the specialists, medications, and ongoing care that keep me alive. Without it, my family simply could not afford the treatments I’ve needed. Living with a chronic illness has given me a deep understanding of how critical accessible healthcare is—not just as a public service, but as a human right. That’s why the recent Medicaid cuts, enacted through the “One Big Beautiful Bill Act” in July 2025, hit especially close to home. The legislation includes over $1 trillion in reductions to Medicaid and SNAP over the next decade, threatening to strip coverage from millions. For individuals like me, these cuts don’t just represent budget changes—they represent survival. Rather than just feeling fear or frustration, I decided to act. For my senior thesis research class, I wrote a 25-page report analyzing the U.S. healthcare system and educating others about its flaws and possible reforms. I focused on solutions like increasing taxes on the wealthiest Americans, reallocating military spending, and investing in preventative care to build a more equitable and sustainable healthcare system. Drawing from sources like the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the Congressional Budget Office, and the Kaiser Family Foundation, I made the case for universal healthcare, not just as an ideal, but as an achievable, evidence-based goal. I didn’t want my research to sit on a shelf. I used it to engage my school and community in discussions about what real healthcare reform could look like. I spoke with classmates about how policy changes affect real lives—people like me. I created infographics and summaries from my thesis to make the information more accessible and shareable. I saw how many people didn't understand how deeply flawed our system is until it touched someone close to them. Through this journey, I discovered how I want to use my education: to turn lived experience into lasting change. I plan to major in public health and policy analysis so I can advocate for vulnerable communities, design ethical health systems, and fight for legislation that reflects compassion and equity. I believe deeply that healthcare is not a privilege—it is a right. Medicaid saved my life. Now, I want to help save it. With the right tools, the right knowledge, and a platform to speak up, I know I can make a difference—not just for myself, but for the millions of others who deserve to live with dignity, security, and care.

Nursing Scholarship Essay For me, nursing is not just a career goal—it’s a deeply personal calling shaped by a lifetime of medical experiences, cultural awareness, and a commitment to serving others with empathy and authenticity. This fall, I will begin my undergraduate journey as a nursing major with a Spanish minor, and my goal is to one day become a pediatric cardiologist. While my end goal lies in medicine, I chose to begin in nursing because I want to first learn how to truly care for patients, not just treat symptoms, but connect, comfort, and advocate. My decision to pursue nursing is rooted in my personal history. I was born with a severe heart condition and received a heart transplant at the age of two. Since then, I’ve spent years in and out of hospitals, not as a student shadowing providers, but as the patient. I’ve experienced firsthand how essential nurses are to a patient’s well-being. They’re the ones who check in at 2 a.m. just to make sure you're okay, who explain procedures when you’re scared, and who offer comfort when no one else can. Nurses, in many ways, were my lifeline. My sophomore year of high school, I began rejecting my heart. I was later diagnosed with coronary artery disease and placed back on the transplant list. Despite the uncertainty, I continued applying to college while on a milrinone bag that helps my heart function. These challenges did not discourage me—instead, they reinforced my desire to enter the healthcare field with purpose and resilience. I chose to minor in Spanish because I grew up attending a bilingual school and understand the power of language in healthcare. Being able to communicate with Spanish-speaking patients and families is not just a bonus—it’s a necessity in our diverse communities. I want every patient to feel heard and respected, regardless of language barriers. Beyond academics, I’ve also committed myself to service. I’ve volunteered at Children’s Hospital Colorado and participated in mission work in Puerto Rico through my church. These experiences strengthened both my sense of empathy and my belief in the importance of community-based care. I want to continue that service mindset in college and beyond, bridging gaps in healthcare access and building trust with families who may feel overlooked by the system. I know nursing school will be demanding—rigorous coursework, exhausting clinicals, and the constant emotional labor that comes with caring for people at their most vulnerable. But I also know that I have already faced extraordinary physical and emotional challenges in my own life. I’ve been the patient in the hospital bed, the one waiting for lab results, the one who didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. And now, I’m ready to be on the other side—to be the person who brings comfort, clarity, and care. This scholarship would help ease the financial burden of pursuing a nursing degree and allow me to focus fully on becoming the kind of nurse—and one day, physician—that my younger self needed. I want to be a source of hope and healing, not just in hospitals, but in the communities I serve.

KC MedBridge Scholarship Essay My passion for healthcare began with survival. Born with a severe heart condition, I had my first heart transplant at age two and have spent much of my life in and out of hospitals. By fourth grade, I knew I wanted to be a doctor, but it wasn’t until high school that I understood why. When I began rejecting my heart during my sophomore year, I realized that growing up around healthcare providers who didn’t truly understand what I was going through felt incredibly isolating. I don’t just want to work in medicine—I want to change it. In my junior year, I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease and placed back on the transplant list. I applied to college while on a milrinone bag, keeping my heart functioning. This fall, I will attend Regis University as a nursing major, with plans to become a pediatric cardiologist. I want to start by learning how to care for the person, not just the patient. I’ve volunteered at Children’s Hospital Colorado and in Puerto Rico through my church. I hope to continue growing spiritually as I pursue medicine for myself and the future patients I’ll serve. I want to be the doctor I never had: someone who can say, “I know what you’re going through,” and mean it.

Turning Pain into Purpose: My Journey Toward Impact My name is Eden Murphy, and I’ve spent most of my life fighting for the very thing that keeps us all going: a heartbeat. I received my first heart transplant when I was just two years old. For 15 years, my heart was strong, and I was able to grow up experiencing much of what childhood had to offer. But when I was 16, my world shifted. My body began rejecting the heart that had sustained me for over a decade, and for the first time in ten years, I was truly sick again. That rejection led to multiple hospital stays, during which doctors administered heavy medications to suppress my immune system to save my heart. A year later, I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease. After discovering that a stent wasn’t an option, I was placed on the transplant list once again. That was 16 months ago. Since then, I’ve been living on continuous IV medication, 24 hours a day, with no breaks—not even for a moment. And yet, despite all of this, I’ve pushed forward. I’ve maintained a 3.5 GPA, taken five AP classes, and continued dancing, serving on my school’s dance council and performing in six shows. I’ve also spent every summer working full-time up in the mountains. I attend school full-time while managing the physical, emotional, and mental toll of living with chronic illness. I’ve also supported my youngest brother, who was born with the same heart condition and received his transplant the summer before my junior year. This journey hasn’t been easy. There were moments of fear, frustration, and uncertainty. But those moments also gave me strength, resilience, and a deep desire to make a difference in the world. I plan to become a pediatric cardiologist. I’ve lived this life. I know what it feels like to be in a hospital bed, scared of what’s coming next. I know how much of a difference it makes when your doctor looks you in the eye and treats you like a person, not just a patient. I want to be that doctor—someone who not only understands the science of the heart but also the emotional and psychological toll of battling illness at a young age. I want to help families navigate the terrifying world of pediatric cardiology with compassion, empathy, and hope. I want to create a space in medicine where children feel heard, valued, and safe. What makes me who I am is not just what I’ve survived, but how I’ve chosen to respond to it. I’ve taken adversity and turned it into fuel for my future. I don’t want pity—I want purpose. And I believe that everything I’ve gone through has prepared me to be a voice, an advocate, and a healer for those who come after me. My goal is to take the pain I’ve experienced and turn it into something that changes lives. I’m not here just to beat the odds—I’m here to use my story to make the world a little brighter, a little kinder, and a lot more compassionate.

From Patient to Nurse: Turning My Story into a Source of Healing My passion for nursing was born not in a classroom, but in hospital rooms, waiting areas, and through IV lines. I’ve been a patient for as long as I can remember. I received my first heart transplant at just two years old. For fifteen years, I lived a relatively healthy life—until everything changed at sixteen, when my body began rejecting my heart. Since then, my life has been a cycle of hospital stays, heavy medications to suppress my immune system, and constant monitoring. A year after that rejection began, I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease and placed on the transplant list for a second heart. I’ve now spent 16 months waiting, living on 24/7 IV medication. And yet, through it all, my passion for helping others has only grown stronger. I want to become a nurse because I have lived the patient experience and understand how critical compassionate, informed, and present care is to healing. Nurses are the people who stand beside you during your darkest hours. They explain the scary stuff in a way that makes it less frightening. They hold your hand when you're in pain. They advocate for you when you're too tired to advocate for yourself. I’ve met nurses who made all the difference in my journey—not just medically, but emotionally—and I want to be that person for someone else. Despite everything I’ve faced, I’ve never stopped chasing life. I’ve taken five AP classes, stayed on my school’s dance council, performed in six dance shows, and worked full-time every summer up in the mountains. I’ve also maintained a 3.5 GPA while attending school full-time, even while receiving treatment and living on continuous IV medication. My youngest brother, who shares the same heart diagnosis as me, received his transplant the summer before my junior year. We’ve walked this path together, and my experiences caring for him have only deepened my desire to pursue nursing. I hope to specialize in pediatric cardiology nursing. It’s an area I know intimately, both medically and emotionally. I’ve sat on both sides of the bed: as the scared kid and as the older sister comforting my brother. I want to bring that lived experience into the hospital setting and use it to advocate for my patients in ways only someone who has walked in their shoes truly can. In this specialty, I want to be more than just a caregiver—I want to be a bridge between medical expertise and human understanding. Too often, patients—especially children—feel they're not part of the conversation about their health. I want to change that. I want to bring compassion, connection, and a patient-first mentality to every room I walk into. Becoming a nurse will allow me to transform everything I’ve endured into something meaningful. I don’t see my journey as something that held me back—it’s what’s prepared me to move forward with purpose. Nursing isn’t just a career goal for me—it’s a calling, rooted in empathy, lived experience, and the hope to give others the same strength and support that once helped me through.

My name is Eden Murphy, and I will be majoring in Nursing at Regis University. My journey toward this career has been shaped by a lifetime of personal experiences with the healthcare system. I was born with a chronic heart condition and am currently waiting for my second heart transplant. While I’ve spent more time in hospitals than most people my age, those experiences have done more than shape my story—they’ve shaped my purpose. They’ve led me to nursing. Growing up as a patient, I came to understand how critical nurses are in a person’s healing journey. I’ve had nurses hold my hand before surgery, explain complicated procedures with patience and warmth, and advocate for me when I wasn’t able to. Their care made me feel safe and understood during the most uncertain moments of my life. I want to be that kind of nurse for someone else—not just the one who gives medication or takes vitals, but the one who listens, who connects, who truly cares. At Regis University, I plan to specialize in pediatric cardiology nursing. I’ve lived what many of my future patients will be going through—surgeries, long hospital stays, missed school, and the emotional weight of living with a serious illness. I want to support children and their families not only through expert care, but with a level of empathy that only someone who’s been in their shoes can offer. I believe that when patients feel seen, healing goes beyond the physical. To prepare for this next step in my journey, I’ve focused on both academic and real-world growth. I challenged myself with courses like AP Biology and AP Spanish, earning a 5 on the AP Spanish exam. I’m fluent in Spanish and attended a dual-language school for nine years. I see my bilingualism as a vital tool in providing inclusive, effective care, especially for families who may feel unheard or overlooked due to language barriers. Outside of school, I’ve worked as a hostess, waitress, ice cream server, and babysitter. These jobs may seem unrelated to nursing, but they’ve taught me how to stay calm under pressure, manage multiple responsibilities, and build genuine connections with people from all walks of life. Volunteering has been another important part of my preparation. I’ve volunteered in Puerto Rico and now serve at Children’s Hospital Colorado—the same hospital where I’ve spent much of my life as a patient. Being on the other side, as someone who gives care instead of receiving it, has been incredibly meaningful. It reinforces my belief that this path isn’t just right for me—it’s my calling. I’m passionate about helping others, staying organized, cooking, and reading. But most of all, I’m passionate about making people feel safe, supported, and seen. Nursing isn’t just a profession to me. It’s the natural next step in a life that’s already been shaped by care, compassion, and courage. Regis University’s mission of service, leadership, and holistic care aligns perfectly with the nurse I hope to become. I’m not just pursuing a degree—I’m answering a calling, and I’m ready to begin.

After graduation, I plan to pursue a degree in biology or pre-medicine with the ultimate goal of becoming a pediatric cardiologist. My dream is rooted not just in textbooks and test scores, but in lived experience. I’ve spent years navigating the world of chronic illness—hospital stays, surgeries, and now waiting for a second heart transplant. Through it all, I’ve come to understand what it means to be both a patient and a person, and that understanding is what fuels my desire to become a physician who treats more than just symptoms. My academic journey has been shaped by determination and a deep sense of purpose. In high school, I sought out rigorous courses that would challenge me and prepare me for the intensity of a medical career. I took AP Biology to deepen my understanding of the human body and how it works, and AP Spanish to build on my bilingual foundation and better connect with Spanish-speaking patients in the future. Scoring a 5 on the AP Spanish exam and attending a dual-language school for nine years didn’t just help me become fluent—it gave me insight into the importance of language in patient care and trust. Balancing academics with health challenges has never been easy, but it’s taught me resilience, time management, and grit. Every test I’ve taken while feeling unwell, every assignment I’ve completed from a hospital bed, has been a step toward a bigger goal: helping kids like me. I know firsthand how isolating it can be to grow up in and out of hospitals, missing school, friends, and the rhythms of everyday life. That’s why I want to be the kind of doctor who provides excellent care and understands what patients and their families are going through on a human level. Beyond academics, my work experience has helped me grow in ways that textbooks can’t teach. Whether I’m babysitting, serving ice cream, or working as a hostess or waitress, I’ve learned how to communicate with people from all walks of life. I’ve learned to listen, to be kind, and to stay calm under pressure. These experiences have helped me become a more empathetic, responsible, and well-rounded person—skills I know will serve me well in medicine. Volunteering has also played a huge role in my development. In Puerto Rico, I was able to give back to a community I care deeply about, and at Children’s Hospital Colorado, I’m surrounded by the very world I hope to work in someday. After spending so much time there as a patient, being there as a volunteer has given me a unique perspective and a renewed sense of purpose. I don’t just want to treat illness—I want to help kids feel seen, supported, and understood. High school hasn’t just been about checking boxes or chasing grades. It’s been a time of growth, reflection, and preparation. The tailored academic opportunities I’ve had—especially the chance to take challenging science and language courses—have laid a strong foundation for my future in medicine. More importantly, they’ve helped me discover who I am and what I’m meant to do. I’m not just pursuing a career—I’m answering a calling. And every challenge I’ve faced has only made that calling louder and clearer.

Scholarship Essay – Evan T. Wissing Memorial Scholarship “Tell us about a struggle or situation that you have worked to rise above or are working to rise above.” At fifteen years old, I had already gone through a heart transplant. I didn’t fully understand the magnitude of what was happening at the time—I just knew my life was very different from my peers. While other kids were focused on learning to drive, planning for prom, or filling their calendars with football games and high school dances, I was lying in a hospital bed wondering if I’d live to see graduation. Over the next few years, my life revolved around hospitals, surgeries, and waiting. Most people count down the days to summer break or senior year milestones. I was counting lab results, medication doses, and days spent waiting for a second transplant. While other students were starting to apply to colleges during junior year, I wasn’t sure I’d even be physically able to finish high school. I didn’t get to go to prom, and I didn’t get to experience a lot of the typical high school moments. But I learned to hold on. I learned to keep going, even when everything felt paused. My biggest struggle hasn’t just been surviving my illness—it’s been fighting to stay emotionally and mentally strong in the face of constant uncertainty. I’ve often felt like life was moving forward for everyone else while mine was stuck in limbo. It was frustrating and isolating. There were days when I didn’t know if I had the strength to push through, when even doing homework felt like too much. But in the middle of that darkness, I discovered something bigger than my pain: purpose. I want to become a pediatric cardiologist. That dream didn’t come from a textbook or a school project. It came from living in hospital rooms, from being a patient for most of my life. I’ve met many good doctors—but I also know what it feels like to be treated like just another diagnosis. I don’t want any child to feel invisible the way I sometimes did. I want to be the kind of doctor who not only treats the illness, but truly sees the person behind it. I want my future patients to feel safe, heard, and understood. And I know I can offer something special: a level of empathy and connection that only someone who has lived it can provide. Now in my senior year, I’m finally applying to colleges. It took longer than I planned, but I’m here. I’ve fought through years of medical setbacks, emotional burnout, and missed milestones, but I never gave up on my education. I’ve worked hard to catch up, to stay strong, and to prepare myself for a future in medicine. I know it won’t be easy—but I also know I’m ready. Evan T. Wissing was a young man who was hoping for a fresh start. I carry that same hope with me. I know what it feels like to want another chance at life, to want to make something better out of pain. This scholarship would help me take that next step—not just to continue my education, but to give back to others who are fighting their own battles. I’m committed to becoming someone who makes a difference, who turns struggle into service, and who reminds others that their story, like mine, isn’t over yet.

One movie that has profoundly impacted my life is "The Pursuit of Happiness". Watching this film, based on the true story of Chris Gardner, helped me understand the power of perseverance, hope, and the relentless pursuit of one’s dreams—even in the face of overwhelming adversity. It resonated with me not just as a student, but as someone who has faced my own significant challenges. As a child born with a congenital heart defect, I’ve spent a significant portion of my life in hospitals, navigating surgeries, treatments, and the uncertainty of my future. At the age of sixteen, I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease, and by eighteen, I was placed on 24/7 IV medication while awaiting my second heart transplant. While many of my peers were thinking about their future, I was uncertain whether I would make it to graduation, let alone achieve my dreams. "The Pursuit of Happiness" showed me that no matter how difficult life gets, we can still strive to overcome obstacles. Chris Gardner’s journey of pushing forward despite financial struggles, homelessness, and personal setbacks mirrored my own experience of pushing through pain and uncertainty. It taught me the value of determination, believing in yourself, and always continuing to move forward—no matter how many roadblocks come your way. This film also highlighted the importance of education and the way it can serve as a key to transforming one’s life. Despite his challenges, Gardner never stopped seeking knowledge. He fought for an opportunity to prove himself, securing a job as a stockbroker, which ultimately changed his life. That message became a beacon for me, especially during times when I felt my health struggles might limit my future. I understood that education was not just a way to gain knowledge—it was a way to open doors to a better life and a tool I could use to help others. Through my own educational journey, I’ve embraced this mentality. I’ve faced difficulties keeping up with school due to my health, but I've never let it stop me from striving for excellence. My desire to pursue a career as a pediatric cardiologist, a field I’m passionate about, has been fueled by my personal experience. I’ve worked hard to maintain a strong GPA, taken challenging courses, and volunteered at Children’s Hospital Colorado. Like Chris Gardner, I’m focused on finding ways to overcome challenges and using my experiences to positively impact others. "The Pursuit of Happiness" inspired me to keep pushing forward, no matter how daunting the journey may seem. It reminded me that education is the foundation for transformation and growth. I am committed to expanding my knowledge and using it to not only better my own life but to serve and help others who are facing their own struggles. Like Chris Gardner, I believe that through education, determination, and a desire to help those around me, I can make a meaningful difference in the world.

I’ve spent more time in hospitals than most people do in a lifetime. At sixteen, I was diagnosed with coronary artery disease, a complication from my previous heart transplant. This new diagnosis was a shock, but it was just another chapter in my ongoing battle with my congenital heart defect. By the time I turned eighteen, I found myself on 24/7 IV medication, awaiting my second heart transplant. While most of my peers were focused on college applications, prom, and the excitement of their future, I was navigating a very different reality—one filled with uncertainty and fear of whether I’d even make it to graduation. But through every surgery, every sleepless hospital night, and every lab result, I realized that my fight for survival wasn’t just about getting through another day—it was about turning my experience into a purpose. The driving force in my life has always been the belief that I can turn my pain into purpose. Living with a congenital heart defect and the complications that have come with it has shaped every part of who I am. It hasn’t always been easy, and there were moments I wondered if I could keep going. But through every setback, every difficult moment, I learned the importance of resilience, empathy, and perspective. What I’ve learned from my journey is this: survival is not just about being treated—it’s about being truly seen and understood. The emotional and physical toll of my condition has given me a deep sense of empathy for those suffering from similar illnesses. I’ve experienced firsthand what it’s like to be a patient, to feel like a collection of symptoms and lab results instead of a person with hopes, dreams, and a story to tell. This is why I want to become a pediatric cardiologist. I want to be the kind of doctor who not only treats the physical heart but who understands the emotional journey that comes with it. I want to look at my patients and say, “I understand,” because I truly do. When I think about the incredible impact of the palliative care team that supported James Gabriel’s family, I’m reminded of the healthcare professionals who have walked beside me during my own journey. Their ability to bring comfort, offer support, and provide care beyond just the physical aspect of my condition is something I want to emulate in my own medical practice. The story of James reminds me that even though life can be uncertain and fragile, the love, care, and dedication we receive from others can make all the difference. Despite the physical limitations that have come with my health challenges, I’ve worked incredibly hard to maintain a strong GPA, take AP courses, and stay involved in my community. I’ve worked jobs, volunteered at Children’s Hospital Colorado, and helped in ways I hope will allow me to give back to the community that has supported me. Each step I take is motivated by my goal to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others, just as so many people have made a difference in mine. James Gabriel’s story, though tragic, has left a lasting mark on me. It fuels my commitment to use my own experiences to help others in their most vulnerable moments. My journey has shown me the power of empathy and the importance of never giving up—even when the future is uncertain. I am here because of those who believed in me, and now I want to be that person for someone else.

"We'll do our best." That’s what the doctors said, but I could see in their eyes that they didn’t fully understand what “doing their best” meant for me. At just fifteen years old, I had already undergone a heart transplant. During my junior and senior years of high school, I waited—sometimes patiently, often painfully—for my second. While my friends focused on prom and college applications, I spent my time in hospital rooms wondering if I would make it to graduation. But through every procedure, every sleepless hospital night, and every lab result, I discovered a deeper calling: I don’t just want to survive—I want to become the doctor who truly sees her patients, not just treats them. My passion for STEM doesn’t come from science fairs or classroom experiments—it comes from lived experience. Years of being a patient in a pediatric hospital have shown me what science and medicine can do, but also what’s often missing: emotional connection. I plan to become a pediatric cardiologist because I know what it’s like to feel like just another diagnosis. I want to be a physician who treats the whole person, someone who looks a child in the eyes and says, “I understand,” and truly means it. Too often, I felt invisible—my emotional wellbeing overlooked while doctors focused solely on my physical symptoms. I wasn’t just a heart patient—I was a kid trying to navigate a life that felt paused. That’s why I want to change how children experience medical care. Children aren’t mini adults. They are strong, resilient, and full of potential. I want to give them the care, empathy, and dignity they deserve. Despite the challenges of my health, I’ve maintained a GPA above 3.5 and pushed myself academically with AP courses in Biology, Psychology, and multiple advanced Spanish classes. I am fluent in Spanish, scored a 5 on the AP Spanish exam, and believe this will help me connect with diverse patients in the future. My chronic illness made school incredibly difficult at times, but I have never let it stop me. I’ve worked hard to become the kind of student who can not only survive but thrive in medicine. In reading about Harry B. Anderson’s life—his work in civil engineering, his agricultural outreach, and his spirit of curiosity and service—I felt inspired. Like Mr. Anderson, I want to use science to better the world around me. My path will look different, but our goals are the same: to solve problems with both intelligence and compassion, and to leave a meaningful impact on our communities. Through medicine, I hope to empower children facing health battles and to bring humanity into the heart of STEM. I want to show every young patient that they are more than their diagnosis—that their story, like mine, is still being written.

“We’ll do our best.” That’s what the doctors said, but I could see in their eyes that they didn’t fully understand what “doing their best” meant for me. At just fifteen years old, I had already received a heart transplant. During my junior and senior years of high school, I waited—sometimes patiently, often painfully—for my second. While my friends were thinking about prom or college applications, I was wondering if I’d make it to graduation. But through every surgery, every sleepless hospital night, and every lab result, I realized something deeper: I don’t just want to survive—I want to be the doctor who truly sees their patients, not just treats them. My desire to go into the medical field doesn’t come from textbooks or science fairs. It comes from lying in a hospital bed for most of my life, surrounded by amazing people doing their best, but who couldn’t quite understand what it felt like to be me. That absence of connection—of truly being seen—shaped my passion. I want to become a pediatric cardiologist not because this is all I’ve known, but because I want to be the kind of doctor I never had. One who meets patients where they are, not just physically, but emotionally. Too often, I felt like a problem to be solved. Doctors focused on fixing my heart but forgot about my spirit. I wasn't just a heart patient—I was a kid trying to make sense of a life interrupted. I want to change how doctors see children like me. I want to be the one who walks into a hospital room and says, “I understand,” and mean it. I want to show young patients that they’re not just another case—they're humans with hopes, fears, and futures. Children aren't just mini adults. We’re strong, resilient, and often wiser than people think. We didn’t ask for this—didn’t do anything wrong—and yet we give up parts of our childhood to fight battles we never chose. I’ve lived it, and I want to make sure no child ever feels invisible the way I once did. My future patients won’t just have a doctor who reads their charts; they’ll have someone who’s lived in their shoes, who’s fought the same fight, and who believes in treating the whole person—not just the diagnosis. It hasn’t been easy getting here. My chronic illness made it hard to keep up with school, and the last year and a half of waiting for another transplant has tested me in every way—mentally, physically, and emotionally. There were moments I felt like giving up, when homework felt impossible and my future felt uncertain. But I never stopped pushing. I’ve worked incredibly hard throughout high school to become the kind of student who can survive—and thrive—in medicine. I know I’m not the smartest person out there, but what I have is heart, persistence, and deep passion for helping others overcome their struggles. I know how powerful it is to have someone beside you who truly cares, and I want to be that person for someone else. That’s why I’m going into medicine. Not just to help people heal, but to help them feel seen, valued, and understood. To remind them they’re not alone—and that their story, like mine, is still being written.