How to Write the Perfect Physician Assistant School Application Essay

Comments

1. Madison M. says

   May 3, 2018 at 7:31 am

   Hi Stephen,

   I appreciate the fact that you posted this. The first and second drafts of my personal statement was very similar to yours in terms of structure and content. I read the PA School Essay #2 and made quite a few changes to my personal statement as a result.

   Would you be willing to read my revised draft?

   Thanks in advance,

   Madison M.

   Reply

   • Stephen Pasquini PA-C says

     May 3, 2018 at 10:48 am

     Hi Madison, would you mind posting it here so I can give you a critique in the comments section?

     Stephen

     Reply

     • Madison M. says

       May 9, 2018 at 4:07 am

       During my sophomore year of college, my grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Despite what seemed to be an impending doom, my grandmother, who had already endured excruciating chemotherapy treatments years earlier secondary to colon cancer, emitted optimism as she laid in the hospital bed. Her eyes glistened as she recounted stories of my grandfather who had passed away years before I had been born, her smile radiating as if it were yesterday.
       As the weeks progressed, the oncologist informed my family and I that the cancer metastasized to her liver. In a matter of days, my grandmother’s stories were replaced with silence as she lay, her once glistening eyes flooding with tears as the nurse collected routine blood samples.
       She contracted nosocomial pneumonia at the end of her battle and I remember my last moment with her; the only audible noise was the whistling from the ventilator. I grasped her cold hands, staring at them the same way I did as a child. When I was younger, I always wondered why her fingers looked as though they were pushed toward the little finger, not realizing that she had ulnar deviation secondary to rheumatoid arthritis. I would push my fingers in the same direction so that my hand could resemble hers.
       In that moment, I understood that it would be the last time I would ever hold my grandmother’s hand. I understood that, in the recesses of my soul, there would be an absence.
       The woman smiled as she handed me her clipboard at the front desk; the Shepherd’s Hope patient registration form revealed that her name was Maria. She walked back to her seat in the waiting room, trying to calm her children as she waited for a consultation with the clinic’s eligibility specialist. She looked tired, but was patient, simply holding a finger to her lips as the children restlessly waited with her.
       The printer rolled off Maria’s prescriptions, signifying that it was time to gather her discharge paperwork. I organized her laboratory and radiology requests and walked over to her seat in the waiting room. Her daughter and son were resting now as Maria read a book. It was not until then that I realized wrinkles covered her forehead; they made me wonder if the boy and girl who accompanied her were actually her grandchildren. I discussed with Maria her treatment plan and she simply smiled, shaking her head intermittently. As I handed her the stack of papers, I noticed a cross pendant necklace dangling from Maria’s neck. The necklace closely resembled the one my grandmother gave me shortly before she was admitted to the hospital for the last time. I smiled to her and said, “Un gusto hablar con usted.” Maria looked at me, placing her hand onto mine as she replied, “También fue un gusto hablar con usted.”
       I may have lost my grandmother to cancer, but I feel her spirit through my involvement in healthcare. Whether it is through the warmth of a hand gently resting upon my own, or through a simple “It was a pleasure speaking with you, too,” the absence that manifested in my soul fills with the gratitude from the patients whom I interact with.

       Comments:
       I began this “new version” a few days ago, so I know that I still have to iron out the edges—particularly the transitions and the final paragraph. The most important that I would like to ask you, though, is this: do you feel that this essay answers the prompt? I recognize that I do not even address the words “physician assistant” in this draft of my personal statement. This draft also lacks any mention of the experiences that I have had shadowing or working as a medical scribe. Nonetheless, I feel that, through expanding on my volunteering experience, this version has more heart in comparison to the my other draft.
       My other draft is very similar to your PA School Essay # 1; it basically outlines everything that has led me to want to pursue a career as a PA.

       Reply

     • Madison M. says

       May 9, 2018 at 6:30 pm

       Stephen, I apologize as my previous post is a variation of this draft that I am not as confident with. Please read this draft instead.

       During my sophomore year of college, my grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Despite what seemed to be an impending doom, my grandmother, who had already endured excruciating chemotherapy treatments years earlier secondary to colon cancer, emitted optimism. Her eyes glistened as she recounted stories of my late grandfather, her smile radiating as if it were yesterday. As the weeks progressed, the cancer metastasized to her liver and my grandmother’s stories were replaced with silence.
       She contracted nosocomial pneumonia at the end of her battle and I recall my last moment with her; the only audible noise was the whistling from the ventilator. I grasped her cold hands, staring at them the same way I did as a child. I was always fascinated by the orientation of her fingers, wondering how they were able to stay pointed toward her little finger, not realizing that she had ulnar deviation—a consequence of rheumatoid arthritis.
       In that moment, I understood that it would be the last time I would ever hold my grandmother’s hand. I understood that, in the recesses of my soul, there would be an absence.
       During this time of grief, I remembered a statement made by my former karate instructor Sensei Mike. “Each time you step into this dojo, you are dedicating your time to something greater than your individual self. You become a part of a team, a family.” His words reminded me that my grandmother would not want me to wallow in despair, but rather devote myself to something that could better the lives of others.
       The woman smiled as she handed me her clipboard at the front desk; the Shepherd’s Hope patient registration form revealed that her name was Maria. She walked back to her seat in the waiting room. She looked tired, but was patient, simply holding a finger to her lips as her children restlessly waited with her.
       The printer rolled off Maria’s prescriptions, signifying that it was time for me to gather her discharge paperwork. I organized her laboratory and radiology requests and walked over to her seat in the waiting room. Her daughter and son were resting now as Maria read a book. It was not until then that I realized wrinkles covered Maria’s forehead; the lines made me wonder if the boy and girl who accompanied her were actually her grandchildren. I discussed with Maria her treatment plan and she simply smiled, shaking her head intermittently. As I handed her the stack of papers, I noticed a cross pendant necklace dangling from Maria’s neck. The necklace closely resembled the one my grandmother gave me shortly before she was admitted to the hospital for the last time. I smiled to her and said, “Un gusto hablar con usted.” Maria looked at me directly in the eyes, and she shared a story. A story of perseverance and strength. She placed her hand onto mine as she replied, “También fue un gusto hablar con usted.”
       I may have lost my grandmother to cancer, but I feel her spirit through my involvement in healthcare. Whether it is through the warmth of a hand gently resting upon my own, or through a simple “It was a pleasure speaking with you, too,” the absence that manifested in my soul fills with the gratitude from the patients whom I interact with. And that could be enough—volunteering at a health center for uninsured, low-income patients—but I would like to extend my hand further. I would like to see each patient not just as they enter and exit through the clinic door, but throughout their entire healthcare journey.
       My experience as a medical scribe in the Florida Hospital Lake Mary emergency department has elucidated that the perfect marriage of patient-provider interaction and clinical medicine can be achieved through the PA profession. Kerfala Fofana, PA-C was one of the first providers whom I worked with as a newly hired scribe and exemplified this balance of sciences and personal interaction. Kerf’s exuberance was contagious; upon entering each patient’s room, Kerf would greet the patient as if he were greeting a long-lost family member. He openly consulted the attending physician, whether it was with regards to recommendations on an antibiotic or on admitting a patient to the ICU. Unfortunately, Kerf’s mother became ill, so Kerf traveled to his home in Africa to monitor her and has not returned to the Lake Mary emergency room since. While I lament the lack of time I spent with Kerf, I appreciate his dedication to his patients, notably one of his newest—his mother. Kerf has shown me that sentiment cannot be sacrificed, not matter how full the waiting room becomes.

       Reply