The Admissions Essay Prep Leader shares essay writing strategies and samples that will help you gain entrance to your first choice medical school. For more free essay writing advice and for help with your admissions essay, visit EssayEdge.com.

Medical Statement Strategies What "They" Look For? The Why Doctor? Theme The Why Exceptional? Theme The Why Qualified? Theme     Editing Checklist

Why Doctor?

Theme 1: Why I Want to Be a Doctor

Comments by our admissions officer advisory are in italics.

Many people look back in time to find the moment of their initial inspiration. Some people have wanted to be a doctor so long they do not even know what originally inspired them. To incorporate this theme, look back to the material you gathered in the last lesson, specifically in response to "The Chronological Method," "Note Major Influences," and "Identify Your Goals." Ask yourself these questions: How old was I when I first wanted to become a doctor? Was there a defining moment? Was there ever any ambivalence? Was I inspired by a specific person? What kind of doctor do I want to be and how does that tie into my motivation? 

Here are a few of the common ways that students incorporate this theme:

"I've Always Wanted to Be a Doctor" AKA: "I've Wanted to Be a Doctor Since I Was…" and "Everyone Has Always Said I'd Be a Doctor"

This is perhaps the most common approach of all. The secret to doing it well is to show, not just tell, why you want to be a doctor. You cannot just say it and expect it to stand on its own.

The "I've always wanted to be a doctor" essay has been done to death. I think candidates need to be careful to show that their decision was not only a pre-adolescent one and has been tested over the years and approached in a mature manner.

Supply believable details from your life to make your desire real to the reader. One secret to avoiding the "here we go again" reaction is to be particularly careful with your first line. Starting with "I've wanted to be a doctor since…" makes the reader cringe. It's an easy line to fall back on, but admissions officers have read this sentence more times than they care to count; don't add to the statistic.

See this Harvard applicant's essay for an example of successfully incorporating this theme.

"My Parents Are Doctors"

This approach to the "why I want to be a doctor" theme is dangerous for a different reason.

It's a prejudice of mine, but the legacy essay, the one that reads, "My dad and my grandpa and my great-grandpa were all doctors so I should be too," makes me suspect immaturity. I envision young people who can't think for themselves or make up their own minds.

This is not the opinion of every officer, though. The point is not to avoid admitting that your parent is an M.D., it is to avoid depending on that as the sole reason for you wanting to go to medical school. If a parent truly was your inspiration, then describe exactly why you were inspired. This Duke applicant tells of inspiration from a mentor: The doctor in this case is not related to her, but the treatment is still applicable.

"My Doctor Changed My Life!" AKA: "Being a Patient Made Me Want to Become a Doctor"

Some people claim to be motivated to become doctors because they have had personal experience of illness or disability.

I had a student who grew up with a chronic illness. She spent much time with physicians and other health care providers throughout her young life. In her essay she wrote about this continuing experience and how the medical professionals treated her. She wrote of her admiration of them as well as her understanding that they couldn't yet cure her. Her essay literally jumped off the page as being unique to her and a compelling understanding of and testament to her desire to join the people who had been so important to her life.

If your personal experience with the medical profession sincerely is your motivation for attending medical school, then do write about it. The problem is that many students fall back on this topic even when it does not particularly hold true for them. We cannot stress enough that you do not have to have a life-defining ability or a dramatic experience to have an exciting statement. Admissions committees receive piles of accident and illness related essays and the ones that seem insincere stick out like sore thumbs and do not reflect well on you as a candidate.

"My orthodontist changed my life!" "My dentist gave me my smile back!" These types of themes are certainly valid, but go beyond that to what particular aspect of the profession intrigues you. Do you understand how many years of study your orthodontist had to have in order to reach his level of practice? Have you observed your dentist for any significant amount of time? Do you know that the profession now is much different than it was when he or she was starting out? Have you given any thought to the danger of infectious diseases to all health-care professionals? Present a well-organized, complete essay dealing with these points.

This applicant demonstrates a very personal patient experience. The writer suffered from anorexia and "slowly came to realize that my pediatrician had saved my life-despite my valiant efforts to the contrary." Her story works because she tells her story objectively and with no intention to manipulate the reader's emotions.

"My Mom Had Cancer"

This theme is really just a variation of "I was a patient myself" and the same advice applies: If a loved one's battle with illness, trauma, or disability is truly what inspired your wish to become a doctor, then by all means mention it. But don't dwell on it, don't overdramatize, and don't let it stand as your sole motivation -- show that you've done your research and you understand the life of a doctor and you chose it for a variety of reasons.

This Harvard applicant begins with the story of a teacher suffering from AIDS. What validates this focus is the writer's subsequent involvement as a volunteer at an HIV clinic. Without this evidence to prove her sincerity, the poignancy of the situation would have been doubted and the essay considerably weakened.

The Medical Dichotomy

One of the major draws of the medical field is its dualistic nature combining hard-core science with the softer side of helping people. This is described by people in many ways; some describe it as a dichotomy of science to art; to others it is intellectualism to humanism, theory to application, research to creativity, or qualitative to social skills. No matter how you choose to phrase it, if you mention the dichotomy, then be sure to touch on your qualifications and experience in both areas.

Sample Essay One

Note: This essay appears unedited for instructional purposes. Essays edited by EssayEdge are substantially improved. For samples of EssayEdge editing, please click here.

Childhood/Family Experiences; Religious Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; Unpleasant Medical Experience; Interest in Alternative Approaches; Well-rounded Academic Background; Exercise-Science Major; Financially Self-supported

"One time, a family cat captured... a moth. The cat's play disturbed E., who promptly got a local veterinarian on the phone to get tips on reviving the mortally wounded moth. The moth didn't make it, but knowing E.'s enthusiasm, Mrs. E. is more optimistic about the park." (The Idaho Statesman, 11/22/78)

This article, about me as a ten-year-old boy trying to turn a nearby drainage pond into a park, had a misprint-it was a mouse, not a moth. Still, this example shows why people have always said I would probably be a doctor or veterinarian. Wandering the fields, I brought home sick and hurt creatures; if anyone found an injured bird or animal, they brought it to me for care.

We didn't exactly live on a farm, but were in farming country. My father always made sure that we had a large garden; that, along with a small vineyard, orchard and corn field, provided work for us six kids and a little extra family income. My parent's couldn't give us allowances and we had to help pay for our own clothes, so we worked on local farms (bucking hay bales, moving sprinkler pipes, etc.) and did whatever we could find-I started an early morning daily paper route (on my bike, in all weather) at age eleven, and had it for five years.

During this period, we did manage to find time for other things. Besides earning the rank of Eagle Scout, I sang in school choirs, performed in state piano boards, acted in school and community theater, ran (and earned a letter) in cross-country and track (until forced by my Junior year to choose between school sports and earning money), and served as a student body representative in my high school.

After two semesters at Boise State, I volunteered to serve for two years as a missionary with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, going to the California, Ventura Mission. I loved it, learned a lot, being able to dedicate every hour to helping and teaching people of all nationalities, cultures and religions. Many of the friends I made among the people and the other missionaries are still very close, and the lessons I learned from all of my experiences affect my life every day.

Returning to school, my classes included math and sciences (subjects I had shied away from before)-out of curiosity, at first; then, to keep my options open. I actually enjoyed them, and managed to get good grades. My love for the humanities continued, including writing guest editorials and articles for the Fullerton College school paper, and I was awarded the annual Book Award for Excellence in Foreign Language from the Spanish department. My activities were rounded out by helping at a nearby adolescent rehabilitation clinic, and serving the single members of my church as the activities committee chairman and representative to the regional council.

In high school, I had had some health problems and seen a number of doctors. When a general practitioner didn't find anything, he sent me to a specialist, who sent me to another, who sent me to another... none of whom could find a problem, yet all of whom charged my parents what seemed exorbitant fees.

This experience soured me on the medical profession. My interests in people continued to grow, but because of my cynicism toward physicians and lack of money, medical school wasn't seriously considered. Besides, math and sciences didn't appeal to me at that time like music, drama, philosophy and writing did.

I pursued psychology and the humanities, while growing more fascinated by health, nutrition, and what people I knew had found in "alternative" approaches to health, including preventive and Eastern medicine. Although a natural skeptic, it seemed to me that if something appears to work for rational, respectable people, it should be taken seriously-researched, to determine whether the benefit is merely psychological or not-contrary to the doctors I had met, who felt that if THEY didn't have it, it was "dangerous". This seemed narrow-minded, opposing the principles I understood "science" to be based upon.

Upon transferring to USC, I found that my view of the medical establishment wasn't really accurate-there ARE those who care more about helping people than about the money or their intellectual pride. As a result, I've decided to enter medical school, focusing on research and preventive medicine. My major in Exercise Science is providing a strong background in physiology and nutrition.

Throughout my college career, I have had to support myself financially. Working full-time while at Boise State as a restaurant manager, and then doing singing telegrams, fitness consulting, and running my own window-cleaning business since moving to California have allowed me to get by. Now, my work-study research job at the LA County General Hospital/USC Health Sciences Campus is also providing excellent experience in working in both hospital and research settings. My church responsibilities continually mean opportunities for volunteer service, and as Vice-President of the USC chapter of S. fraternity, one of my projects has been setting up and directing our relationship with Challengers, a local inner-city youth club with which our fraternity is now involved in activities and tutoring.

Sample Essay Two

Note: This essay appears unedited for instructional purposes. Essays edited by EssayEdge are substantially improved. For samples of EssayEdge editing, please click here.

Survivor of Anorexia; Emergency Medical Technician Training; Clinic Experience; Medical Volunteer in Honduras; HIV Test Counselor

I decided that I wanted to be a doctor sometime after my four month incarceration in Columbia Presbyterian Children's Hospital in the winter of 1986-87, as I struggled with anorexia nervosa. Through the maturation process that marked my recovery, I slowly came to realize that my pediatrician had saved my life-despite my valiant efforts to the contrary. Out of our individual stubborn wills was born a kind of mutual respect, and he is one of the people who make up my small collection of heroes.

I admire doctors who understand both what is said and what is held back, who move comfortably around the world of the body, and who treat all patients with respect. I am lucky because a few of them have become my impromptu teachers, taking a little extra time to instruct me in anatomy, disease or courtesy. During my Emergency Medical Technician training, one of the emergency room doctors took me to radiology to point out the shadow of a fracture in a CT-scan and trusted me to hold a little girl's lip while he inserted sutures. The physicians in the Hospital 12 de Octubre in Madrid, Spain taught me to hear lung sounds and to feel an enlarged liver and spleen. They explained the social and medical difficulties associated with the management of pediatric AIDS until I understood the Spanish well enough to begin asking questions; then they answered them.

I work now in the Mayfield Community Clinic, which provides primary care to members of the Spanish-speaking community near Stanford University. My job as a patient advocate involves taking histories, performing simple procedures and providing family planning and HIV counseling. I try to use the knowledge I have gained from class and practice to formulate the right set of questions to ask each patient, but I am constantly reminded of how much I have to learn. I look at a baby and notice its cute, pudgy toes. Dr. V. plays with it while conversing with its mother, and in less than a minute has noted its responsiveness, strength, and attachment to its parent, and checked its reflexes, color and hydration. Gingerly, I search for the tympanic membrane in the ears of a cooperative child and touch an infant's warm, soft belly, willing my hands to have a measure of Dr. V.'s competence.

I first felt the need to be competent regarding the human body when I volunteered with the Amigos de Las Americas program in the town of T. in Lempira, Honduras. The hospital available to the people of T. (at a day's ride in the bed of a truck) was "where one went to die," so my partner and I, with our basic first aid certifications and our $15 Johnson & Johnson kits, quickly became makeshift "doctors". The responsibility initially created a heady feeling; a distressed mother called on us to bandage the toe her eight-year-old son had accidentally sliced to the bone with his machete. I told him the story of Beauty and the Beast in broken Spanish while my partner and I soaked the dirt from his toe, and during the following week we watched him heal.

Then our foster-mother, who normally tended to the sick, told my partner and me to "check on the foot" of D. The gentle-eyed, sixty-five year old man lay on his bed, his leg encased in bloody bandages from mid-calf to toe. After performing surgery, the hospital had given him a bottle of injectable antibiotics and some clean needles and sent him home without bandages or further instructions. My partner and I had not been trained to handle so serious a situation. We did not know what had happened; we did not know what the antibiotics were (or if they were actually antibiotics); we did not know if handling D.'s blood put us at risk for disease. We wanted to leave, but leaving the house meant leaving D. and betraying our foster-mother's trust. So we injected the antibiotics and cleaned and bandaged the wound every day for our remaining two weeks in Honduras although we felt ill-equipped for the responsibility, crippled by our ignorance and lack of supplies.

In T., I did not feel qualified to receive the trust the townspeople gave so willingly. As an HIV-antibody test counselor in California, I struggle everyday to win my clients' confidence. Somehow a twenty-one-year-old, Caucasian female must be sincere, knowledgeable and open enough to earn the respect of a fifty-five-year-old man who could be her father, a high school sophomore, an ex-drug addict, and a pregnant Latina woman. My clients are black, white, straight, gay, Ph.D. candidates and illiterate; some choose to come to me while others have court-orders. Yet to communicate effectively, each client must have enough confidence in me to engage in dialogue about his drug or sex life and to believe what I tell him, whether or not he chooses to act on our discussion.

Speaking with patients, doctors and community members has opened my eyes to some of the difficulties involved with healthcare provision, and I hope I have given some inspiration or comfort in exchange for the knowledge I have received. I want these lessons in openness and compassion to shape my understanding of medicine and allow me to become the type of doctor I admire.

Sample Essay Three

Note: This essay appears unedited for instructional purposes. Essays edited by EssayEdge are substantially improved. For samples of EssayEdge editing, please click here.

High School Teacher with AIDS; SCID/Genetics Research Experience; HIV Counselor

Before I found out that my high school Spanish teacher was HIV-positive, AIDS was not much more than a bunch of statistics to me. The disease, its course, and the people afflicted with it seemed alien to my life-as distant as the continent from which the virus was supposed to have sprung. Then Mr. T. stopped coming to school. When he reappeared a few months later to wish us well on the advanced placement exam, his face looked sallow. His voice, once a thunderous bass that rumbled in class and reverberated down the hallway, was weak and thin. Seeing my teacher looking so unfamiliar was my shocking introduction to AIDS. I felt as if I were in the presence of a stranger, this mysterious disease, who was insulting Mr. T. right in front of my eyes. I wanted to know who this stranger was.

I entered college, believing that biology could explain to me why life's processes went awry. I learned that the body is exquisitely complex, but I was reassured by the underlying theme of systems. Even if I didn't know all the molecules and connections, there seemed no denying that a fundamental order existed.

From physiology to cell biology to molecular genetics, my classes presented smaller and smaller systems to explain the origins of diseases. Finally, in genes, with their innocuous four letter alphabet, I felt I was learning the foundation of it all. If biology provided the keys to understanding life, then genetics must be the master key (if only we could see some of the doors we were trying to open). During two summers in a research laboratory at The Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, I helped track down the gene causing X-linked severe combined immunodeficiency (SCID).

Even though AIDS and SCID are very different diseases (SCID is exclusively hereditary), each compromises the body's defense mechanisms against foreign pathogens. I felt this was a significant connection. In SCID, I was meeting a distant cousin of AIDS. Learning about common themes of immunodeficiency disorders, such as the perils of opportunistic infections, helped me to begin to understand what had happened to Mr. T. In the SCID laboratory, and in classroom seminars on infectious diseases, science was helping me demystify disease.

In the same year that Mr. T. became ill, my grandfather died during bypass surgery and my father underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatment for colon cancer. Since then, disease has had a human face for me. To better understand how people deal with disease or the fear of disease, I've become a volunteer counselor in an HIV clinic.

Speaking to people who come in for free testing, I've found that discussing HIV, getting the scary words (and acronyms) out in the open, is a way for many people to release their anxiety. Through expression in their own words, they make the disease real, which helps them to see that it is also preventable. Then, they often take the next step, making specific goals to maintain their health, whether they are HIV-negative or positive. What science in class and lab did for me in confronting the difficult issues of AIDS, talk does for my clients.

As an HIV counselor in an anonymous clinic, I feel both the potential of my role and its limits. I can't go home with my clients to remind them to keep condoms under the bed, but I can help them make a plan-something that could stay with them much longer than the information I offer. At the end of one session, one client surprised me with his response to a question I had asked: "What do you think you'll do with the HIV information?" There was a silence in the counseling room as the client pondered, but I recall sensing the comfort of the silence. This was a session that seemed to be producing the potential for a breakthrough (not every session does), and I waited patiently. He responded, "I think I'll ask my girlfriend to use her own needles." Then, the client thanked me for having asked the question.

I was thrown. My client proposed a strategy for reducing his HIV risk, but he didn't address what was likely his main issue-heroin use. Should I validate his plan? In effect, that's what I did, because I didn't challenge the drug issue. When he left the clinic, I practically wanted to follow him out the door. I wondered if I would ever see him again and be able to ask him how his plan was going. I wondered if he would ultimately seek help for his drug use. My supervisor reminded me that I had done my job as an HIV counselor. I had helped the client make a plan; he had even thanked me for it.

And I can thank him in return. He reminded me that although I have worked to understand disease in the classroom, the laboratory, and the clinic, I still have much to learn about caring for all aspects of a patient's health. I am eager to continue the learning process in the New Pathway Program at Harvard Medical School.