The Road to Dermatology by Harriet

The Road to Dermatology by Harriet - December 2023 Scholarship Essay

My sister and I were huge fans of Walmart. We'd get into the back of my dad's car twice a week and drive fifteen minutes to Walmart to do nothing but stare at all the toys my dad said he'd buy the next week but never did. As we grew older, we became less interested in the toy section. Our newfound obsession was the skincare aisle. We'd spend hours squatting and standing, reading items with ingredients the length of a CVS receipt. We had no idea what we were reading or purchasing; we just wanted all the extravagant items we saw on the white beauty gurus' YouTube channel. My dad would finally sigh of exhaustion signaling to us it was time to go. We would cradle all of our products in our hands and run to the register. My dad would reluctantly swipe his card and tell us we wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, although we knew that wasn’t true; we would be back next week.

My father was correct; we did not return to Walmart the next week. Instead, we found ourselves in a dermatologist's clinic a few days after our weekly Walmart trip because my sister had acquired red, flaky, angry egg-shaped ovals on both sides of her face. In a rush to go to her next patient, the dermatologist quickly inspected my sister's face, deeming it to be chemical burns. She prescribed an atopic ointment with an extremely long name and sent us on our way. Months later, the once-angry red blotches had darkened. During the months of healing, I watched my sister use product after product, staring in the mirror at the scars hoping they would disappear. But the spots didn’t go away or get any lighter. She would pick, rub, and scratch at the scars praying they would go away. No matter how many times I told her she was only making it worse she refused to hear my pleas. It wasn’t until the night before school, did I realize how much her scars were killing her confidence and self-esteem. I watched her watch herself in the mirror every day but I never noticed when she began to believe she wasn’t beautiful.

That night my sister came to me and begged me to do her makeup for school. When I asked her why, she said she didn’t want to be ugly anymore. I pulled her into a hug and immediately I felt the warm tears sweeping into my shirt. My heart ached for her. All I could do was tell her she was beautiful repeatedly even though I knew the words weren’t registering in her mind. This experience has fueled my desire to study biochemistry in order to become a broad-certified dermatologist. I intend to devote my life not just to clinical work, but also to researching and writing blogs on the ingredients in everyone's favorite skincare bottle in a language that we can all understand. I plan on representing the unrepresented by writing a book on the misdiagnosis and mistreatment of black skin. We are human. We all deserve a doctor who is empathic enough not to push our problems aside just to get to the next patient. We deserve to be told our acne, our hyperpigment, our scars, and our smile lines are beautiful. Dermatology is more than prescribing ointment; it's about reinstalling the confidence many people lose when battling with skin imperfections.