From left: Me, the Oregon Duck, Amy, Maria
Bottom: Joel
This is a segment of my essay I wrote to get into the UO. Since my math grades aren't the best, I think it was this essay that got me accepted. Here's a little back story that I didn't include in my snippet. I graduated high school in 2007. From 2007-2008 I worked 12 hours a day, full time at Hynix, a semiconductor plant and I looked like this all day. Oh, the bunny suit years... Anyway, my parents were nice enough not to charge me any rent so I saved every dime I made. The money I made there got me through my first two years at OSU living on my own. It paid for half of my tuition, my rent, gas, food etc. I squeezed two years of education off that money, then it ran out. I had no idea what to do at that point. It seemed like the end.
But it wasn't....
The Cancer Center
....So, in one last desperate attempt to do something productive
with my remaining $1000, I enrolled in the crash course phlebotomy class. I didn’t know it would be such a life
changing choice. And the day I moved home to my parents was the day my bank
account hit zero. I had
exactly the right amount of savings to last me from the time I moved to
Corvallis until the time I moved back. It was almost miraculous how the numbers lined up. That
was the beginning, two years ago.
Now, I am working at the Cancer Center, as a
phlebotomist. I see a lot of pain, sickness, and bravery where I work. I
work with the general public, but I see a different side of them, a side that
most people don’t get to see. Cancer patients have a unique perspective on
life. It is a wonderful privilege being able to spend time with them. I only hope some of their greatness rubs off
on me. My patients have beautiful hearts, they still smile despite the fact
that they’re facing death. Most people
in the world are good, and that fact becomes apparent in my line of work. I am
proud to be there with them. I’m proud of my patients, and of the work I
do.
Staring into the face of terrible sickness, with the possibility of death changes a person. I have
drawn the blood of prisoners, drug addicts, and who knows what else. I remember a prisoner came in in shackles. He
sat down in the drawing chair, and his escort, who was an armed police man,
stood there next to him. The man was white and shaking. Clearly he was terrified. I remember saying,
don’t worry, I’ll try to make it not hurt.
I guess I did a pretty good job because he kept saying thank you, thank you,
thank you, in sort of a hysterical kind of way. I don’t know what that man did to deserve coming
into the center in shackles, with a police man wielding a gun, but all I could
see was a scared human being in pain. No different from anyone else. Almost childlike. Childlike in the sense that he was terrified,
looked like he was on the verge of tears, and really appreciated a few kind
words and being treated gently. In the end we're all just people. I still
think about that man, and wonder what happened to him. I haven’t seen him in a
long time. Did he get better? Did he die? Wherever he ended up, I hope things are better for him now.
