Michelle
will start her med school career at Boston University School of Medicine on
Monday, 8/6/12. It’s been a “long” journey leading up to this point, and
please allow me to share with you her personal statement.
Personal Statement
By Michelle Zhang
June 2011
In philosophy, we consider epistemological questions about the
acquisition of knowledge. How do we procure justified knowledge? How can we
assess the truth-value of such knowledge? And the most relevant question to
medicine: what do we do when we have reached the outer limits of our knowledge?
I volunteered at Sunrise Assisted Living, on the “Reminiscence” floor, which
was home to elderly folks with dementia. This world, it seemed, was one that
medical knowledge could not touch – despite the relentless research in this
field, there is still no way for medicine to bring the mind back to its
rightful owner. Joe was small and round-faced, always smiling and oftentimes
lucid enough to carry on a conversation. One afternoon, we had been chatting as
usual when, for a moment, he paused and very softly confided in me: “I know
something’s wrong with me, but I just can’t place it. I know something’s not
right.” The moment caught me completely off guard, but I responded with
something along the lines of: “We all feel that way sometimes. It’s okay.” I
could have told him the truth about his disease; instead, I chose to tell
another kind of truth that side-stepped the question, but hopefully provided
Joe with what he was desperately seeking. He confided in me not because he
necessarily needed answers, but because he was terrified and needed, above all
else, a reason not to be. Though, in medicine, we might not have any more
answers with which to improve the body, we can nonetheless do everything
possible to calm the soul.
The particularly audacious branch of philosophy known as
philosophy of mind aims to understand the nature of consciousness,
subjectivity, and identity. How is it that we have an experience that is
uniquely our own? Medicine extends this question to an even more
confounding phenomenon: how do we reconcile this experience that is uniquely
our own with the experience of a patient, which is uniquely his own? How
do we relate to a patient so that we are seen as a friend and an ally during,
perhaps, the bleakest moments of his life? I was stocking linens in one of the
rooms in Carle Hospital’s oncology department when I heard the woman in the bed
groaning as if in a great deal of pain. “Ma’am,” I said, “are you alright?” It
turned out that she was supposed to have surgery that day, and thus had not
been allowed to eat or drink anything. She was parched, her lips cracked and
dry, and all she wanted was a drink of water. I knew I couldn’t give her that,
but I could try to distract her from her discomfort. I sat down next to her and
talked to her about cats, a subject of which she was apparently quite fond. I
assured her that her surgery would be over before she knew it, and that the
fridge would be fully stocked with delicious beverages when she got out. To
borrow and augment a few of David Hume’s words: it is important to be a doctor,
but amidst all your doctoring, to be still a man. It is essential to relate to
others on a basic but fundamental level, and to be able to recognize oneself
not as a healer or a savior, but as one human being helping another.
Political philosophy seeks to understand societal structures
that provide the best possible outcome for the greatest number of people. How
should we delegate power? How should we distribute property? Working in
healthcare, we find that we often face the same questions: how can we
distribute our limited resources and personnel in the most effective way, so
that the general population receives the best possible healthcare? The
Sharewood Project, a free clinic run by Tufts Medical School, is set up at the
First Church in Malden every Tuesday evening. Using paneling, wood blocks, and
Velcro, we create a crude imitation of a doctor’s office so that individuals
who cannot afford a visit to the doctor can still receive healthcare. My job as
a volunteer is to triage the incoming patients – take their blood pressure,
heart rate, and chief complaint. Though the ailments we deal with are not
life-threatening, they cause discomfort and can potentially become serious.
Despite our limited resources, we still make every effort to provide our
patients with quality care in order to ensure that upon leaving Sharewood, they
feel better equipped to manage their conditions. Our patients’ stories teach me
about one of the greatest difficulties in medicine today: the lack of proper
resources, and the unfortunate consequences that result. Being involved with
Sharewood has undermined my confidence in the current healthcare system, but
continues to affirm my faith in the power of individuals to confront formidable
issues to help others.
The fundamental
concerns of medicine, I believe, extend beyond the scope of science. Patient
care – for individuals as well as for the population as a whole – requires a
kind of understanding that transcends the level of technical knowledge. In my
opinion, the questions that have occupied philosophers for centuries are
relevant to the overall improvement of the medical field. I carry these
questions with me into my pursuit of medicine, and it is this unique
perspective that will allow me to gain a thorough understanding of how to
provide the best care for my patients.
