Self-Reflective Evolutionary Essay

 

“Thank the Lord this is the last writing class I will ever have to take”, I remember thinking to myself sitting in the Ugli writing an essay for English 125 as a freshman at the University of Michigan. Writing, to me, has always been sort of a chore – a plug and chug formula, if you will. Recipe for success: 1) pick an opinion 2) come up with three pieces of evidence that support my opinion and 3) make it sound pretty. Viola, success. I have always been analytical - for as long as I can remember, I loved the rigidity of science and math, and the structured nature of the medical profession. It might seem funny, then, to hear that I applied to a writing minor program during my second year at Michigan. For someone who despised writing as much as I did, it does seem rather silly. But for some reason, I convinced myself that as a future healthcare professional, communicating effectively with my patients and peers was of utmost importance, and for that reason, I should push myself to develop my lackluster writing skills.

 

In my application letter to the minor, I conveyed just that. I argued that although additional writing classes were not required for my progression into medical school, I wanted to participate in the minor program as a means to improve my own personal writing skills, thereby increasing my ability to communicate with faculty and peers on a more professional level (Page EE, 2011). I also expressed my desire to publish scientific articles, a feat that would most definitely require development of my writing skills and techniques. Although initially interested in the analytical genre of writing, reflecting on pieces of writing I have composed over the years, particularly pieces that I have composed outside of my required courses, has illuminated an interesting trend in process, style, overarching themes, and voice. Interestingly, these themes and processes are not necessarily what I expected.

 

During my reflection, more than thinking about the development of my thesis or the argument of my essays, I remember what I was doing during that time in my life. It seems as though all of my writing is filed away in my brain, categorized by the occurrence of events in my life rather than as independent works…which is interesting, because now that I think about it, my iTunes library is organized in the same fashion. Instead of naming my playlists based on genre or composer, I always name them by month, followed by year. I like doing it this way because then I can look back on my selection of playlists and remember what I was listening to during that time in my life and relate it to major events that happened or to what I was going through physically and emotionally. It’s nostalgic, really. For the way in which I have reflected on my body of work, one unifying theme seems to be conveyed: that my writing is the culmination of the defining characteristics of my passions in life, where my writing has progressed in parallel with these experiences, no matter how personal. Specifically, the precision and innovation of a pianist and a surgeon; the confident, yet humble decision making of a ski patrol officer and a public speaker; and the compassionate, empathetic nature of an addiction counselor and substance abuse coordinator.

 

I began practicing piano when I was nine years old. At such a young age, I always enjoyed watching my hands flow up and down the keys, where it seemed every movement was derived from a specifically developed muscle memory that I never knew existed. Recently, I found these same moments in the middle of surgeries that I performed as a member of the Craniofacial Research Laboratory, where suddenly I am aware of my hands doing extraordinary things. Like each stanza, each suture is performed as intentionally as the next, coming together to create their own beautiful melody. As with music, everything in surgery has its own rhythm, the sound of a clamp clasping on to a section of tissue to achieve hemostasis, the hums of an oscillating saw, or the click of a stapler. In the same way, the writing process requires a rhythm unique to its composer. 

Through years of practice, however, I found that the difficulty in my musical experimentation is not necessarily performing sheet music that is laid in front of me, but rather writing and creating my own music. Similarly, innovation in an individual’s writing process is imperative to the progression and advancement of a writer’s skills, where a small alteration in technique can drastically transform a piece of work, in the same way that adding a D chord to a chorus can change sound of an entire song. Precision as a result of hours of prolonged, meticulous rehearsal, in addition to the innovation associated with writing my own music through years of practicing the piano and problem solving while operating are skills that fostered my unique writing process, which can be visualized by looking through drafts of various essays.

 

In the early days of my writing career, roughly high school/first semester of college era, I remember my thought process regarding drafting and revising. I was always required to turn in a rough draft prior to handing in a final essay, similar to what is required now. However the difference between now and then is that I failed to consider my first draft “shitty”. In fact, I considered my first draft to, more or less, be my final draft – pending slight grammatical edits, or the adjustment of a few margins. Never did I rearrange, or really even revisit my arguments; it was a one-and-done. As I began to write my own music, and perform surgeries on a more regular basis in my second year of college, I noticed drastic changes in my writing process, where I was not afraid to cut and paste, rearrange, and generally be “okay” with producing a shitty first draft. In fact, this rearrangement conferred a more innovative and precise final draft than was ever possible without the aggressive editing and drafting I now consider to be part of my writing process.

 

For example, opening the virtual file containing the first draft of my essay “Eat, Pray, and Embrace” (Page EE 2010) for English 125 gives me a bullet-pointed list of major points and facts about the story, as well as my proposed thesis statement – so more or less an outline. My second draft of this essay is the essay that I handed in. Looking back, the revision process was non-existent. The development of this essay was strictly based on the 3-4 hours I spent writing it, from start to finish – like I said, one and done. I then looked to a speech that I wrote for my animal physiology laboratory, entitled “Parathyroid Hormone Therapy Mitigates Effects of Radiation in a Murine Mandibular Model of Distraction Osteogenesis” (Page EE, 2012). There are 19 drafts, with each being significantly different than the next. Entirely new sections are added in, while some are completely removed. Some points are taken from the discussion and moved to the introduction, and vice versa. This progression in revision process is not a coincidence. Sure, the classes that I have taken, specifically the minor gateway, have taught me a number of methods to go about revising and drafting, but in my opinion, it is the improvement in my musical composition as a result of multiple drafts, as well as the innovative nature of surgery (i.e. what do you do when things do not go according to plan) that have affected my ability to be okay with producing a draft that is not perfect, and looking at the many forms a single piece of writing can take.      

I can still remember feeling utterly terrified the first time I rode my snowboard down the beginner hill at Boyne Mountain in Northern Michigan. Although thirteen years have passed, I can still say that every line I skied since has been equally exhilarating. Sending yourself down the face of a mountain at speeds upwards of 40 mph requires an unparalleled capacity to make quick and confident decisions; to your left you may see an unmarked cliff, while to your right you see unpacked, avalanche-prone powder. Crafting the “perfect” error-free line is a flawed art. In the same way, writing a piece of work doesn’t always go according to plan.

 

As a member of the Craniofacial Plastic Surgery Research Laboratory, I have had the unique opportunity to give presentations at both local and national conferences. Initially, I thought the act of giving my presentation to a room full of world-renowned plastic surgeons would be the most challenging aspect for my nerves. However, after having the opportunity to present our research on five separate academic occasions, I realized that there would always be a question that no amount of practice and organization would prepare me for. Similarly to skiing, it is imperative to be able to adjust, both quickly and confidently while respecting your surroundings. Just as every mountain is a bigger and more powerful than any one skier, every piece of writing is bigger and more powerful than any one writer. There will always be more research to be done, there will always be more opinions to consider, however the ability to make quick, confident decisions when faced with a challenging scenario that developed throughout my thirteen years as an avid snowboarder and public speaker are skills that will serve as an excellent framework for decision making in my future writing career.

 

Specifically, I can think of one scenario where I was put in the so-called “hot seat” with regards to a piece of writing. I was given the unique opportunity, especially as an undergraduate, to conduct a study and publish a paper on my own. A year and a lot of work later, my manuscript “Prophylactic Administration of Amifostine Protects Vessel Thickness and Luminal Diameter in the Setting of Irradiation” was accepted for publication in the Journal of Plastic, Aesthetic, and Reconstructive Surgery (Page EE, 2014). However, this did not come without significant sacrifice and strife between some of my coworkers and myself. Upon the completion of the experimental part of the project, I began to analyze data and compose the manuscript. However, working with multiple authors on a project can be difficult due to differences in style, voice, and overall process of writing.

 

My issue came as a result of a conflict with my day-to-day supervisor with regards to writing style; he wanted to change the way in which I was writing my paper dramatically. However, I refused to sacrifice my voice, and went out on a limb to compose this paper in the way that I saw fit. I say “went out on a limb” because at this point, the doctor supervising my project had already contributed $50,000 of funding, and was adamant that the paper be accepted and published before I began school again in the fall. This gave me only a few months, i.e. the time allowed for a single submission, to have my article published. If my style of writing was not effective, as my supervisor claimed, I would not have enough time to revise and resubmit. However I maintained confidence in my ability and style, and the article was published on the 30th of August, 2014. Three days before school resumed. When I began working in my laboratory, there is not a possibility I would have acted with the confidence I showed in myself this year. This confidence has, of course, developed as a result of my knowledge of the subject matter, but more importantly as a result of experiences like snowboarding, and public speaking that have required the development of confidence throughout my avid pursuit of improvement in these extracurricular activities. 

 

I will never forget the one of the first times I locked eyes with a heroin addict during my first week of work at the Home of New Vision residential detoxification and rehabilitation center. With pupils constricted into a deep, pinpointed void, he could barely keep his eyes open. It was so difficult for me to wrap my head around why anyone would engage in such a relationship, one of constant social, physical, and psychological indebtedness. While I was busy grappling with the concept of addiction, he lifted his head and reached across the table, grabbing my wrist. My eyes made their way from his grasp, up his arm, past a slew of track marks, to his somewhat eerie gaze. He smiled and said “Thanks, Erin.” It didn’t occur to me until later that night that I had never told him my name, but that he remembered it from a class we were in together a few years prior.

 

In that moment, I realized there was very little that separated him from I. This patient wasn’t unemployed, a victim of a bad upbringing, or a high school drop out. This patient was my peer. From that day forward, I can say that I approach each case with a strong grasp on the desperate need for individualization, empathy, and understanding in a system that often only provides treatment to a certain, established “standard of care”, while failing to honor the unique needs of the individual patient. Although it is important for investigators to distance themselves from their research and writing to some extent to preserve morality and objectivity, total emotional dissociation is equally as harmful as total emotional investment. Striving for individualization, while demonstrating genuine compassion and empathy are integral components to my work with the Home of New Vision, and are skills that I find particularly translatable to the passion and necessity of my work as a writer. 

 

Although my passion for the treatment and management of substance abuse disorders did not surface (to me, at least) until I began working for the Home of New Vision and volunteering in the Women’s Huron Valley Correctional Facility as a Narcotics Anonymous coordinator, revisiting old coursework has revealed that drug use and abuse is an overriding theme of my writing since I began studying at the University of Michigan – much before I began working with addicts firsthand. I consider myself to be a relatively shy person, and for that reason I am shocked to see how willing I have been to write on a topic that is very personal and emotional to me. Although the theme of drug use is quite apparent, my writing with regards to substance abuse seemed to progress from the morality of drug abuse, with pieces like the essay “Is it immoral for students who are not affected by ADD/ADHD to use adderall or other prescription neuro-enhancers as a method of academic performance enhancement?” (Page EE, 2012) that I wrote for a philosophy course during the semester that I began the minor, to the problem of drug abuse, with pieces such as “El Abuso de Opiáceos: Perspectivas Epidemiológicas, Clínicas y Sociales” (translation: The Abuse of Opiates: Epidemiological, Clinical, and Social Perspectives) (Page EE, 2014) to the treatment and investigation of substance abuse with pieces such as “Left-handedness Predicts Alcohol Addiction Via Genetic Interaction and Subsequent Neurological Lateralization in the Dominant Auditory Cortex” (Page EE, 2013), which investigated the possibility of a neurological linkage between substance abuse and left handedness that could have very serious implications for the recognition and treatment of substance abuse.

 

This is particularly interesting to me, as I thought working directly with patients suffering from drug and alcohol abuse fostered my initial interest in substance abuse as a topic. However, it seems as though my interest in substance abuse has progressed from very early on in my career as a writer, and has simply changed focus (i.e. morality vs. prognosis and patient care) as a result of my experience working directly with patients. Thus, again, as my empathy and understanding of drug use and abuse increased through my exposure to those affected by substance abuse, the focus of my writing regard drugs and alcohol became more empathic and rational, focusing on the solution rather than the problem.

As I made clear, writing was never an activity that I was necessarily passionate about. I have been passionate about playing piano, performing surgery, skiing, public speaking, working as an addiction counselor, and coordinating care for those suffering from substance abuse, among other things. Through these experiences, however, I can say with unwavering certainty that the evolution of my writing is rooted the culmination of my experiences and interests that inspired me to incorporate skills I learned from each of my passions into being the most effective, passionate writer I can be. Although it may have taken me longer to realize than most, writing is a part of me, in fact, writing combines the best parts of me and communicates those parts to my audience, even if indirectly.