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Essay 1: Please limit your response to 250-500 words
If you are not a full-time student during this application cycle, in particular at any time between September 2011 and May 2012, please detail your current and planned activities below.
Essay 2: Please limit your response to 250-500 words
At the core of our profession are attributes sometimes called the three C's; Competence (clinical excellence), Caring (a genuine desire to help others or "other centeredness") and Character (personal integrity and honesty). In order to grow in these areas, the best practitioners are able to reflect upon who they are as individuals (self-assessment) and allow these insights to shape how they develop as physicians. The relationships we develop with patients and colleagues are among the most rewarding aspects of being a physician and provide the theatre in which the three C's are both learned and practiced. We therefore have two short essay questions designed to help you explore these important topics. The first deals with self-assessment, and the second deals with the experiences of two UF medical students facing the loss of a patient and its impact on them as young doctors.
Read the following description of introversion and extraversion from the Myers-Briggs foundation website. Most people, while seeing themselves to one degree or another in each description, are inclined towards either being introverted or extroverted. Both groups make wonderful physicians, but each personality type has some inherent strengths and weaknesses which need to be appreciated as individuals develop into practicing physicians. Do you see yourself as more of an extravert or an introvert and how will this impact how you learn to communicate with patients and colleagues?
Extraversion (E)
I like getting my energy from active involvement in events and having a lot of different activities. I'm excited when I'm around people and I like to energize other people. I like moving into action and making things happen. I generally feel at home in the world. I often understand a problem better when I can talk out loud about it and hear what others have to say.
The following statements generally apply to me:
I am seen as "outgoing" or as a "people person."
I feel comfortable in groups and like working in them.
I have a wide range of friends and know lots of people.
I sometimes jump too quickly into an activity and don't allow enough time to think it over.
Before I start a project, I sometimes forget to stop and get clear on what I want to do and why.
Introversion (I)
I like getting my energy from dealing with the ideas, pictures, memories, and reactions that are inside my head, in my inner world. I often prefer doing things alone or with one or two people I feel comfortable with. I take time to reflect so that I have a clear idea of what I'll be doing when I decide to act. Ideas are almost solid things for me. Sometimes I like the idea of something better than the real thing.
The following statements generally apply to me:
I am seen as "reflective" or "reserved."
I feel comfortable being alone and like things I can do on my own.
I prefer to know just a few people well.
I sometimes spend too much time reflecting and don't move into action quickly enough.
I sometimes forget to check with the outside world to see if my ideas really fit the experience.
Essay 3: Please limit your response to 250-500 words
Among the most poignant but challenging experiences for a physician surround caring for patients at the end of life. Read the 2 attached essays (attached file, UFCOM_Essay-3.pdf), written recently by students at the University of Florida College of Medicine. In the first, the student describes the experience of caring for a patient with cancer at the end of life and the second reflects upon a "code" which the student observed. Both were changed and grew through the experience. Pick one, and describe the skills of the author that you notice and think are helpful, then describe how these characteristics manifest in the kind of physician that you want to be.
Here are the students' essays to be used for prompt #3:
The Quickness of Death
I wonder if they can hear the footsteps? Starting off as a whisper, far away in the dark, but then amplifying into a roaring cacophony, drowning out the prayers and the get-well soons. Then there is silence. It was over almost as fast as it began, with heads now being scratched and decisions being second-guessed, we stand with incredulity written indelibly across our foreheads. The family reads our faces, sentence after sentence punctuated by teardrops until they have to look away. Words of comfort and explanations are caught in our throats and come out awkwardly, misaligned, but sincere. There is no longer the need for science or medicine, but for something less synthetic and more human. The doctor reaches out her hand to the now widow and their hands meet like strangers who were somehow looking for each other on a crowded street. The embrace is uncomfortable at first, but quickly becomes familiar and rather reassuring. The footsteps were quick and they never heard them coming. The suffering is over as his soul soars past the balloons lining the sealing through the cold walls and into the infinite sky. I look up and wonder how this could happen so fast. We need warnings, reminders, and alarms; second notices, memos, and last chances. The unexpected is not welcome around here in the company of facts, figures, and statistics. We often hear the question asked by patients, "How much longer do I have?", insinuating that the end is near…within reach. I think I always imagined the way people died as a slow and indolent process similar to watching sand passing through an hourglass grain by grain. But it can be a tidal wave, knocking you down and holding you under despite desperate attempts to resurface. The weights some patient's carry can be oh so heavy and we just cannot tell when their bodies will buckle under the tremendous forces of disease. This is a piece of knowledge you won't find in the thickest of textbooks or in the latest literature. This is the knowledge of experience and it is unfortunately something one must stumble onto often unexpectedly. As I look back on these experiences that somehow found me I can't help but feel blessed. In that I mean to have the opportunity to help and guide patients and families through this unfamiliar transition in life. The footsteps still echo down the halls and the patients will pop their heads out of their rooms to see if the footsteps are coming to see them. This wont change, but I certainly have.
Why do we do what we do?
What makes us get up before the sun and spend our days in cramped work rooms choosing between different antibiotics, between a stress test and a cath., between greasy pizza and granola bars? It's not money, recognition or glamour. We are human and we are apt to become frustrated with non-compliant patients, inefficient hospitals, and our litigious society. We are often overworked and almost always exhausted. We are vulnerable to forget why we chose to undertake this challenge in the first place. So, I would like to tell you about my friend Jim.
I met Jim the first day of my medicine rotation. He was in the MICU after developing a small bowel obstruction the night before. He had slept even less than I had and was obviously in pain, but when I introduced myself, Jim gave me a big smile and a warm handshake. He told me his medical history; he told me about his chronic leukemia that had transformed into something scarier, about his liver infiltrates, and about the intense pain in his belly that had developed just 12 hours before. He told me he was ready to fight it all.
In the 13 short days I knew him, I learned much more about his story. He had two daughters, (one who shared my name), who had changed their wedding dates so their father could attend. I looked through pictures of his family with him and discussed favorite vacations, memories of his kids, and how he wished he were at the beach. He told me that he was happy his room had a view of the football stadium, which launched a long conversation about the Gators and Tim Tebow's Heisman win. I discussed wedding plans with his fiancé and held her hand when she found me outside his room to tell me how scared she was about losing him.
Only a few years older than my own father, Jim simultaneously treated me as a member of his medical team and as one of his children. He trusted me with his care while still feeling a need to protect me. When he told me that he was finished fighting, that he wanted no more treatment, he did so with compassion and sensitivity and care. He was certain about his decision, but he wanted to make sure I could handle it. He was an amazing man.
In the last few days of his life, I got the privilege of meeting his family. I cried with his fiancé and his daughters. I hugged his closest friends and explained how we would make him comfortable. I also got the privilege of watching the physicians around me. As, one by one, we stopped his chemotherapy, his intravenous feedings, his antibiotics, as we withdrew the medical and pharmacological technology prolonging his life, we never lapsed in our care. Instead, we spent long hours talking with his family, assessing his pain, taking care of him for as long as he was our patient. When he asked us to pray with him, we joined hands and prayed. We provided him the opportunity to die well.
The day before Jim died, his fiancé asked me to stay with him for a few minutes while she took a break. She had not left the hospital in days; she was tired and emotionally broken, and when she asked me to sit by him so he wouldn't be alone, I rejoiced at her request. He was lethargic and only minimally responsive, and for the majority of the 15 minutes I spent alone with him at his bedside, he slept. I cried openly and unabashedly for this man I had known for less than 2 weeks. I cried for his kids and his fiancé and for myself. I cried because every once in a while, Jim would squeeze my hand and shoot me that same wonderful, warm smile. He was an amazing man.
We do what we do because it is a privilege. I had the privilege of being welcomed into a man's life when he was most vulnerable. I had the privilege of joining his family in prayer when they were most desperate. And I had the privilege of being part of a team of physicians who cared for their patient when others would have said they had nothing left to contribute. I hope to never forget how lucky I am.
Best of luck with your application !
If you are not a full-time student during this application cycle, in particular at any time between September 2011 and May 2012, please detail your current and planned activities below.
Essay 2: Please limit your response to 250-500 words
At the core of our profession are attributes sometimes called the three C's; Competence (clinical excellence), Caring (a genuine desire to help others or "other centeredness") and Character (personal integrity and honesty). In order to grow in these areas, the best practitioners are able to reflect upon who they are as individuals (self-assessment) and allow these insights to shape how they develop as physicians. The relationships we develop with patients and colleagues are among the most rewarding aspects of being a physician and provide the theatre in which the three C's are both learned and practiced. We therefore have two short essay questions designed to help you explore these important topics. The first deals with self-assessment, and the second deals with the experiences of two UF medical students facing the loss of a patient and its impact on them as young doctors.
Read the following description of introversion and extraversion from the Myers-Briggs foundation website. Most people, while seeing themselves to one degree or another in each description, are inclined towards either being introverted or extroverted. Both groups make wonderful physicians, but each personality type has some inherent strengths and weaknesses which need to be appreciated as individuals develop into practicing physicians. Do you see yourself as more of an extravert or an introvert and how will this impact how you learn to communicate with patients and colleagues?
Extraversion (E)
I like getting my energy from active involvement in events and having a lot of different activities. I'm excited when I'm around people and I like to energize other people. I like moving into action and making things happen. I generally feel at home in the world. I often understand a problem better when I can talk out loud about it and hear what others have to say.
The following statements generally apply to me:
I am seen as "outgoing" or as a "people person."
I feel comfortable in groups and like working in them.
I have a wide range of friends and know lots of people.
I sometimes jump too quickly into an activity and don't allow enough time to think it over.
Before I start a project, I sometimes forget to stop and get clear on what I want to do and why.
Introversion (I)
I like getting my energy from dealing with the ideas, pictures, memories, and reactions that are inside my head, in my inner world. I often prefer doing things alone or with one or two people I feel comfortable with. I take time to reflect so that I have a clear idea of what I'll be doing when I decide to act. Ideas are almost solid things for me. Sometimes I like the idea of something better than the real thing.
The following statements generally apply to me:
I am seen as "reflective" or "reserved."
I feel comfortable being alone and like things I can do on my own.
I prefer to know just a few people well.
I sometimes spend too much time reflecting and don't move into action quickly enough.
I sometimes forget to check with the outside world to see if my ideas really fit the experience.
Essay 3: Please limit your response to 250-500 words
Among the most poignant but challenging experiences for a physician surround caring for patients at the end of life. Read the 2 attached essays (attached file, UFCOM_Essay-3.pdf), written recently by students at the University of Florida College of Medicine. In the first, the student describes the experience of caring for a patient with cancer at the end of life and the second reflects upon a "code" which the student observed. Both were changed and grew through the experience. Pick one, and describe the skills of the author that you notice and think are helpful, then describe how these characteristics manifest in the kind of physician that you want to be.
Here are the students' essays to be used for prompt #3:
The Quickness of Death
I wonder if they can hear the footsteps? Starting off as a whisper, far away in the dark, but then amplifying into a roaring cacophony, drowning out the prayers and the get-well soons. Then there is silence. It was over almost as fast as it began, with heads now being scratched and decisions being second-guessed, we stand with incredulity written indelibly across our foreheads. The family reads our faces, sentence after sentence punctuated by teardrops until they have to look away. Words of comfort and explanations are caught in our throats and come out awkwardly, misaligned, but sincere. There is no longer the need for science or medicine, but for something less synthetic and more human. The doctor reaches out her hand to the now widow and their hands meet like strangers who were somehow looking for each other on a crowded street. The embrace is uncomfortable at first, but quickly becomes familiar and rather reassuring. The footsteps were quick and they never heard them coming. The suffering is over as his soul soars past the balloons lining the sealing through the cold walls and into the infinite sky. I look up and wonder how this could happen so fast. We need warnings, reminders, and alarms; second notices, memos, and last chances. The unexpected is not welcome around here in the company of facts, figures, and statistics. We often hear the question asked by patients, "How much longer do I have?", insinuating that the end is near…within reach. I think I always imagined the way people died as a slow and indolent process similar to watching sand passing through an hourglass grain by grain. But it can be a tidal wave, knocking you down and holding you under despite desperate attempts to resurface. The weights some patient's carry can be oh so heavy and we just cannot tell when their bodies will buckle under the tremendous forces of disease. This is a piece of knowledge you won't find in the thickest of textbooks or in the latest literature. This is the knowledge of experience and it is unfortunately something one must stumble onto often unexpectedly. As I look back on these experiences that somehow found me I can't help but feel blessed. In that I mean to have the opportunity to help and guide patients and families through this unfamiliar transition in life. The footsteps still echo down the halls and the patients will pop their heads out of their rooms to see if the footsteps are coming to see them. This wont change, but I certainly have.
Why do we do what we do?
What makes us get up before the sun and spend our days in cramped work rooms choosing between different antibiotics, between a stress test and a cath., between greasy pizza and granola bars? It's not money, recognition or glamour. We are human and we are apt to become frustrated with non-compliant patients, inefficient hospitals, and our litigious society. We are often overworked and almost always exhausted. We are vulnerable to forget why we chose to undertake this challenge in the first place. So, I would like to tell you about my friend Jim.
I met Jim the first day of my medicine rotation. He was in the MICU after developing a small bowel obstruction the night before. He had slept even less than I had and was obviously in pain, but when I introduced myself, Jim gave me a big smile and a warm handshake. He told me his medical history; he told me about his chronic leukemia that had transformed into something scarier, about his liver infiltrates, and about the intense pain in his belly that had developed just 12 hours before. He told me he was ready to fight it all.
In the 13 short days I knew him, I learned much more about his story. He had two daughters, (one who shared my name), who had changed their wedding dates so their father could attend. I looked through pictures of his family with him and discussed favorite vacations, memories of his kids, and how he wished he were at the beach. He told me that he was happy his room had a view of the football stadium, which launched a long conversation about the Gators and Tim Tebow's Heisman win. I discussed wedding plans with his fiancé and held her hand when she found me outside his room to tell me how scared she was about losing him.
Only a few years older than my own father, Jim simultaneously treated me as a member of his medical team and as one of his children. He trusted me with his care while still feeling a need to protect me. When he told me that he was finished fighting, that he wanted no more treatment, he did so with compassion and sensitivity and care. He was certain about his decision, but he wanted to make sure I could handle it. He was an amazing man.
In the last few days of his life, I got the privilege of meeting his family. I cried with his fiancé and his daughters. I hugged his closest friends and explained how we would make him comfortable. I also got the privilege of watching the physicians around me. As, one by one, we stopped his chemotherapy, his intravenous feedings, his antibiotics, as we withdrew the medical and pharmacological technology prolonging his life, we never lapsed in our care. Instead, we spent long hours talking with his family, assessing his pain, taking care of him for as long as he was our patient. When he asked us to pray with him, we joined hands and prayed. We provided him the opportunity to die well.
The day before Jim died, his fiancé asked me to stay with him for a few minutes while she took a break. She had not left the hospital in days; she was tired and emotionally broken, and when she asked me to sit by him so he wouldn't be alone, I rejoiced at her request. He was lethargic and only minimally responsive, and for the majority of the 15 minutes I spent alone with him at his bedside, he slept. I cried openly and unabashedly for this man I had known for less than 2 weeks. I cried for his kids and his fiancé and for myself. I cried because every once in a while, Jim would squeeze my hand and shoot me that same wonderful, warm smile. He was an amazing man.
We do what we do because it is a privilege. I had the privilege of being welcomed into a man's life when he was most vulnerable. I had the privilege of joining his family in prayer when they were most desperate. And I had the privilege of being part of a team of physicians who cared for their patient when others would have said they had nothing left to contribute. I hope to never forget how lucky I am.
Best of luck with your application !
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