Just what the doctor ordered

A Promise to Myself

A Promise to Myself
     As the May 15 deadline nears for students accepted into medical schools around the country to commit to a school that they want to attend, I find myself considering the possibility of moving to Chicago and attending the Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine.  I am continually impressed with their admissions office, staff, curriculum, and now the students.  But I am also reminded of something I promised myself just under a decade ago.
     I was just in seventh grade around that time, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.  The only thing I was concerned about was when I could go to my lunch break and playing basketball for the school team.  It was also the time my grandpa was diagnosed with bladder cancer by his local doctor in Peoria, Illinois.
     I was devastated when I first heard the news.  I knew that he was in for a long and painful road of doctor’s visits, chemotherapy, and recovery.  My grandpa and I were close.  He always took me out to lunch when I visited, and he and I would check out the girls.  We used to sit on the couch and watch old movies and the history channel together.  He even used to let me shoot his guns when I was a lot younger and take the time to teach me how to shoot.  However, these memories just barely skim the surface of why he was special to me.
     The hospital that he was referred to see a specialist at was Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago.  Every few weeks for 12 months he and my grandma rode the train into downtown Chicago so my grandpa could get his treatment.  I followed his progress as closely as possible through my mom because he never wanted to admit there was anything wrong, let alone talk about it with me.  When I saw him, I noticed he was more tired than usual but was always in good spirits.  He never had any complaints.
     After a year of chemotherapy treatments and biopsies, his cancer was declared to be in remission.  My family and I were all relieved.  More importantly, my grandpa was going to be around for a little while longer.  While surviving cancer is becoming more and more commonplace in today’s world, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world.
     While I can’t say that this was the sole defining moment in my decision to go to medical school, I will say that I was now strongly considering it.  Northwestern University doctors had given my grandpa a new lease on life.  The doctors and their treatment of my grandpa impressed me.  They were given a problem, and they fixed it and did a marvelous job.  I told myself then that if I ever got into Northwestern University’s medical school, I would go their in a heartbeat.
     It’s funny what so many years will do to you.  I continued my education and eventually attended the University of Wisconsin where I made my decision to apply for medical school a firm one.  However, in the midst of classes, tests, applications, and interviews, my promise had taken a backseat to everything else in my life.  I was taking my grandpa being alive for granted.  I was given a rude awakening though as to how fragile life is.  December 2004, my grandpa died from lung cancer after battling it for just one year.
     Needless to say, I was deeply saddened.  But I was reminded again of a promise that I had made to myself years earlier.  I continued on and passed my classes, took the MCAT, and began to apply for medical schools.  Near the top of my list was Northwestern University.
     As the deadline approaches, I can now see my decision to attend Northwestern is clear.  I had made up my mind nearly a decade ago when my grandpa was sick and was cured by the great doctors that work at that school.  I owe it to myself, and to others, to be trained by some of the finest doctors in the world so that I can give others another shot at life, just as I was given a second chance with my grandpa.

posted by Andy @ 12:54 PM