INTRODUCTION -
AN ATYPICAL PREMED'S STORY
This book is a compilation of letters
from people struggling with a choice: whether or not to
pursue a medical career. The questions they ask are at once
direct and personal. Their concerns are immediate and real.
They are, for the most part, on the verge of deciding to
devote a part of their lives to an enterprise that may prove
ultimately unsuccessful-gaining admission to a medical
school. Some are already involved in the pursuit; others
soon will be. They write asking for advice.
Advising these readers, I soon decided, is a great
responsibility. Some people are strong applicants; I happily
tell them so to allay their fears. Others are borderline; I
stiggest ways for them to parlay their strengths and
downplay their weaknesses. Some appear to be outright poor
candidates. These present the most difficulty because I do
not want to be unduly encouraging, and thus unfair. Yet
there are physicians practicing today who were told they had
no chance of getting into medical school. I know because I
was one of them.
My story is personal but pertinent and since I am allowing
other stories to be told in this book perhaps mine should
be, too. I hope it will prove somewhat inspiring to those of
you who have been advised to plan for alternative careers
following medical school rejections. For I still believe
that, if you are aggressive enough, you can gain admission
to a medical school.
When I decided that I wanted to become a physician I had
just graduated from college. I had been an English major and
had taken not one premed course. Naturally, I hadn't taken
the MCAT-I hadn't even heard of it. I didn't know any
science professors I could ask for recommendations. My
undergraduate GPA was 2.96. I had no experience working in a
medical environment. Is it any wonder that when I finally
found the premedical advisor he told me to forget it? I
would have, too, if I hadn't been obsessed. That was fall,
1968. Less than one year later I began my freshman year of
medical school.
In retrospect it seems incredible even to me. Yet, when I
think about it, my approach to the problem of how to
convince a medical school to accept me was perfectly
sensible. My success at it was in part a tribute to my
rationality and in part a tribute to my good luck. The luck
I didn't worry about; it was beyond my control. However, I
took a lot of care to be rational.
n 1968 I was a totally unqualified college graduate wanting
to go to medical school. Well, perhaps I wasn't totally
unqualified. It's true I didn't have any premedical
coursework or experience, but I did have confidence. Why?
Because I had edited my college literary magazine my senior
year and almost single-handedly put all 128 pages of it
together. To me it was a monumental achievement and although
it didn't satisfy any premedical requirements it showed me
that I had the tenacity to complete a task. And getting into
medical school was going to be one gargantuan
task.
That summer I decided that it was important to work in a
medical environment. I didn't want to do it to impress a
medical school of my sincerity; I wanted to do it to
convince myself that I was on the right track. Deciding to
become a physician was a bit of an epiphany for me and I
wanted to be sure I could trust my revelations. Luckily I
had a friend who worked as an assistant administrator at a
large metropolitan hospital. I called him to ask if there
was anything that I could do to gain medical experience. I
was ready to be an orderly, a lab-runner, anything. My
friend had an idea. Knowing I had been an English major he
asked me if I would like to write a health publication on
lead poisoning for their out-patient clinics. Childhood lead
poisoning was becoming epidemic and there was then no
preventive information for parents. I said, "When can I
start?"
I was hired with the undistinguished title of "clerk," paid
$2.00 an hour, and left to my own devices. Six weeks later I
had managed to complete my project and, in the process, was
able to check out most of the hospital, which was so large
that they had separate emergency facilities for men and
women. I met physicians, medical students and patients. I
observed clinics and wards. I made home visits with medical
personnel. It all served to strengthen my resolve; I made
plans to return to school in the fall to begin premedical
course work.
In the meantime the cartoon coloring book on lead poisoning
I had written and designed and a friend had illustrated was
becoming popular in the clinics. The finished product was
somewhat primitive; text was typed onto the illustrated
pages and then photocopied and stapled. It was a low-budget
operation from beginning to end, but it worked. It even
received some media coverage in the local papers. Later, it
would accompany my applications to medical school to give
credibility to my attempt to project myself as a different
type of applicant. Medical schools, I came to learn, welcome
the non-traditional applicant to add depth and diversity to
the incoming class. However, admissions committees must be
convinced of that applicant's ability to survive the basic
medical sciences. They pay careful attention to performance
in premedical courses and on the Medical College Admission
Test. Here was my next challenge.
Doing well in premedical courses was somewhat worrisome for
me. After all, I had majored in the humanities. I had only
met my university's minimal science requirement for
graduation-one year. I had taken oceanography and astronomy,
neither of which gave me any premedical credits. They were
known as science courses for non-science majors-mickey-mouse
but interesting, and non-intimidating. Fortunately, they
were offered by the physics and biology departments as well.
Naturally, I signed up. As far as I and medical schools were
concerned mickey-mouse biology was Bio 101-102, period.
Grades were all.
Chemistry was a different kettle of fish. There was no
chemistry for non-chemistry majors. Chem 101 included
biology majors, budding chemists, engineers and premeds. It
had the reputation of being absurdly difficult, for its
purpose was to separate science majors from the chaff.
Realizing that anything less than a grade of B would
effectively eliminate me as a contender for medical school,
I enrolled in introductory chemistry in night school at a
local community college. Even that wasn't easy, but at least
I had a fair chance.
While waiting for my premedical courses to start I made a
trip to the local hospital to seek part-time employment. By
this time I was coming to enjoy the hospital environment.
Again, I was ready to accept any kind of work. Luckily, I
was hired by the Department of Social Services, which
consisted of one full-time woman worker, to do part-time
medical social work. My lack of experience was no obstacle;
she was willing to train me. She wanted a student and I
wanted a job. It worked out perfectly.
I divided my time between the department of physical
rehabilitation and the cerebral palsy clinic, and I came to
see patients differently. Rather than focusing on disease,
as I was later taught to do in medical school, I was made to
appreciate the impact the disease had on patient and family.
Initially, I would do the "intake interview" and then
discuss my impressions with my supervisor. Invariably she
would show me how unaware I was of what was really going on.
It was humbling. But, eventually, I began to get better at
it. I also learned how to do direct service, finding my way
through the bureaucracy to get canes, wheelchairs, braces,
home health care, educational instruction and other concrete
things that patients required.
Meanwhile I decided to apply to medical schools for the
following fall. I admit I really did this just to energize
my interest in my premedical activities. I had no
expectations of being considered a serious candidate
anywhere. After all, I still had not even completed my first
semester sciences. I had taken the "old" MCAT and done well
on the general information and verbal sections. I was in the
50%ile in mathematics and the 25%ile in science. But I
considered this a surprising score, since I was competing
with science majors. With two months of introductory biology
I had outdone 25% of them. I was impressed. Yet I had no
illusions about medical schools. As far as they were
concerned I had nothing academic to show. Nevertheless, all
they could do was say no, and at least I would have had the
experience of applying.
I applied to seven medical schools, most of which were in my
home state. I was rejected by five of them quickly,
including the one attached to the hospital where I had done
my health education project. The sixth school waited a
little longer to reject me. The seventh requested an
interview.
Sometime in February, 1969, I boarded
an airplane and flew to Milwaukee, Wisconsin to be
interviewed at what was then the Marquette University School
of Medicine (now the Medical College of Wisconsin). Little
did I know then that my extracurricular work had impressed a
member of the admissions committee and he wanted to know me
better. I had two interviews; one was perfunctory, the other
more interesting and intimate. It went overtime, and when we
were done I believed I had an advocate on the committee. God
knows, I needed one.
The next three months went by without
any response from Marquette. What was up? I had no idea,
except that I felt I was fast becoming a mailbox junkie. In
the meantime I had completed first semester biology,
chemistry and physics, earning all Bs and started second
semester of the same. By the end of second semester (again,
straight Bs) I had heard nothing more than that my
application was being processed and they would notify me as
soon as possible. I hadn't been accepted, I hadn't been
rejected and I hadn't been put on a waiting list. Now I had
a decision to make: whether to take the masochistic organic
chemistry course that summer and be done with it or postpone
it for the fall. I opted for the summer. That wav I wouldn't
be tying up the whole next year and, if Nlarquette was still
considering me for the September class, I would have
fulfilled all requirements.
My next decision was where to take it. Being keenly aware of
my aversion for cutthroat competition I avoided the course
at Columbia, Harvard and Berkeley. I selected the University
of Minnesota, and on the way out to Minneapolis I
conveniently revisited Milwaukee. There I learned, from my
advocate, that the admissions committee was still not
convinced that I could do medical school work. They were
holding a place, waiting to see what grade I earned in
organic. That was it. Do or die.
Minneapolis was positively delightful that summer and the
course was civilized. There were five morning lectures and
three morning labs. We were out by noon every day. I was
competing with premeds, but also with pre-pharmacy,
pre-nursing, and chem majors. On the great Bell curve I made
another B, proving at least my consistency in science.
Fortunately this was sufficient to allay the fears of the
other committee members and on July 26, 1969, I received
notification that I had been accepted into the freshman
class at Marquette. Of course I had to complete the second
semester of organic, which I did, earning another B. Medical
school began four days after my course ended.
I do not mean to suggest that it was all downhill from
there. Now I was forced to compete with all those premedical
science majors that I had so assiduously avoided during my
college career. These characters had already been exposed to
many of the first-year medical school courses in
college-anatomy, histology and physiology, for instance. All
I had done was run the obstacle course of the basic
premedical requirements. These, it turned out, had minimal
relevance to first-year medical school. How I survived that,
however, makes for another story.