Every time I see a nurse or doctor caring for someone, I feel this deep sense of purpose. It reminds me of the times when I was bedridden with asthma, and how much even a small act of care made a huge difference in my life. Those moments planted a seed in me. I want to be the person who helps others feel safe and understood, especially when they’re scared or in pain. But getting there isn’t easy. My family struggles financially, and I’ve had to balance school, volunteering, and part time work just to stay on track. The KC MedBridge Scholarship would take a huge weight off my shoulders. With this support, I could focus more on my studies and gain the experiences I need to become a healthcare professional. I would use the funds to buy the textbooks and supplies that are often too expensive but essential for excelling in my STEM courses. I’d also get certified in CPR and first aid so I can be ready to help in emergencies. Most importantly, I’d be able to travel to farther and under represented hospitals and clinics to volunteer and shadow medical professionals, gaining more hands on experience that no classroom can offer. This scholarship wouldn’t just be about money, it would be a lifeline to the future I’m working so hard for. It would give me the chance to grow into the compassionate, skilled healthcare leader my community needs. Thank you for your consideration!

When people hear the word “environment,” they usually think of trees, oceans, and recycling. But for me, the environment also includes the air we breathe in our neighborhoods, the food we eat in our homes, the healthcare access we’re denied or given and the communities we grow up in. As a 16 yo Black girl with asthma and a dream to become a nurse, I’ve always seen health and environment as deeply connected. You can’t talk about wellness without talking about the conditions people live in. You can’t help people heal unless you’re willing to understand what’s making them sick in the first place. In the next five years, I plan to create a lasting environmental and health impact on my community both locally and globally by using my personal experience, my healthcare education, and my cultural background to make wellness more accessible, inclusive, and sustainable. I know what it’s like to struggle with breathing, not just because of asthma, but because of the environments I’ve lived in...places where air pollution, stress, poverty, and lack of healthcare all overlap. I’ve watched neighbors skip medication to pay rent, or go years without seeing a doctor. I’ve seen how medical racism leads to pain being ignored and symptoms being downplayed. That’s why I plan to work in underserved Black and Brown communities, giving care that goes beyond prescriptions. I want to create pop-up wellness clinics that not only offer free checkups and preventative screenings, but also educate people on how the environment both physical and emotional affects their long term health. These clinics would probably partner with local organizations to provide fresh produce, nutritional guidance rooted in cultural diets, and breathing safe indoor kits for those in urban housing with poor air quality. But I also plan to innovate in how healthcare is delivered. I’m passionate about using telehealth and mobile clinics to reach people who otherwise have no access. Technology is an INCREDIBLE tool but only if it’s used in a way that serves people where they are. I want to create culturally relevant health education videos in multiple languages and dialects, tailored for the Black and Caribbean communities I come from. I also want to build an app that helps track asthma symptoms and environmental triggers, especially in areas with higher pollution rates. My long-term vision is to help open a holistic health and wellness center in a medically underserved city...staffed by nurses, dietitians, mental health counselors, and environmental health experts where patients can be treated like whole people, not just problems. A place where cultural knowledge, modern medicine, and environmental justice all meet. But none of this is possible without opportunity. That’s what this scholarship means to me, not just money for school, but momentum to keep going. To be one of the first in my family to go into medicine. To show other Black and Brown kids that their voices, ideas, and health matter. Wellness isn’t just about drinking water, Chipotle, leafy greens, or gym memberships. It’s about giving people the tools to survive and the environment to thrive. In five years, I won’t just be a nurse. I’ll be an advocate, a problem solver, and a voice for the people who have been ignored for far too long. Through culturally competent care, community based education, and technology that truly serves, I plan to help reshape what wellness looks like, for everyone! Because when we heal our people, we heal the world.

Running track as a girl has never been easy. From the beginning, I knew that biologically, guys are usually much faster. It’s something I couldn’t change. And sometimes that felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me. Like no matter how hard I worked, there was always this unspoken limit placed on me just because I’m female. But what I’ve learned is that my worth, my strength, isn’t measured by how I compare to anyone else. It’s measured by how fiercely I refuse to give up, even when the odds are stacked against me. Living with severe asthma and a lung condition called ACOS makes every breath a battle. I can’t take my lungs for granted the way others might. There were nights I struggled just to breathe, days when my body felt weak and my dreams felt far away. Running was supposed to be something that made me feel free, but at times it felt like a cruel reminder of what I might never be able to do. But every time I got back on that track, even gasping for air, I told myself I wasn’t done fighting. That my health wouldn’t define me. Balancing school, health struggles, and track has been exhausting, and sometimes heartbreaking. There were moments I wanted to quit. Not just because my body hurt, but because it felt unfair. Because watching others get the opportunities and recognition I worked so hard for was painful. But those moments also gave me strength. They taught me resilience. How to keep going even when I’m tired, how to believe in myself when it feels like no one else does, and how to use my struggles to push harder. Being a female athlete means battling more than just physical limits. It means pushing back against a world that too often overlooks girls and women in sports, especially those who don’t fit the perfect mold. It means proving every day that we belong on the field, on the track, and in every space where greatness is made. It means carrying the hopes of every girl who’s been told “you can’t” and turning those words into fuel. Track has given me more than speed or strength. It’s given me courage...the courage to face challenges bigger than myself and the courage to dream bigger than what’s expected. Every race I run is a reminder that my story matters. That my breath, my effort, and my fight are worth something. And that no matter what, I will keep running my own race. I carry this mindset with me into every part of my life. It has driven me to pursue higher education and a career where I can make a meaningful impact, especially in spaces where women are still underrepresented. I want to inspire other young women to believe in themselves, to fight for their place, and to never let anyone else’s limitations become their own. In a world that still favors men in so so so many ways, I stand as proof that strength, courage, and leadership know no gender. I’m ready to keep breaking down walls, not just for myself, but for every girl who’s ever been told she’s not enough.

I didn’t choose nursing because it sounded nice on paper. I chose nursing because my whole life has depended on people who cared enough to keep me alive. I was born fighting for air. Living with severe ACOS, a rare lung disease combining Asthma and COPD, meant my childhood was full of ER visits, breathing machines, and hospital stays instead of playdates and sleepovers. There were nights I lay in a hospital bed wondering if my lungs would give out. Times when all I could do was stare at the ceiling and try to stay calm while machines forced air into my body. But the thing I remember most isn’t the fear or the pain. It’s the nurses. There was the nurse who sat with me when I was too scared to sleep, holding my hand until my breathing slowed. The one who explained what the doctors brushed past so my mom and I wouldn’t feel lost. The nurse who smiled at me and made me feel like I was more than just a sick kid in a hospital gown. Those moments stuck. Those nurses gave me something no medicine ever could: comfort. Hope. The feeling that I mattered. I want to be that for someone else. I watched my mom fight just as hard. A single mother who worked herself to exhaustion so I could have medicine, treatment, and care. I saw her sit in hospital chairs for hours, pretending she wasn’t scared. I saw her smile when I could barely catch my breath, just so I wouldn’t panic. There are so many families like mine...worried, tired, and quietly breaking under the weight of sickness and bills and fear. I want to be the nurse who makes it a little easier for them. The one who notices when a mom looks like she hasn’t eaten all day. The health provider who explains what the doctor rushed through. The one who listens, really listens, when no one else does. And as someone apart of a marginalized group, I’ve seen how often people like me are ignored or brushed off in healthcare. I want to change that. I want to work in communities where people have spent too long feeling invisible in clinics and hospitals. I want every patient I care for to feel safe, seen, and respected. This isn’t just a career for me. It’s what my whole life has built me for. Every hard night. Every hospital stay. Every breath I fought for. And that is why my dream it to be a nurse practitioner. I found out about this scholarship on Bold.org.

My name is Grace Riverson and I’m 16 years old. I graduated high school early...not because I had everything figured out, but because life kind of forced me to grow up fast. I’ve never had the option to sit back and wait for the “right time.” I’ve had to make the time. I’ve lived my whole life with a lung disease that makes something as simple as breathing a daily challenge. Asthma-COPD Overlap Syndrome isn’t something most people even know exists, but for me, it’s meant hospital visits, breathing machines, and missing out on things most people don’t think twice about. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting. But more than anything, it’s taught me how important good healthcare really is, and how life changing it can be when someone actually cares. That’s why I want to become a health provider. Because I get it. I’ve been the patient who feels ignored, who sits in a cold exam room waiting for someone to explain what’s going on. I know what it’s like to feel small in a big system. And I never want the people I care for to feel like that. I want to be the kind of provider who sees the whole person, not just the sickness. Especially in Black communities, where people are too often overlooked or dismissed in the healthcare system, I want to make a difference. I want to open a clinic one day, in a neighborhood that desperately needs one, and give people the care and respect they deserve. I grew up with a single mom who worked her hardest to take care of us. Money was tight. Stress was normal. And I had to step up early. To help out at home, to manage my own health, to push myself in school even when my body felt worn out. Some days it felt like too much. But those hard years made me stronger, and they made me care more. They made me want to help other people carry the load, because I know what it’s like to feel alone with it. Going to an HBCU is a huge part of this dream for me. I want to learn in a place that was built for students like me. Where I can grow not just as student, but as a leader. HBCUs have raised generations of Black professionals who took what they learned and gave it back to their communities. That’s exactly what I want to do. This scholarship would mean the world to me. Not just because of the money, but because of what it represents. Willie Mae Rawls was a woman of faith and strength who broke barriers for her family. I want to live that same way, using my struggles as fuel, turning my pain into purpose, breaking cycles that have held people back for too long. I’m not a perfect student. But I care deeply. I work hard. And I really, truly believe I’m meant to make a difference in this world. Not just for myself, but for the people who come after me. Thank you for letting me share my story.

1) To me, inspiration is when someone makes you believe in yourself even when everything else tells you not to. It’s not about being perfect it’s about being real. It's seeing someone go through struggles and still show up, still fight, still try to make things better for others. I’ve always wanted to help people. Growing up, I never saw a lot of Black women in healthcare, and I definitely didn’t see many people who looked like me talking about things like asthma or COPD. I have both, and it’s been really hard. I’ve had moments where I couldn’t breathe, where I felt alone, and where I didn’t feel taken seriously. Those moments stuck with me. Now, I’m working on something that means a lot to me. I’m creating a prototype for a portable nebulizer for athletes. I’m doing research with a Yale physician, and this project is personal. As a track athlete, I’ve had to compete through breathing problems, and sometimes I felt like I had to choose between my health and my sport. I don’t want any kid to feel like that. When I become a healthcare professional, I want to change the way people are treated, especially people of color, kids with chronic illnesses, and young girls who are told they’re being "dramatic" when they say they’re in pain. I want to invent solutions, advocate for fairness in treatment, and remind people that strength looks different on everyone. To inspire others in the future, I’ll use my story and my platform to show that our pain can have a purpose. And that sometimes, the very thing that made life hard can become what helps others heal. 2) I volunteer at a Children’s Hospital. It’s not always big stuff, I play with kids during support group sessions or help parents who need a break. But I’ve realized that just being there, listening, and making someone laugh can mean a lot. I also tutor younger students, especially in math and science. A lot of them tell me, “I’m not smart enough for this,” and it reminds me of how I used to feel. So I tell them, “You are. You just haven’t been taught in a way that works for you yet.” That changes everything. When it comes to track, I’m not shy about my condition. I carry my million inhalers and meds with me and speak openly about having ACOS. I’ve broken records, and I’ve done it while managing a respiratory illness. I want other kids with asthma or similar challenges to know they can still be powerful. They can still be athletes, leaders, creators or like whatever they want. And honestly, I just try to be kind. I try to be the kind of person I needed when I was younger. Whether it’s sharing advice, standing up for someone, or just being a good listener, I believe those little things can inspire people more than we realize. 3) If I receive this scholarship, it would mean everything to me...not just because of the financial help, but because it would remind me that my goals matter. I would use the money to continue my education in biomedical engineering or pre-med. I want to become someone who finds solutions that actually help real people, especially those from communities that are often overlooked. It would also help me finish developing my portable nebulizer project. I’ve started research, but building and testing a prototype costs lots of money. This device could really help athletes with asthma and breathing conditions stay active and safe, and I really want to keep pushing it forward. Beyond that, this scholarship would remind me to keep going, even when things get tough.

One afternoon while volunteering at Connecticut Children’s Hospital, I met a little girl named Maya. She was scared, quiet, and overwhelmed by everything happening around her. As I sat beside her, coloring and talking softly, I realized something powerful. Sometimes the greatest healing doesn’t come from medicine or machines it literally comes from simply being present. Offering kindness, patience, and hope in moments when everything feels uncertain can change a life. That moment stayed with me. Growing up as a Black girl, I’ve often felt invisible in spaces where I wanted to thrive, especially in STEM and healthcare. It’s hard when you don’t see many people who look like you in science labs or doctor’s offices, or in leadership roles. But volunteering with children and families who face real struggles showed me how important it is to show up for others, even in small ways. Those small acts, listening, encouraging, helping, are seeds. Seeds that grow into hope, strength, and sometimes even dreams. That’s why I’m so passionate about using my own experiences to make a difference. I live with ACOS, Asthma-COPD Overlap Syndrome, and as a student-athlete, I’ve faced the constant fear of not being able to breathe while chasing my goals. This struggle inspired me to work on a portable nebulizer designed specifically for athletes like me, people who need to stay active but can’t afford to be held back by their respiratory issues. With guidance from a Yale physician, I’m building this project not just to help myself, but to help others who have been overlooked or underserved. But innovation alone isn’t enough. The encouragement I’ve received from mentors and volunteers has taught me that real change comes from care. Being the steady presence for someone else when they need it most. That’s why I tutor younger students, babysit, and volunteer with hospital families. I want EVERY child and teen I meet to know they matter, to feel seen and supported, and to believe they can reach for their dreams no matter what challenges they face. If I receive this scholarship, it won’t just be about paying for college or advancing my project. It will be a symbol that my vision matters, that a Black girl from an underserved community can invent, lead, and uplift others. I plan to use the funds to refine the nebulizer and launch a nonprofit to provide respiratory health resources to student-athletes who often fall through the cracks. I think it's lovely that Lena B. Davis sewed love, hope, and faith into her community in quiet, meaningful ways. I want to carry that legacy forward by stitching care, opportunity, and strength into every life I touch. Through my work, my service, and my heart. Because sometimes, the smallest acts can grow into the greatest change.

When I walk into my AP Chemistry class, labs, or doctor’s offices, I don’t really ever see people who look like me. As a young Black girl, I’ve learned to navigate a world where representation in STEM is rare, and opportunities are even rarer. That absence is more than just visual, it’s systemic. It sends the unspoken message that innovation, healing, and discovery are for others. But I don’t believe that. I believe that people of color, especially black people, can be scientists, engineers, and doctors. We can lead medical breakthroughs. We can be the ones to change lives. And I'm determined to be one of them. I live with ACOS, Asthma-COPD Overlap Syndrome, a condition that has shaped not only my health, but also my sense of purpose. As a track and field athlete, I know what it’s like to push my body to its limit while struggling to breathe. There were moments when I had to choose between protecting my lungs and chasing my dreams. That struggle planted the seed for an idea. A portable, athlete-friendly nebulizer that could help people like me breathe safely while staying active. It’s a solution born from lived experience, one that might never be imagined by someone who hasn’t felt what I’ve felt. That’s why diversity in STEM is vital. We bring our realities with us into the work, and those realities open doors to innovation no textbook could ever teach. I’m now working on turning that idea into something real. I’ve partnered with a Yale physician to make a prototype for a portable nebulizer that delivers medication more efficiently during physical activity. It’s not just for me, it’s for the young girl who wants to run track or play football without fear, or the kid who’s tired of sitting out at recess because of their breathing. My project is a small example of what happens when Black and POC youth are not just invited into STEM, but empowered to lead within it. We don’t just fill gaps, we build bridges. Still, I know that talent alone isn’t enough. Too often, students like me are told we have to work twice as hard to get half as far. Financial barriers, limited access to mentors, and implicit bias continue to keep STEM fields unequal. According to the data, only 8-9% of STEM workers are Black, and we earn significantly less on average than white people. That disparity is not just a statistic, it’s a reflection of lost potential and silenced voices. Supporting diversity in STEM isn’t charity. It’s an investment in a more just, creative, and effective future. If I am awarded this scholarship, I will use the funding to further my research and development of the nebulizer prototype. I want to improve the design, get more testing materials, and explore ways to make it accessible to underserved communities, especially Black and POC youth who often face worse respiratory outcomes due to environmental and healthcare inequities. This isn’t just a project for a college application. It’s the first step in a lifelong mission to combine biomedical engineering with justice. Representation in STEM is about showing the next generation what’s possible. It’s about making sure that young people of color like me don’t have to wonder if they belong in science, they’ll just know they do. I’m not just pursuing a degree. I’m building a future where our ideas, our inventions, and our impact are no longer the exception, they are expected.