My passion for orthopedics began with a simple goal: to figure out how to relieve my own pain. As a baseball player, I dealt with frequent soreness and injuries, and I wanted to understand what was happening in my body—how bones, muscles, and tendons worked together, and more importantly, how to strengthen them and prevent further damage. What started as personal research slowly turned into something much bigger. As I learned more, I realized that the knowledge I was gaining could benefit others, not just myself. Without any formal training. just hours of research and trial-and-error, I began helping my teammates work through their pain, prevent injuries, and build personalized recovery and strengthening routines. I made plans for them, talked through symptoms, and shared stretches and techniques that could make a difference. I didn’t charge anything or ask for recognition. I just wanted to help, and it felt natural to share what I was learning with people I cared about. That experience showed me how powerful knowledge can be when it’s used to serve others. Even though I wasn’t a doctor, I saw the difference I could make in people’s lives. I saw teammates playing without pain for the first time in weeks, friends recovering faster than they thought possible, all because someone took the time to help. That’s when I knew orthopedics wasn’t just something I was interested in, it was something I wanted to dedicate my life to. Right now, I’m making my community better by sharing what I’ve learned freely with those around me. I treat it like a responsibility: if I know something that could help someone move better, feel better, or play better, I share it. And in doing that, I’ve found a deep sense of purpose. In college and beyond, I plan to pursue a career in orthopedic medicine so I can deepen my understanding and expand my impact. I want to work not just with athletes, but with anyone suffering from musculoskeletal issues, especially those who don’t have easy access to high-quality care. I also want to contribute to simplifying orthopedic information so that people can help themselves more effectively. Too often, the best solutions are hidden behind complex language or expensive treatments. I want to find and develop strategies that are practical, accessible, and rooted in both science and compassion. My ultimate goal is to make orthopedic care more human. To not just treat injuries, but to empower people to understand and care for their bodies. Through research, clinical practice, and community outreach, I hope to change the way people think about injury prevention, recovery, and movement, which started with the teammates beside me today and will continue with the patients and communities I’ll serve in the future. That’s how I plan to make my community, and the world, a better place: through the healing power of knowledge, connection, and care.

In the middle of my seventh grade baseball season, I started having knee pain. It was strange; I hadn’t been hit, taken a fall, or done anything I thought could have caused an injury. I played through the rest of the season, but by the end of the school year, my complaints led my mom to take me to the doctor. My orthopedist, who I actually knew quite well thanks to five broken bones leading up to that point, ordered an X-ray, examined my range of motion, and pressed around the joint to test for tenderness. Finally, she gave me a diagnosis: I had OCD—not the mental health condition, but osteochondritis dissecans. She said a bunch of words I didn’t fully understand at the time, like "cartilage" and "MRI," but one phrase stuck with me: “Three months, no activity.” I was supposed to play summer baseball and attend basketball camp. What now? That summer, with no ability to run or jump, I turned to learning. I researched what cartilage was, why an MRI was necessary, and slowly started to understand what was going on in my body. As the months went on, I read more and more about OCD and the anatomy surrounding the knee. Eventually, with the help of a knee brace and regular doses of Advil, I was cleared to return to play. But it wasn’t long before I started experiencing elbow pain. This time, the diagnosis was “Little League Elbow.” Like any curious eighth grader, I pulled up online diagrams of the elbow and identified exactly where the damage was. Each injury became a mini crash course in anatomy. It might sound odd, but my biggest inspiration for going into the medical field is… me. I was an injury-prone kid, but when you’re hurt, it's easy to locate the problem—pain and swelling point directly to it. Being able to look at a diagram and think, “Yes, that’s exactly where it hurts,” made the learning feel personal and real. I didn’t just want to know what was wrong; I wanted to understand why it was wrong and how to fix it. As I got older and sports became more competitive, my focus shifted to prevention. At the first sign of elbow or shoulder discomfort, I’d research which movements strengthened which ligaments or tendons. I learned how to build a more injury-resistant arm, and for a while, it worked better than anything else I’d tried. Still, I wasn’t invincible. I dislocated my left shoulder, broke my fibula, and sprained my ankle. But even those setbacks became learning opportunities. Over time, I’ve realized that my passion for medicine isn’t just about injuries. It’s about problem-solving, about figuring out the “why” behind pain and the “how” behind healing. It’s about helping people not only recover, but also thrive. Medicine blends the hands-on, real-world application I love with the intellectual challenge that keeps me curious. I know what it feels like to sit in a doctor’s office, confused, frustrated, and in pain, and I also know how much it means when someone takes the time to explain, support, and guide you back to health. That’s who I want to be for others. That’s why I want to go into medicine.