Prompt:
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Essay:
The sun struck the stagnant traffic like a hammer, crushing the countless commuters’ wills to do anything but seek the shelter of A/C and wait for the metallic inchworm covering I-25 to move its way north along the scorched Denver cityscape. Sarah – my mentor during my internship at the Taatjes biochemistry lab at the University of Colorado-Boulder – and I had taken an excursion from preparing cells for transfection so that she could spend the day with her mentor, the head physician of a pediatric neuro-oncology clinic. Sarah sat in the driver’s seat to my left and quietly cursed the traffic, anxious to be home. Unlike Sarah, I didn’t mind the gridlock, because some part of me wasn’t there; it was still back in the children’s hospital we’d just left.
“Rock… Paper… Scissors!” I announced. My hand contracted into a fist, before being smothered by James’ emaciated and sallow palm. His squeal of glee and triumph was mirrored in his father’s slight smile as he watched us play our simple game from the bedside. “Okay,” James said in an unconsciously stalling voice, “Let’s play again, but this time I get to count!” I felt a grin spread over my face as I threw my fist downwards in the first of the three conducted arcs.
Our game was interrupted by a knock at the door, preceding the intrusion of the hospital’s psychiatrist. I gave James a quick smile and retreated to the back corner, relinquishing my seat to the physician. She had empathetic yet distant– perhaps even jaded– eyes and a voice as sterile and measured as any other form of diagnostic equipment. “Hello James, how are you doing today? I know this time of year is rough for you both, with Mother’s Day right around the corner….”
James’ mother had died two years prior from a medulloblastoma, the same type of tumor plaguing James. I tried to envision what it must have been like for James’ father: to have the love of your life stolen by the beast of cancer, and then have the same monster wrap its tentacles around your son. I realized I could not – cannot – imagine it. In that moment I thought back to the influential people in my life – my grandmother, my father, my best friend – and I came to a twisted realization; while they each suffer from debilitating diseases, they’re still among the lucky ones.
My daydreaming was interrupted by Sarah, who momentarily dammed her stream of expletives towards the congestion around us. “You’re thinking about him still, aren’t you?” Startled by her clairvoyance, I nodded. She smiled dimly and redirected her eyes to the traffic. “I still remember the first patient I ever saw. We don’t spend countless hours in the lab for the sake of knowledge and growing cells. This is what we do it for. This is who we do it for.”
Sarah’s words bolstered my passion for genetic engineering from curiosity to borderline obsession. As I learned about and worked with the CRISPR–Cas9 genome editing system, I fell into a rabbit hole of possibilities. I realized how much tangible good a single researcher could do with this technology: they could create a world without disease. A single scientist could take milligrams of a protein, and shift the direction of medicine. A single clinician could end the suffering of millions of people like James and his father. I walked into the children’s hospital with a dream of what could be done, and I left knowing why it must be done; why I must try to do it.
“Rock… Paper… Scissors!” I announced. My hand contracted into a fist, before being smothered by James’ emaciated and sallow palm. His squeal of glee and triumph was mirrored in his father’s slight smile as he watched us play our simple game from the bedside. “Okay,” James said in an unconsciously stalling voice, “Let’s play again, but this time I get to count!” I felt a grin spread over my face as I threw my fist downwards in the first of the three conducted arcs.
Our game was interrupted by a knock at the door, preceding the intrusion of the hospital’s psychiatrist. I gave James a quick smile and retreated to the back corner, relinquishing my seat to the physician. She had empathetic yet distant– perhaps even jaded– eyes and a voice as sterile and measured as any other form of diagnostic equipment. “Hello James, how are you doing today? I know this time of year is rough for you both, with Mother’s Day right around the corner….”
James’ mother had died two years prior from a medulloblastoma, the same type of tumor plaguing James. I tried to envision what it must have been like for James’ father: to have the love of your life stolen by the beast of cancer, and then have the same monster wrap its tentacles around your son. I realized I could not – cannot – imagine it. In that moment I thought back to the influential people in my life – my grandmother, my father, my best friend – and I came to a twisted realization; while they each suffer from debilitating diseases, they’re still among the lucky ones.
My daydreaming was interrupted by Sarah, who momentarily dammed her stream of expletives towards the congestion around us. “You’re thinking about him still, aren’t you?” Startled by her clairvoyance, I nodded. She smiled dimly and redirected her eyes to the traffic. “I still remember the first patient I ever saw. We don’t spend countless hours in the lab for the sake of knowledge and growing cells. This is what we do it for. This is who we do it for.”
Sarah’s words bolstered my passion for genetic engineering from curiosity to borderline obsession. As I learned about and worked with the CRISPR–Cas9 genome editing system, I fell into a rabbit hole of possibilities. I realized how much tangible good a single researcher could do with this technology: they could create a world without disease. A single scientist could take milligrams of a protein, and shift the direction of medicine. A single clinician could end the suffering of millions of people like James and his father. I walked into the children’s hospital with a dream of what could be done, and I left knowing why it must be done; why I must try to do it.
Revision Process:
I began this essay during the first month of summer. Over these past three months I have written, re-written, and refined this essay to a point. I have always been a strong writer, and because of this I usually don't read through my essays for error very often. When I looked at my essay at the start of this project, I realized that it was not finished. The story felt choppy and forced: its transitions were loose and its structure was cliche. I was especially displeased with my essay's abbreviation of how long my meeting with "James" stuck with me. I decided the problem's root was in the way I told my story. Because I structured my story chronologically, my time at the hospital squashed the introspective drive I wanted to focus on to the last paragraph. To fix this, I changed the order in which I presented my ideas, by telling my story in flash-back and ending my story with the words of advice from my mentor. This key change (in my opinion) turned my essay from a cliche and hubris filled story, to a compelling view of what motivates me, and who I am as a person.