Statement of Purpose for the FLAS (it's like a why-I-do-what-I-do)
“Why are you here?” people ask me incredulously, when I tell them I will start medical school next fall.
Teaching in Ecuador last year, people were used to students on gap years, though they thought it was strange that I would wait to reach a respected rank in society. In Jordan, people really don't get it. Here, the majors that one can study are based on one’s college entrance exam score, clearly ranking the social/intelligence rank of every Jordanian worker. At the very top, you find the doctors. As a result, people in Jordan can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to go to the top, and fast.
“Why are languages important to a doctor?” is a better question.
When I was volunteering in northern India, I had my first experience participating in medicine through a translator. It was my first experience with Urdu, and it was life-changing. The doctor's intently curious body language was overwritten by the translator's attitude. The sincere, “So what brings you here today?” became, “What's your problem.” There was no comforting chit-chat. Only the translator heard the patient, and the rest of us were subject to his opinions and interpretations. Even worse, we had a female gynecologist in the inner Himalayas, but all the translators were male. If it were my first time time the doctor's office, even I wouldn't want to tell my uterine problems to a male translator.
I learned that doctors, when removed from the patients’ language, can seem more distant, more immune to communicating with the patients about their lives. “He was electrocuted and fell, and sometimes wakes up in the morning with pain and numbness from the waist down.” I summarized for the supervising physician, eagerly awaiting a suggestion for my next question. “All back pain goes away. Eventually. Give him some Tylenol.” he responded bluntly. I looked at the other students, somewhat taken aback. “Could we ask if he's tried sleeping on different beds or couches?” I asked. “Whatever,” he said and stepped outside to smoke.
When you don't speak the language, the misunderstanding goes beyond words. People seem to have less humanity. Words like these people can begin to carry a weight of othering. Working as a Spanish translator, I have had to step out of my medical-translator role to remind the American surgeon, who was decrying the morals of the locals, that young teen pregnancy rates are the same in many cities in the States and Ecuador.
Knowledge is not bound by language in the way that we sometimes think it is. I listened to two surgeons from two languages working together on one patient, muttering the same things under their breath. One asked me to keep up the translation. “It's not necessary. You already said what he's saying,” I replied. He blinked and smiled.
With these experiences, I will be at home in more sense than one with the College of Human Medicine's focus on Primary Care and the Leadership in Medicine for the Underserved and Vulnerable (LMUV) program. After finishing three majors and a minor in my four years at Syracuse University, my intense nine months in Ecuador took me from 20 words to C1 (DELE level 5 of 6) in Spanish, which I will use in Flint with the LMUV program. My Arabic studies at Syracuse and in my Fulbright year with Arabic studies in Jordan will help me work with Arab communities in Michigan.
I have spent the last two years focused on intense language acquisition to make myself a more accessible and empathetic doctor. Initially, I thought that at the very least least it would give me a few relatable stories to tell to bond with young patients or to distract older ones during procedures. However, the reality is more valuable: I now understand very broken English and can have conversations in Spanish or Arabic while doing other things. Most importantly, I've learned the skills of organic language acquisition, as both years started as an immersion with little language ability. I’ve become adept at understanding meaning without understanding words - a must for working abroad.
[insert paragraphs here on why I would be great to study Amharic/Urdu/Hindi/Advanced Arabic]
As a doctor, being a woman and competent in local languages could help me to make an incredible impact on medical care wherever I go. I want to reach people directly. I want women to feel like their needs are particularly addressed. I want to be culturally versed. I want to know what to put delicately and what not to assume. I want to know the right questions to ask, as any effective doctor should.
Teaching in Ecuador last year, people were used to students on gap years, though they thought it was strange that I would wait to reach a respected rank in society. In Jordan, people really don't get it. Here, the majors that one can study are based on one’s college entrance exam score, clearly ranking the social/intelligence rank of every Jordanian worker. At the very top, you find the doctors. As a result, people in Jordan can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to go to the top, and fast.
“Why are languages important to a doctor?” is a better question.
When I was volunteering in northern India, I had my first experience participating in medicine through a translator. It was my first experience with Urdu, and it was life-changing. The doctor's intently curious body language was overwritten by the translator's attitude. The sincere, “So what brings you here today?” became, “What's your problem.” There was no comforting chit-chat. Only the translator heard the patient, and the rest of us were subject to his opinions and interpretations. Even worse, we had a female gynecologist in the inner Himalayas, but all the translators were male. If it were my first time time the doctor's office, even I wouldn't want to tell my uterine problems to a male translator.
I learned that doctors, when removed from the patients’ language, can seem more distant, more immune to communicating with the patients about their lives. “He was electrocuted and fell, and sometimes wakes up in the morning with pain and numbness from the waist down.” I summarized for the supervising physician, eagerly awaiting a suggestion for my next question. “All back pain goes away. Eventually. Give him some Tylenol.” he responded bluntly. I looked at the other students, somewhat taken aback. “Could we ask if he's tried sleeping on different beds or couches?” I asked. “Whatever,” he said and stepped outside to smoke.
When you don't speak the language, the misunderstanding goes beyond words. People seem to have less humanity. Words like these people can begin to carry a weight of othering. Working as a Spanish translator, I have had to step out of my medical-translator role to remind the American surgeon, who was decrying the morals of the locals, that young teen pregnancy rates are the same in many cities in the States and Ecuador.
Knowledge is not bound by language in the way that we sometimes think it is. I listened to two surgeons from two languages working together on one patient, muttering the same things under their breath. One asked me to keep up the translation. “It's not necessary. You already said what he's saying,” I replied. He blinked and smiled.
With these experiences, I will be at home in more sense than one with the College of Human Medicine's focus on Primary Care and the Leadership in Medicine for the Underserved and Vulnerable (LMUV) program. After finishing three majors and a minor in my four years at Syracuse University, my intense nine months in Ecuador took me from 20 words to C1 (DELE level 5 of 6) in Spanish, which I will use in Flint with the LMUV program. My Arabic studies at Syracuse and in my Fulbright year with Arabic studies in Jordan will help me work with Arab communities in Michigan.
I have spent the last two years focused on intense language acquisition to make myself a more accessible and empathetic doctor. Initially, I thought that at the very least least it would give me a few relatable stories to tell to bond with young patients or to distract older ones during procedures. However, the reality is more valuable: I now understand very broken English and can have conversations in Spanish or Arabic while doing other things. Most importantly, I've learned the skills of organic language acquisition, as both years started as an immersion with little language ability. I’ve become adept at understanding meaning without understanding words - a must for working abroad.
[insert paragraphs here on why I would be great to study Amharic/Urdu/Hindi/Advanced Arabic]
As a doctor, being a woman and competent in local languages could help me to make an incredible impact on medical care wherever I go. I want to reach people directly. I want women to feel like their needs are particularly addressed. I want to be culturally versed. I want to know what to put delicately and what not to assume. I want to know the right questions to ask, as any effective doctor should.