Is it possible to live without doing wrong to at least one person? Maybe a moment so quick and inconsequential in our own lives did more damage to another person than we could imagine. Could it be possible that the insensitive comment we once made to another at an age when we were too young to know better could be considered so hurtful? Is it possible that the involuntary giggle during the presentation of a classmate when they make a mistake would be a moment that would replay in their mind every night before they fall asleep, no matter how much time has passed? Can these moments that are so tiny and easily forgettable to us really be so impactful to others? William Shakespeare is known for his works of writing which have withstood the test of time. Written in the first act of the play All’s Well That Ends Well, is the sentence, “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.” Although the play was published in the early 1600’s, the quote remains relevant, but is it possible to do wrong to none? Intention to hurt others isn’t required for the action to be carried out; we can do wrong to others and never know. Regardless of this truth, this quote is important to me and I try to live with these words in mind. We should love all; respect and care for one another and appreciate the uniqueness of each individual, not a blind love but one which values the life of others. We should trust a few; too much trust given to too many people can only lead to the suffering of oneself, but the refusal to trust enough will only cause another form of agony. We should do wrong to none; our intent should always be to do right by others and ourselves, and whenever possible we should take care of others and do our best to help each other. Although I do like to keep these words in mind, this is not a foolproof philosophy, and the world is much too complex to adhere to these nine words. Still, the message is one that I am guided by and continue to appreciate.

As shown by the Transatlantic slave trade, Japanese internment camps, Native American Residential Schools, as well as many other incidents of violence, people of color and other marginalized groups have long been victims of oppression in America. Healthcare in the United States is no exception to this truth. According to statistics compiled by the Center for American Progress, the infant mortality rate for African Americans is 11 per 1,000 live births and 9.2 per 1,000 live births for American Indian and Alaskan Natives (AI/AN). When compared to non-Hispanic white infants whose mortality rate is 5.8 per 1,000 live births, it is apparent that the mortality rate of African American and AI/AN babies in the United States is nearly twice as high. Data collected by the Centers for Disease Control reports that the pregnancy-related mortality rate (per 100,000 live births) for black, American Indian, and Alaskan Native women over 30 is four to five times higher than for white women. Patient mistrust of doctors as a result of this failure of the American healthcare system as well as inaccessibility to care has led to the unnecessary loss of lives. In becoming a pediatric surgeon, I hope to help in reforming the mindsets of other physicians and in building trust between marginalized communities and the healthcare field. My goal is to ensure that people receive the healthcare they need, as well as advocacy for my patients. It is all too common for areas with higher income individuals and families to have access to more sophisticated services. Physicians who work in hospitals in these areas can be paid more and often have access to more advanced technologies. The people in these areas are more likely to be insured making them less likely to avoid doctor’s visits for fear of being unable to afford treatment. The idea that anyone is considered less deserving of care because of where they live, how much money they make, or any other irrelevant information is deplorable. According to the Association of American Medical Colleges, half of white physicians still believe that black patients feel pain differently due to thicker skin or less sensitive nerve endings, which is not only false but also incredibly harmful. There needs to be active effort to correct these misconceptions and improve the care of patients who may be affected by such ideas. Working in underserved communities would allow me to care for those who may not be experiencing adequate treatment in addition to expanding my learning experiences. The American people deserve more from their healthcare system, and I plan on devoting my career to improving the medical field as much as I can.

My dream since I was five years old was to become a doctor, a surgeon specifically. Over the years, I considered virtually every career I could think of, but surgery was always the one I decided upon. I started college as a psychology major, and after one semester decided I wanted to transfer schools and pursue a career in medicine, majoring in biochemistry. The more I look back on my life, the more I see how I was pushed to become a doctor and help others. When I was ten years old, my twenty-three year-old cousin was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. Five months later he was dead. His struggle will stick with me for the rest of my life. He could have been diagnosed sooner but he wasn’t, because a doctor looked at him, as he cried and clutched his stomach in pain, and told him, “You don’t have cancer. You’re not going to die. So don’t worry about it.” She assumed that he was faking his pain, putting on a show to get a prescription simply because of the way he looked. She looked at my cousin, who was dying of cancer, and just assumed that he wanted drugs, so she sent him home. Luckily the next doctor he went to did not have the same judgement, and he was diagnosed. That experience has lived with me for eleven years now, and I can’t help but wonder what might have been different if that first doctor had just taken a look. When I was thirteen my mom had a bilateral mastectomy as a preventative procedure. She had the surgery in an effort to prevent the development of breast cancer. There were complications caused by the procedure which led to five years of reconstruction surgeries, in-office procedures, and countless doctors appointments as her doctors attempted to reconstruct her breasts and repair the damages. I learned how to take care of her, logging her meds, cleaning her drains, and taking notes at her doctor’s appointments. By the age of fourteen I was her caregiver after and between every procedure. As hard as it was to watch my mom go through something so devastating, I was happy to be there for her. I learned how to take care of someone in recovery and it helped to solidify my passion for medicine. I am working towards becoming a pediatric surgeon. When the road to that goal gets too rough, I turn to those who have been let down by doctors, and our healthcare system as a whole, to inspire me to continue. As queer, biracial black woman, I have taken it upon myself to become a physician who listens to their patients and does everything in their power to not only help, but also to advocate for those who are often silenced. The statistics describing mortality rates of black women during childbirth is unacceptable. Doctors ignoring the actual health of patients and instead only focusing on lecturing plus-size patients about dieting is unacceptable. Horror stories that I find online, told by people who have been let down by their doctors as well as the personal stories from friends, are what drive me. I knew from a very young age that I would make it my purpose in life to help others and do my part as a doctor to alleviate human suffering, working towards having credibility that can't be ignored or silenced, so that I can advocate for those who are in need is my inspiration.

Lesbian always felt like a bad word. It felt dirty and inappropriate, only acceptable when in the title of an adult film. That’s what I thought growing up, that women would only be together for a man to enjoy. When I was twelve, I fell into a rabbit hole of hashtags on Instagram and ended up on a lesbian couple's page. In that moment, something clicked for me and I felt what I now know to be validation. On that day I learned that lesbian is not a bad word, nor is it dirty or inappropriate. Although I still find it difficult to call myself a lesbian at times because of comments I've heard from others or even their tone when using the word; I am proud to be a lesbian and I am working on loving myself despite the discomfort that term brings. Particularly for those who are not accustomed to seeing themselves in mainstream media, representation is crucial. I spend a lot of my down time watching TV shows and movies, and it is undeniable that representation in media has increased, but I think there is still more to be done. Seeing a queer couple, or person, on TV must become just as normal as seeing a heterosexual, cisgender individual. Walt Disney Studios released The Princess and the Frog in 2009, a movie that featured the first Black Disney Princess. It was the first time I saw myself as a Disney princess; before that, when I played pretend with my friends, I would have to be Jasmine because she was the one with the closest skin color to mine. Anyone who does not fit the status quo knows how important it is to be represented in the media. Growing up as a dark skin biracial child in a predominantly white area, I struggled to find friends and people in the media who looked like me. Once I realized that I was gay, finding that representation became even harder. Though queer romance is starting to become more common, it is taking longer for queer BIPOC representation to catch up with white queer representation in mainstream media. I have hope that with more people being open about their stories and identities, we will reach a time when acceptance is expected. Although not the largest or most impactful action, I have made an effort to learn and teach queer history and culture, I want to work to remove the stigma surrounding queerness, especially in the black community.

“Medicines cure diseases, but only doctors can cure patients,” Carl Jung. I have no greater desire in life than to help others. Since I was 5 years old, I have dreamed of becoming a surgeon and spending my career saving lives. Over the years, I changed my mind countless times about what career I wanted to pursue. I considered every job I could think of, from becoming a director to an FBI agent to a special effects makeup artist. Before committing to medicine, I imagined myself in a variety of other professions, but the pull of medicine remains unmatched by any other. I intend to continue my education so that I can become a pediatric surgeon. The severity of COVID-19 and its effects on our world are unparalleled to any other event that has occurred in my lifetime. We have witnessed the closure of entire countries across the globe for the first time. Everyone turned to our scientists and watched as they discovered how to manufacture a vaccine. I desperately wanted to be a part of the efforts to fight COVID-19, and this experience has further ignited my passion for medicine. This pandemic is also the reason the most recent three semesters of my education have taken place online. Due to this fact, I have not been able to participate in clubs at my university. I hope to join several organizations in the spring, a pre-med club, chemistry club, and possibly one more that I find interesting. Additionally, I would love to get involved in my community, probably by volunteering. The American healthcare system is broken and letting down its citizens. Sadly, too many healthcare professionals have lost their passion for medicine and have instead become drones. Working in the field of medicine can be daunting and grueling at times, but it is necessary work that I look forward to doing. I will treat the people who will come under my care with compassion, and I will advocate for my patients and assure they are being listened to. While doctors have to stay on their A-game, even when it's exhausting, they are saving lives by having that focus. I have an appetite for medicine that I hope is never satiated because that, along with my desire to help others and advocate for those who have been cast aside in our society, are what drive me to continue on my journey to becoming a pediatric surgeon.

Looking back on my life, I find it difficult to identify any notable achievements. Since I don't consider any of my achievements great or extraordinary, I turned to my friends for advice. To my surprise they came up with lists of accomplishments in moments, most of which I have never even considered. All through high school, I managed to stay on the honor roll while going home after the school day and taking care of my mom who was recovering from cancer. I have learned from mine and others’ experiences and amended my prejudices. I went on a mission trip to Belize where we worked all week building and renovating schools. They also mentioned the fact that I chose to transfer universities and change my major from psychology to pre-med in order to become a surgeon. Of all of my options, I believe my greatest accomplishment is attending college. Following my graduation from high school I had to take a year off to have knee surgery. This surgery left me unable to put any weight on my leg for six weeks, then an additional six of low impact recovery. I had many friends and family members concerned that I wouldn’t go back to school, they insisted on waiting on the surgery and just going because school was more important. My family chose my education over my own physical health, but I refused. Even though they protested, I remained true to what I knew was best for me. As a result, I learned how to advocate for myself and weigh life-altering decisions against each other. I also discovered my own resilience. The application process for college is considerably harder when the applicant is not currently attending high school or a university. The process of finding scholarships was also more complicated, as not being enrolled often made me ineligible. My greatest achievement is not a mission trip or an award. My greatest achievement is believing in myself and accomplishing my goals in a way that works best for me. I'm not sure I will ever have such great accomplishments that I will receive awards, but I don't think that's the most important thing. I will succeed in my goal of becoming a pediatric surgeon. My career will be spent advocating for my patients and treating them with compassion. There is no amount of student loan debt or standardized tests that will keep me from actualizing my dreams. I will be a doctor who listens and does everything in my power to help the ones in my care. My greatness cannot be easily quantified or demonstrated on a resume, but my passion for medicine and helping others will always drive me to achieve my goals.

If all goes as planned, within the next ten years I will be a pediatric surgeon. My days will be spent treating children and trying my best to provide relief for their suffering. As a result of my desire to help others, I will spend approximately $200,000. According to the Association of American Medical Colleges (AAMC), the average medical school debt of graduates is just over $200,000, combining both their medical school and undergraduate debt. There is no other career that I find as fitting for myself as becoming a physician, and I am willing to wrack up as much debt as is necessary to achieve my goals. I have recently discovered the inaccessibility of medical school for those who come from low-to-middle income families. Due to the fact that I have to put myself through school, I knew how much student loan debt I would accrue, but I failed to account for less commonly acknowledged expenses. The cost of MCAT, the exam necessary to be accepted into medical school, study materials cost anywhere from $65 to $200, and that is for used copies. When typed into a search engine, the answer to the question, "How much does the MCAT cost?," the internet tells you, $320. The fee is excessive, but that is to be expected since it is one of the most important tests a doctor will ever take. Now I ask, "How much does it cost to apply to medical school?," and the internet tells me that I must account for the application fee from the institution I’m applying to, the fee from the AAMC, the cost of sending transcripts, plus any other secondary fees which may be incurred. My name seems to appear on an endless bill that continues to churn out numbers, charging me for every breath I take as I strive to become a physician. It will not keep me from becoming a surgeon, and helping those in need, because I will apply to every scholarship, grant, and financial aid opportunity I can find. I need this scholarship because every dollar that I can put towards this debt or test prep or textbooks, puts me one step closer to becoming a healer.

My childhood was stolen from me. When I say that, most people would assume that I was abused, neglected, or assaulted, maybe even a combination of all three, but I wasn’t. From all accounts and sources compiled, the photos, videos, documents, and firsthand recollections all come to the same consensus, I was a happy child with a good life. In all honesty, that is not an entirely incorrect statement. I did have a very good life filled with great friends, many of which I am still friends with now, and family vacations that would make anybody jealous. I had a very good life, but I was not very happy. My depression began when I was ten years old. At first, I thought it was just normal grieving, as my cousin had just lost his battle to cancer, a battle which I witnessed during our daily visits to sit with him in the hospital. It took me a few weeks to realize that while other family members were beginning to pull themselves together and continue on with their lives, I was still in the place that holds you in your bed and forces you to fight just to get up to go to the bathroom. Every day and every activity became at least one thousand times harder to complete, and it didn’t take long for the suicidal thoughts to find their place in my mind. I was trapped in my own mind with no escape or solace. I had never felt so alone in my life, but I couldn’t tell anyone. What would I even say? Tell them I’m sad and don’t want to get out of bed in the morning? They’d just tell me that no one wants to get out of bed in the morning, just smile and do it anyway. In actuality that probably isn’t true, but I didn’t know that at the time. My feelings were so big and so powerful that I couldn’t put them into words, I couldn’t ask for help because I had no idea what to ask for or how to tell them that this was more than just sadness. This was hatred for myself that ran so deep I wanted to be dead. I have noticed that when people decide to be open and discuss the struggles they have faced in their life, they are often dismissed and told that they should be grateful for what they have because so many others have it worse. Although that is true, there is always someone who is in a worse situation than someone else, this mindset and invalidation of others’ emotions and experiences compels those who are struggling to remain silent. I try to make an effort to reach out to my friends and family to let them know that they are allowed to feel any emotion, even if it seems to be without reason, and their feelings are valid. These feelings can be a gateway to self-destructive behaviors, including addiction, self-harm, and suicide. I have been a witness to what addiction can do to a person. My uncle has an addiction to cigarettes, and even though he has had three heart attacks, two strokes, and suffers from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), he continues to smoke. My mother is an alcoholic, but she insists she can stop drinking whenever she wants. She has made bets with us several times proving she can go full weeks without drinking, but no matter how many bets we make, she always picks up another drink eventually. It hurts me to see what she puts herself through, and sometimes it angers me that she’d put me through it too, by forcing me to take care of her, but I can empathize with what she is going through. My experiences with mental health as well as witnessing the struggles of loved ones has taught me to always try to see things from others’ perspectives. Even though I may not agree with or be able to fully understand what another person is going through, I can sympathize with them and find ways to help. Beginning my battle with depression from such a young and developmentally significant age has affected me as an adult now. I spent so much of my life putting on masks and playing the part of a happy person that I often struggle to pinpoint my true identity. The walls that I built up to protect me in my most arduous times have yet to come down. I have been spending my adult life attempting to heal the emotional damage I sustained as a child by putting in effort to be more open and trusting with the people in my life. I intend on becoming a pediatric surgeon, working with children and advocating for them and their families. I am a compassionate person, and I can attribute at least some of that compassion and understanding to my experiences with mental health. Although it stole my childhood, and my innocence, I want to use what I learned from those experiences to help others.

Father-daughter dances and school breakfasts entitled “Donuts with Dad” were not occasions that I looked forward to when I was a kid. I was uncomfortable at these events and holidays centered around father figures because my dad has lived several states away for most of my life. Luckily for me, I had a mom who went to every event she possibly could. She came to every “Donuts with Dad” and “Muffins with Mom.” She made sure to get us to every dance class and football practice; of course she made it to every game and performance and cheered for us so loud we could easily find her in the crowd. My mom has given up so much just to give my brothers and me everything she could manage. I am currently enrolled in a biochemistry program on the pre-med track because I intend on becoming a pediatric surgeon. I want to spend my career helping and advocating for children and their mothers. I have witnessed the way women are treated and dismissed in our current healthcare system, and I want to be the doctor who does listen and gives them the care they need. My mom, in between the practices and performances and school events, raised me to be a strong and compassionate person. She taught me how to be selfless and respectful. Made sure my manners were so ingrained in me that I would never forget a single “please” or “thank you.” She molded me into a strong and powerful woman who is willing to fight for what is right. More than just telling me how I should talk and act, she showed me. When I was thirteen years old my mom had a preventative procedure in an effort to avoid developing cancer. Unfortunately, there were complications which led to five years of reconstructive surgeries, in-office procedures, and countless doctors appointments. Through it all I was exactly who she raised me to be, a strong and responsible young woman. I became her nurse, logging her medications, helping her change, fluffing her pillows when they were uncomfortable. I knew she felt helpless and worried, but I never minded taking care of her, I did exactly what she would have, and has, done for me. That experience solidified my desire to pursue medicine and to become a caretaker for anyone I can help. My intention with becoming a doctor is to be a physician who listens and believes their patients. I will be someone who will advocate for my patients and what is best for them in their time of need. I have seen the statistics describing the mortality rates of black women in childbirth compared to those of while women, and I want to do my part to close that gap. So many patients are dismissed by their physicians, and that is completely unacceptable. I want to listen and support the children and parents who are in my care. This scholarship would help me to pay for my tuition in order to continue my education. I am a high school graduate and college student. I am a student researcher at my university. I am a dependable and trustworthy friend. I am a caring sister. I am a passionate and determined woman. I am courageous, artistic, and thoughtful. I am a future surgeon, and most importantly, I am my mother’s daughter. I am all of these things and more because of all that she has done to make me into the person I am today. My mom will always be my biggest supporter, and I will do my best to be a person that she can be proud to call her daughter.

In 1981, Alexa Irene Canady, M.D., became the first African-American neurosurgeon in the United States. Following the completion of medical school, she became the first woman and the first African American to be accepted as a surgical intern at Yale-New Haven Hospital in 1975. She then went on to complete her residency and fellowship, becoming a pediatric neurosurgeon. Dr. Canady spent the remainder of her career treating the young patients who came to her with life-threatening illnesses, specializing in head trauma, hydrocephalus, brain tumors and spine abnormalities.

When I was ten years old, my twenty-three year-old cousin was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. Five months later he was dead. His struggle will stick with me for the rest of my life. He could have been diagnosed sooner but he wasn’t, because a doctor looked at him, as he cried and clutched his stomach in pain, and told him, “You don’t have cancer. You’re not going to die. So don’t worry about it.” Unfortunately she could not have been more wrong. She refused to test him for such diseases because she looked at him, with his shaggy, curly hair, his tie dye shirt, and his ripped jeans, and she made an assumption. She assumed that he was faking his pain, putting on a show to get a prescription. She looked at my cousin, who was dying of cancer, and just assumed that he wanted drugs, so she sent him home. Luckily the next doctor he went to did not have the same judgement, and he was diagnosed. That experience has lived with me for eleven years now, and I can’t help but wonder what might have been different if that first doctor had just taken a look. I am working towards becoming a pediatric surgeon. When the road to that goal gets too rough, I turn to those who have been let down by doctors, and our health care system as a whole, to inspire me to continue. Listening to the stories of those who have been mistreated or unbelieved by health care professionals can be infuriating, but I use that anger to motivate myself to keep pushing forward. As queer, biracial black woman, I have taken it upon myself to become a physician who listens to their patients and does everything in their power to not only help, but also to advocate for those who are often silenced. The statistics describing mortality rates of black women during childbirth is unacceptable. The number of female friends who have told me how their symptoms were dismissed by a doctor because he felt they were being overdramatic is unacceptable. Doctors ignoring the actual health of patients and instead only focusing on lecturing plus-size patients about dieting is unacceptable. Horror stories that I find online, told by people who have been let down by their doctors, are what drive me. Knowing that in the future, there will be patients who need a physician that will not give up on them or dismiss their pain, and that I can be that person for them is what drives me. Working towards having the credibility that can't be ignored or silenced, so that I can advocate for those who are in need is my inspiration.