Personal Statement

A few months ago, Andrew had to write a personal statement for his residency applications. This was a process that required more blood, sweat and (well, no tears...it would kind of be a silly thing to cry about) ...but it was an arduous task nonetheless. Of course it had to be written during one of his most challenging rotations when time was scarce and brain power rationed.

Have you ever had to write a personal statement or something like it? I liken it to sitting down to a job interview and being asked, "so tell us about yourself". You find yourself pulling together a few identifying markers that don't say a whole lot about who you are but seem to come out comfortably: where you're from, your educational experience, any titles you've held in your life, maybe even a few hobbies. It is always a dreaded question (at least for me) because the answer always seems uninteresting and cliche.

Writing this personal statement was a serious exercise in personal reflection. Andrew doesn't spend a whole lot of time thinking about himself. I, however, have spent a lot of time over the years thinking about what makes this man tick, why I love him, and from what sources he pulls inspiration. So I naturally became a part of the process too - talking things out with him, critiquing not only his grammar (which is probably not my strong point) but also the relevance of the stories he chose to tell and the strength of his overall message, etc. Others were also pulled into the mix to provide needed guidance and criticism. Needless to say, many drafts went straight to the trash. But when it was finished, both Andrew and I knew that at last it actually said something worth saying. It pulled together some of the defining moments of his life (in relation to his chosen career) and reflected who he is honestly and accurately.

Nothing feels better than to arrive at the end of a terribly exhausting and difficult process (such as writing a defining statement about yourself in 1000 words or less) and knowing that it is the best you could have done and reflects some of your deepest values. (I am spending waaay too much time building this up...completely unintentional, I apologize).

As Andrew is now in the interview process, he has received many compliments regarding his personal statement. A few have expressed that it is the best they've read out of hundreds. I'm not trying to be boastful or prideful (because we just had a great talk about that in church last week and my goal is to have no pride). I share it because the process of such a feat is so important/interesting to me and because Andrew's statement points to those in his life that have inspired him so much. If you had to write a personal statement, what would be the defining moments of your life? How would you separate stories/anecdotes that actually changed the direction of your life as opposed to those that are just cool stories to tell? Who are the role models that influence you the most?

Well, here's how Andrew answered those questions:

My father was born to cure cancer. From childhood he yearned for life in a laboratory and he is constantly thinking of new experiments and research protocols to this day. I often watched my father drive late at night on family vacations. I was never worried about him falling asleep because I knew his mind was restlessly thinking about cells, gels, and pipetting wells. My mother often recounts stories of raising the young family in New York City while he was in graduate school. There was no greater set of parents in the city, yet he often had to return to the lab after dinner and work late into the night. My father's passion and drive will never wear off, and he will continue his fight against cancer indefinitely. I know this because my ninety year old grandfather wages a similar battle for the American auto industry, returning to his office every day to implement findings from his recently earned graduate degree. He believes his current work as a consultant with Ford Motor Company will save the U.S. auto industry.

I always knew that I was a 'Stacey,' and I always knew it was more than a surname. During my final year at Brigham Young University I was completing my senior season of Division 1 NCAA football, completing a graduate degree in statistics, and flying around the country applying to medical schools. During that time I was often asked to describe the driving force behind my demanding schedule and ambitions. I never knew how to answer that question; the fantastic example of work ethic and drive given to me by my father has always been the expected norm in my life. I was always taught to look beyond the day-to-day tasks, to recognize moments of success, and to identify new challenges.

As a freshman walk-on linebacker at Brigham Young University, I found myself somewhere below the bottom rung of the team ladder. It is a muddy, near hopeless existence where I frequently watched others climb the ladder above me. It seemed that each time I made a name for myself there was a head coaching change and I had to start back in the mud. I woke up countless mornings at 5 am to attend ‘walk-on’ workouts prior to hours of practice. After three seasons, three head coaches, and more disappointment than I should ever admit, I finally managed to make a name for myself. My father’s lessons of hard work and foresight were solidified in an instant late in October of my senior year. I was playing defense late in a game, and the opposing team needed to score. As I dropped into my defensive coverage I saw the opposing quarterback throw to a man 15 yards behind me. Somehow, I jumped in the air and came down with the ball and an interception, effectively sealing the victory. One of the most vivid memories of my football career will always be sitting on the bench after that interception and gazing at the field as I remembered every 5 am workout, every injury, every drop of sweat, and every disappointment. It was all worth it.

Medical school provided similar experiences. After two years of forcing countless bits of information into my mathematically trained mind, I began to forget why I was here. That changed late one night on the solid tumor service, when a man with a recent laryngeal cancer resection came into the ER with calcium of nearly 16 mg/dL. He was obtunded and our team called the family together to speak about the probability of tumor recurrence. We briefly mentioned hospice, but the family was in no condition to discuss it further. As the team left the room the family asked me to stay behind. I taught them for 2 hours about hypercalcemia, its link to cancer recurrence, and the need to address end-of-life care. By the time I left, the family was calm and ready to do what was best for their father. I left the hospital very late that night, saddened but satisfied. Years of training had prepared me to help a family in a desperate situation. It was all worth it.

I was inspired by many of my clinical rotations, but my excitement for ophthalmology was unrivaled. Shortly after my rotation started, I began to notice that no matter how late I returned home, I looked forward to opening my textbook and reading. I began talking my wife’s ear off each night about some exciting surgery. I quickly noted the optimistic outlook and excited energy of each ophthalmologist. There was an amazing level of satisfaction and enthusiasm in the physicians as well as the patients. I was always happy, and my family noticed. I often envisioned methods of using my statistical background to design and improve clinic trial design within ophthalmology. It was an environment that perfectly suited my interests, ambitions, and temperament. At one point, I even convinced my wife to spend a Saturday night watching old department slideshows about ocular physiology. In short, I was becoming like my father and ophthalmology was my passion.

My father has not cured cancer, and my grandfather has not saved the auto industry. Yet. But I would not bet against them. As an ophthalmology resident I may not cure blindness or become the world’s best eye surgeon. However, I will be enthusiastic about the work and I will be driven; it's in my genes.