At 3AM on New Year’s Day 2003, I throttled back the GE Experimental Combustor and ported the emissions data to MATLAB for the 30th analysis of my most recent extended presence in the lab. It had been a 19-hour marathon of wrenching, wiring, calibrating, programming, and praying. After seeing little daylight in two weeks of preparing a paper for an annual conference, I rubbed my eyes and shuffled to the restroom of the Combustion Laboratory on the stark southern extension of the Georgia Tech campus. I splashed some water on my face to revive for the bike ride home, and it was in that mirror that I first noticed it: a small, dark recess near the gum line on one of my lower canines. Over the next few weeks, a few more appeared. At 23, I had never had a cavity or even needed braces. I take pride in my health, so it is an understatement to say that I became concerned.
My dentist at the time, Dr. Rick Mathis, immediately recognized it as acid damage due to gastroesophageal reflux disease. My GERD was the result of a year and a half of fascinating but demanding research immersion. A visit with a gastroenterologist confirmed and corrected the reflux, but the damage was done. My twelve most visible teeth had become twelve aching embarrassments and had to be bonded. The work done by Dr. Mathis was beyond cosmetic, though.
Until then, I had not interacted with Dr. Mathis beyond my biannual checkups. That day, I engaged him in conversation about the methodology and science involved in correcting my problem. Far from annoyed and panicked, I was actually enthralled by my only dental procedure since having my third molars removed.
Three years later, I read an article describing the CEREC CAD/CAM crown restoration system. My employer at the time specialized in optical measurement of 3D contours, a large-scale variant of the stereoimage correlation technology used by CEREC to digitize a tooth for crown modeling.
Dr. Rudy Harrington was my new dentist. I told him about the similarity between my stereoimaging research and the CEREC system. He stunned me with his engineering-scale knowledge of the technology, far beyond pedestrian interest or a sales demo. We continued the dialogue later, exchanging perspectives as would colleagues. I mused that perhaps he had been moonlighting as an engineer, but then it occurred to me that perhaps engineering is NOT the only venue for creativity, proficiency, scientific curiosity, problem solving, and empathy for others. The only difference was that Dr. Harrington always knew he would be a dentist, but I had earned a master’s degree prior to the catalyst that ignited my interest in dental medicine.
There is no question that my situation is unusual. Many engineers have become dentists, but is it a likely transition for a published researcher and instructor? I will always be an engineer, whether I am analyzing jet engine acoustic wave collisions or assaying an enzyme. However, my new direction is vectored by the sum of my experiences and scientific background. I believe it is a logical transition that will combine a rare technical expertise with great enthusiasm and ability to acquire the medical knowledge necessary to succeed in dentistry.
The theory I proposed to the NSF and the subsequent research were based on my desire to benefit society and the global environment. In reality, my efforts were assimilated into a whirlwind of corporate development, and no one outside of that lab at Georgia Tech ever knew that I had helped them breathe a little easier. Like most people, I do not want my legacy to end at age 65. The security and confidence that Dr. Mathis restored to me in one hour of his career will last a lifetime, and I would like to extend the favor.
My life is interwoven with those of teens escaping poverty and middle-aged recession casualties in transit to a university they had thought unreachable. Despite the demanding hours, I managed to study biochemistry at the University of South Carolina this summer. It was a pleasure to finally tie together biology and organic chemistry to obtain a mechanistic perspective of human physiology. The ongoing dialogue with my mentors has led to many hours of close observation of every facet of general dentistry practice. I am proud of my accomplishments as an engineer, and have no doubt that the same determination will enable a restructuring of my integrity, dexterity, deductive reasoning, technical knowledge and compassion into a successful dental career.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
AADSAS Personal Statement
This is my personal statement (application essay) for dental school. I welcome all constructive criticism.
________________________________________________________________________
At 3AM on New Year’s Day 2003, I throttled back the GE Experimental Combustor and ported the emissions data to MATLAB for the 30th analysis of my most recent extended presence in the lab. It had been a 19-hour marathon of programming, wrenching, wiring, calibrating, and cursing. After seeing little daylight in two weeks of preparing a paper for an annual conference, I rubbed my eyes and shuffled to the restroom of the Combustion Laboratory on the southern extension of the Georgia Tech campus. I splashed some water on my face to revive for the bike ride home, and it was in that mirror that I first noticed it: a small, dark recess near the gumline on one of my lower canines. A brief inspection revealed a few more. At 23, I had never had a cavity. I hadn’t even needed braces. I take pride in every facet of my health, so it would be an understatement to say that I was frustrated and worried.
My dentist at the time, Dr. Mathis, immediately recognized it as acid damage due to gastroesophageal reflux disease. My GERD was the result of a year and a half of fascinating but demanding research immersion. A visit with a gastroenterologist confirmed and corrected the reflux, but the damage was done. By that time, my twelve most visible teeth had become twelve aching embarrassments, and all of them had to be bonded. The work done by Dr. Mathis was more than cosmetic, though.
I had never interacted with Dr. Mathis beyond my biannual checkups. That day, I engaged him in conversation about the methodology and science involved in correcting my problem. Far from annoyed and panicked, I was enthralled by my only dental procedure since having my third molars removed.
Three years later, while waiting for a checkup by my current dentist, I read a magazine article describing an optical technique for measuring the contours of a tooth. I had been employed by a company specializing in optical measurement of 3D objects, and I was preoccupied with adapting the technology to high magnification.
I told Dr. Harrington about the similarity between my project and the new procedure, and was surprised by his extensive technical knowledge. We carried the dialogue offline, exchanging perspectives as colleagues. I once mused that perhaps he had been moonlighting as an engineer, but I later challenged myself: could it be that engineering is NOT the only venue for creativity, proficiency, scientific curiosity, problem solving, and empathy for others? Dr. Harrington always knew he would be a dentist, but I had earned a master’s degree prior to the catalyst that ignited my interest in dental medicine.
There is no question that my situation is unusual. Many engineers have become dentists, but it seems an unlikely transition for a published researcher and instructor. I will always be an engineer, whether I am designing a machine or assaying an enzyme. I will always be one to diagnose a stuck throttle bypass in my neighbor’s car, build my own circuit boards when nothing suitable exists, and listen for acoustic wave collisions in the engines of the airplane carrying my wife and me to our honeymoon. No switch has been flipped—no such thing exists.
However, there is nothing strange about it. My new direction is defined by the sum of my experiences and scientific background, yielding a rare technical advantage beyond a basic desire to help. The theory I proposed to the NSF and the subsequent research were based on a need for my efforts to benefit society and the global environment. In reality, it was assimilated into a whirlwind of corporate development, and no one outside of that lab ever knew that I had helped them breathe a little easier. Nobody wants their legacy to end at 62, yet the security and confidence restored to me by Dr. Mathis will extend far beyond his retirement.
My life is interwoven with those of teens escaping poverty and middle-aged recession casualties in transit to a university they had thought unreachable. Despite the demanding hours, I managed to study biochemistry at the University of South Carolina this summer. It was a pleasure to finally tie together biology and organic chemistry to obtain a mechanistic perspective of human physiology. Furthermore, the ongoing dialogue with my mentors has led to many hours of shadowing every move of several accommodating dentists. Despite all I have accomplished, there is no doubt that I am destined to restructure my integrity, dexterity, deductive reasoning, and compassion into a dental career.
________________________________________________________________________
At 3AM on New Year’s Day 2003, I throttled back the GE Experimental Combustor and ported the emissions data to MATLAB for the 30th analysis of my most recent extended presence in the lab. It had been a 19-hour marathon of programming, wrenching, wiring, calibrating, and cursing. After seeing little daylight in two weeks of preparing a paper for an annual conference, I rubbed my eyes and shuffled to the restroom of the Combustion Laboratory on the southern extension of the Georgia Tech campus. I splashed some water on my face to revive for the bike ride home, and it was in that mirror that I first noticed it: a small, dark recess near the gumline on one of my lower canines. A brief inspection revealed a few more. At 23, I had never had a cavity. I hadn’t even needed braces. I take pride in every facet of my health, so it would be an understatement to say that I was frustrated and worried.
My dentist at the time, Dr. Mathis, immediately recognized it as acid damage due to gastroesophageal reflux disease. My GERD was the result of a year and a half of fascinating but demanding research immersion. A visit with a gastroenterologist confirmed and corrected the reflux, but the damage was done. By that time, my twelve most visible teeth had become twelve aching embarrassments, and all of them had to be bonded. The work done by Dr. Mathis was more than cosmetic, though.
I had never interacted with Dr. Mathis beyond my biannual checkups. That day, I engaged him in conversation about the methodology and science involved in correcting my problem. Far from annoyed and panicked, I was enthralled by my only dental procedure since having my third molars removed.
Three years later, while waiting for a checkup by my current dentist, I read a magazine article describing an optical technique for measuring the contours of a tooth. I had been employed by a company specializing in optical measurement of 3D objects, and I was preoccupied with adapting the technology to high magnification.
I told Dr. Harrington about the similarity between my project and the new procedure, and was surprised by his extensive technical knowledge. We carried the dialogue offline, exchanging perspectives as colleagues. I once mused that perhaps he had been moonlighting as an engineer, but I later challenged myself: could it be that engineering is NOT the only venue for creativity, proficiency, scientific curiosity, problem solving, and empathy for others? Dr. Harrington always knew he would be a dentist, but I had earned a master’s degree prior to the catalyst that ignited my interest in dental medicine.
There is no question that my situation is unusual. Many engineers have become dentists, but it seems an unlikely transition for a published researcher and instructor. I will always be an engineer, whether I am designing a machine or assaying an enzyme. I will always be one to diagnose a stuck throttle bypass in my neighbor’s car, build my own circuit boards when nothing suitable exists, and listen for acoustic wave collisions in the engines of the airplane carrying my wife and me to our honeymoon. No switch has been flipped—no such thing exists.
However, there is nothing strange about it. My new direction is defined by the sum of my experiences and scientific background, yielding a rare technical advantage beyond a basic desire to help. The theory I proposed to the NSF and the subsequent research were based on a need for my efforts to benefit society and the global environment. In reality, it was assimilated into a whirlwind of corporate development, and no one outside of that lab ever knew that I had helped them breathe a little easier. Nobody wants their legacy to end at 62, yet the security and confidence restored to me by Dr. Mathis will extend far beyond his retirement.
My life is interwoven with those of teens escaping poverty and middle-aged recession casualties in transit to a university they had thought unreachable. Despite the demanding hours, I managed to study biochemistry at the University of South Carolina this summer. It was a pleasure to finally tie together biology and organic chemistry to obtain a mechanistic perspective of human physiology. Furthermore, the ongoing dialogue with my mentors has led to many hours of shadowing every move of several accommodating dentists. Despite all I have accomplished, there is no doubt that I am destined to restructure my integrity, dexterity, deductive reasoning, and compassion into a dental career.
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