Emma Meyers--University of Alabama

When I graduate from high school, I will be a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA). My mom is in nursing school. Her grandmother was a nurse. My godmother is a nurse. My best friend since birth’s mom is also a nurse. I am surrounded by nurses. I’m going the nursing school route, so I can work while I study to be a dermatologist.  

In Walkertown, NC, there aren’t many high school graduates that apply to four-year colleges. Graduating with a trade, something that generates income while we work our way toward a degree is essential. My CNA will help me get a job to supplement college tuition. Having a BSN will help me get a job to supplement medical school tuition.  

In 8th grade, I thought I had skin cancer. I had a suspicious mole removed from my back. The dermatologist, who was abrupt and creepy, shaved a piece to biopsy and sent to the lab. My mom and grandpa have had multiple Mohs surgeries to remove cancerous growth. They’d both told me not to get so tan and to always wear sunblock, but I hadn’t been the best at following their advice. During the week after the biopsy, and because of my mom’s skin history, I was pretty worried it would turn out to be cancer. After the biopsy came back negative, I vowed to have more respect for the sun.  

Around that same time, I got my first pimple. My mom and I are obsessed with popping pimples. We send each other videos of pimple popping; we beg to pop each other’s pimples. I know it sounds gross, and I know popping them just makes them worse, and yet, the obsession gets stronger. This obsession, and my family’s history with cancerous growths, is what’s fueling me to study dermatology.

I want to know everything about the skin, why moles change, why hormones cause pimples, why popping them is so satisfying. The search history on my computer has ingrown nail and hair removal videos, how to extract fluid from a pimple without leaving a mark, and cyst surgery on TLC’s Dr. Pimple Popper.

After my friends return from a dermatologist visit, I pepper them with questions. “What’d she say? How is she planning to treat?” I ask the questions I failed to ask my dermatologist in eighth grade. I was too shocked I might have cancer to say anything. I wish I’d asked what age he was when he knew he wanted to be a dermatologist. If he could go back, would he still pursue a career in dermatology? 

I see myself in a dermatologist office at 22, after college and between nursing school and medical school. My entire family is behind me though each nurse in my life has said I’d make a great nurse. They also say I’d made a great dermatologist. 

The nurses I admire have excellent people skills. They trained to be patient and kind, to listen and make their patients feel comfortable. The doctors I’ve known seem stand-off-ish but respected for what they know. I want the training of a nurse and the knowledge of a doctor. 

This past summer, I was with a friend at the pool. We were getting sun, which I know I shouldn’t be doing. But the sun felt so good after a long winter. I noticed a mole on her back that looked a little dark and suspicious. I took a picture and showed her, then I couldn’t contain myself. I said, “You should really get that checked out.”

She said, “Yeh? Well, we probably shouldn’t be in the sun either.”