Before I understood what "pediatric surgery" meant, I understood the sound of a hospital monitor on television. I grew up watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy and later shows like, The Resident. At first I was interested in the fast pace, surgeries, and dramatic cases. As I got older, I started paying more attention to something else; The responsibility doctors carry when a patient is scared, confused, or depending on them to make the right decision. Grey's Anatomy made medicine feel human to me. I watched doctors make difficult choices, work as a team, and build trust with patients during some of the hardest moments of their lives. I also noticed how much communication mattered. A doctor could know exactly what procedure needed to happen, but still had to explain it to a patient or family in a way they could understand. That part stayed with me because medicine is not only about knowing the answer. It it also about helping someone feel safe enough to hear it. The resident showed me another side of healthcare, especially the importance of advocating for patients and asking questions when something does not feel right. These shows did not make me want to become a doctor because medicine looked exciting. They made me curious about what it takes to become someone people trust when they are vulnerable. As I've gotten older, that curiosity has become a clear goal. I plan to study biology or biochemistry, attend medical school, and become a pediatric physician or surgeon. I am especially interested in working with children because they may not always know how to explain what they are feeling. A child might say very little, but their expression, body language, or hesitation can say a lot. A doctor has to listen carefully, observe, and sometimes notice what a patient cannot put into words. I want to become the kind of doctor that notices the details. That kind of attention is something I have also developed through theatre. As a stage manager, I have learned to stay calm when something changes unexpectedly, solve problems quickly, and notice details other people may miss. Those expectations have shown me that I work well in environments where people are counting on me. Television gave me my first glimpse into medicine, but it was only the beginning. Now, I am not interested in watching someone else walk into the hospital room. I want to be prepared to walk into it myself.

A white coat can mean two completely different things. To one child, it can mean fear, needles, unfamiliar words, and adults discussing their body as if they are not in the room. To another, it can mean possibility. Someone who looks like them, standing where they were once told they rarely belong. I want my white coat to mean both, comfort and possibility. My goal is to become a pediatric physician or surgeon, serving children and families who deserve care that is not only medically excellent, but human. I am drawn to pediatrics because children often communicate in ways that require more than questions and answers. A child may say "I'm fine" while gripping the edge of an exam table. They may be too young, too scared, or too unfamiliar with medical language to explain what they are feeling. I want to become the physician who notices what's not being said. That is also why racial diversity in healthcare matters to me. Representation does not automatically make someone a better doctor, but it can change what a patient believes is possible. It can affect trust. It can make a family feel less like an outsider in a room where important decisions are being made. For Black children especially, seeing Black physicians can expand their understanding of who belongs in medicine before anyone has a chance to narrow it. Diversity also strengthens healthcare itself. Patients bring different histories, cultures, concerns, and experiences into an exam room. A healthcare system that includes people from different backgrounds is better prepared to ask better questions, recognize blind spots, and understand that the same symptom or concern may not be experienced the same way by every patient. I want my career to sit at the intersection of medicine, service and access. I hope to work with children in communities where quality healthcare can feel distant, confusing, or difficult to obtain. I want to explain diagnosis in languages families understand, make children feel included in conversations about their own bodies, and ensure that being heard is part of their treatment. My goals extend beyond the hospital. I want to mentor students, speak in schools, and help younger black students see medicine as something they can enter rather than admire from a distance. I want them to see the long nights, difficult classes, and years of training as challenging, but possible. These are all the things I'm anticipating, nervously looking forward to experiencing. But I'm ready for it all. One day, I hope a child looks at me in a white coat and sees more than a doctor. I hope they see evidence.