- Joined
- Apr 27, 2008
- Messages
- 1,456
- Reaction score
- 1,425
Check my stats: I've been on SDN since before Barrack Obama ran for President... Hell, I've been around so long that people have recognized me in public and have called me out by my SDN handle (really -- like, a lot).
I've moved across the country, taken countless classes, pulled 70-hour weeks for years at a time, and had my fair share of let downs -- all in pursuit of this crazy idea of being a doctor.
Finally, I get to post my success story. And, with recent circumstances surrounding AACOMAS policy change, I thought some of you might benefit from hearing some good news from someone who made it through to the other side...
---------
Long, long ago, I was sportscasting. It seemed like the most obvious route -- I was an athlete all my life, and was a ham in front of the camera. Before graduating from my undergrad institution, I got a call from the NFL network....... and at the moment in which I should have been celebrating my achievements, I felt empty.
I knew, in my heart, sportscasting wasn't "it". I was a science nut, I am curious to a fault, and I desperately wanted to self-actualize. So, I said no. I politely declined what many would murder for. And then went into a period of, "Well, now what?". After a ton of reflection, I came across medicine and never looked back.
Around the same time, my father was diagnosed with cancer. And things got real aggressive, and real serious, real quick. I was packing open surgical sites, checking him for infection, and managing a good deal of his care (both medical and emotional). Things got so bad that the surgeons had to remove his entire arm--up to the shoulder--to save his life. So, I moved an hour away from my undergrad, into his house, to help. All hands on deck (minus his one hand....because it's gone now... Ha! ..Well, these jokes are funny to my dad and I). I found out from an admissions dean that I should consider doing a post-bacc and spare my non-traditional major. So, I took another year to finish my degree, get involved in the pre-med scene, and apply to post-baccs.
With my dad finally (and thankfully!) in the clear, I was accepted to Harvard's post-bacc program. So, I took every penny I had, jumped on a plane, and moved to Boston with a couple of suitcases. Now, we were told to only commit to a limited number of hours for extra-curriculars because the coursework was so demanding. But, I had to pay for tuition, rent, and...you know...food. So, I applied to over 100 (yes, really... Boston is saturated with pre-meds) research positions and was able to land one at MGH. I worked 50 hours per week, and took 2 classes per semester, for the two-year duration of the program. Now, the attrition rate in the Harvard program is.... astronomical. It is incredibly, incredibly tough. I would get home at 10:00-11:00pm, study, and get up at 6:00am for work. Monday through Friday. The result? B's. Lots and lots of B's. Which, considering how many people dropped out of the program, I was pretty proud of.
With the pre-reqs under my belt, it was time to take the MCAT. I had studied my hindquarters off, scheduled a test date, and BOOM... dad had a heart attack -- tissue was so damaged, he needed open-heart surgery. So, two weeks before the test, I cancelled and flew 2,000 miles back home. Couldn't schedule the test again for months. Things got better, I flew back to my house, and resumed studying (still researching full-time). On my practice exams, I was pulling--on average--a 35. Test day came, test felt great, and I ended up with a 30. Respectable, but not high enough to make up for allllll the B's at Harvard. Ugh. More hurdles.
I applied anyway. All allopathic (by this point, I had years of research and publications -- thought it would be something they were into). I got an interview, interviewers loved me, and I was waitlisted -- Dean of Admissions didn't like my GPA. Summer came and went, and I wasn't pulled into the class. I knew that my academics needed help; I had to prove that the B's in my pre-reqs were a product of circumstance. I decided that undergrad classes wouldn't make a dent in my GPA (I had so many credits), and applied to a heavy-science Master's program (with cell bio, neuro, biochem, the works!). First several classes (still researching full-time), I earned A's. I was advised by the school in which I was waitlisted to apply again; that THIS TIME, my chances would be more favorable. I got the interview, had an interviewer shake my hand and say (verbatim), "You're going to make an excellent doctor", and.........waitlisted again. Waited and waited and waited.... nothing. Didn't get pulled for a second year.
(Cue moments of frustration and anger)
I said, you know what? I'm trying to be a doctor. I don't care what the initials behind my name are. Maybe osteopathic schools would be more willing to give me a chance. So, as I'm finishing my Master's, I apply to 4 schools, become complete at 2, interview at one, and was accepted a couple of weeks later.
After the ongoing medical saga with my dad, the sleepless nights, the long hours at work, studying for exams on the subway or plane or in the back of an Uber, being told "no" for two consecutive cycles, being told that I should probably rethink my path, years and years and years just to get to apply, being so exhausted that I would catch any circulating cold or flu.... I picked up my phone to:
"Hey, BeachBlondie! Did you get your acceptance letter??"
- '....I'm sorry, what?'
"Ohhhhhh, you didn't get the email yet....... Well, you're accepted!!"
The shock. The pride. The humility. It has made these last....shoot....8 years of preparation worthwhile.
3.36c/3.10s/4.0g/30
If I have the capacity to reinvent, fail, struggle, cry, rant, and succeed, then so do YOU. You, reading this, have the ability to achieve this impossible and beautiful dream, if you have the rocks to get through the toil and refuse to be deterred by moments of adversity.
If my story helps to inspire one person, then I'm glad to have posted it.
May 2017 bring much fortune and fortitude. I wish you all the absolute best of luck.
Yours faithfully,
BeachBlondie
I've moved across the country, taken countless classes, pulled 70-hour weeks for years at a time, and had my fair share of let downs -- all in pursuit of this crazy idea of being a doctor.
Finally, I get to post my success story. And, with recent circumstances surrounding AACOMAS policy change, I thought some of you might benefit from hearing some good news from someone who made it through to the other side...
---------
Long, long ago, I was sportscasting. It seemed like the most obvious route -- I was an athlete all my life, and was a ham in front of the camera. Before graduating from my undergrad institution, I got a call from the NFL network....... and at the moment in which I should have been celebrating my achievements, I felt empty.
I knew, in my heart, sportscasting wasn't "it". I was a science nut, I am curious to a fault, and I desperately wanted to self-actualize. So, I said no. I politely declined what many would murder for. And then went into a period of, "Well, now what?". After a ton of reflection, I came across medicine and never looked back.
Around the same time, my father was diagnosed with cancer. And things got real aggressive, and real serious, real quick. I was packing open surgical sites, checking him for infection, and managing a good deal of his care (both medical and emotional). Things got so bad that the surgeons had to remove his entire arm--up to the shoulder--to save his life. So, I moved an hour away from my undergrad, into his house, to help. All hands on deck (minus his one hand....because it's gone now... Ha! ..Well, these jokes are funny to my dad and I). I found out from an admissions dean that I should consider doing a post-bacc and spare my non-traditional major. So, I took another year to finish my degree, get involved in the pre-med scene, and apply to post-baccs.
With my dad finally (and thankfully!) in the clear, I was accepted to Harvard's post-bacc program. So, I took every penny I had, jumped on a plane, and moved to Boston with a couple of suitcases. Now, we were told to only commit to a limited number of hours for extra-curriculars because the coursework was so demanding. But, I had to pay for tuition, rent, and...you know...food. So, I applied to over 100 (yes, really... Boston is saturated with pre-meds) research positions and was able to land one at MGH. I worked 50 hours per week, and took 2 classes per semester, for the two-year duration of the program. Now, the attrition rate in the Harvard program is.... astronomical. It is incredibly, incredibly tough. I would get home at 10:00-11:00pm, study, and get up at 6:00am for work. Monday through Friday. The result? B's. Lots and lots of B's. Which, considering how many people dropped out of the program, I was pretty proud of.
With the pre-reqs under my belt, it was time to take the MCAT. I had studied my hindquarters off, scheduled a test date, and BOOM... dad had a heart attack -- tissue was so damaged, he needed open-heart surgery. So, two weeks before the test, I cancelled and flew 2,000 miles back home. Couldn't schedule the test again for months. Things got better, I flew back to my house, and resumed studying (still researching full-time). On my practice exams, I was pulling--on average--a 35. Test day came, test felt great, and I ended up with a 30. Respectable, but not high enough to make up for allllll the B's at Harvard. Ugh. More hurdles.
I applied anyway. All allopathic (by this point, I had years of research and publications -- thought it would be something they were into). I got an interview, interviewers loved me, and I was waitlisted -- Dean of Admissions didn't like my GPA. Summer came and went, and I wasn't pulled into the class. I knew that my academics needed help; I had to prove that the B's in my pre-reqs were a product of circumstance. I decided that undergrad classes wouldn't make a dent in my GPA (I had so many credits), and applied to a heavy-science Master's program (with cell bio, neuro, biochem, the works!). First several classes (still researching full-time), I earned A's. I was advised by the school in which I was waitlisted to apply again; that THIS TIME, my chances would be more favorable. I got the interview, had an interviewer shake my hand and say (verbatim), "You're going to make an excellent doctor", and.........waitlisted again. Waited and waited and waited.... nothing. Didn't get pulled for a second year.
(Cue moments of frustration and anger)
I said, you know what? I'm trying to be a doctor. I don't care what the initials behind my name are. Maybe osteopathic schools would be more willing to give me a chance. So, as I'm finishing my Master's, I apply to 4 schools, become complete at 2, interview at one, and was accepted a couple of weeks later.
After the ongoing medical saga with my dad, the sleepless nights, the long hours at work, studying for exams on the subway or plane or in the back of an Uber, being told "no" for two consecutive cycles, being told that I should probably rethink my path, years and years and years just to get to apply, being so exhausted that I would catch any circulating cold or flu.... I picked up my phone to:
"Hey, BeachBlondie! Did you get your acceptance letter??"
- '....I'm sorry, what?'
"Ohhhhhh, you didn't get the email yet....... Well, you're accepted!!"
The shock. The pride. The humility. It has made these last....shoot....8 years of preparation worthwhile.
3.36c/3.10s/4.0g/30
If I have the capacity to reinvent, fail, struggle, cry, rant, and succeed, then so do YOU. You, reading this, have the ability to achieve this impossible and beautiful dream, if you have the rocks to get through the toil and refuse to be deterred by moments of adversity.
If my story helps to inspire one person, then I'm glad to have posted it.
May 2017 bring much fortune and fortitude. I wish you all the absolute best of luck.
Yours faithfully,
BeachBlondie