Medical School: Never Say Never

              MEDICAL
SCHOOL
Never say never
By Sally Reese
«•*- Photos by
Billy Upshaw
Twelve years ago, most medical school applicants were
graduated college seniors, 20 to 21 years old, who had fol-lowed
the usual pre-med curriculum.
The philosophy of admissions then was the younger the ap-plicant,
the younger the graduate and therefore the longer the
potential for service.
That philosophy doesn't apply any more.
In recent years, older applicants have been enrolling in the
medical schools, and in general these applicants weren't orig-inally
oriented toward medicine.
They are mostly men and women who have dropped out of
other careers to enter the field of medicine.
"We have people leaving good jobs to get into medical
schools," said Dr. William T. McElroy, associate dean for ad-missions
at LSU Medical Center School of Medicine in
Shreveport.
As a result, a freshman in gross anatomy is likely to be in his
or her 30s. One of this year's seniors is 37 years old.
"That was unheard of in 1969," said McElroy, alluding to the
year that LSUMC admitted its first class. "It's a national
trend."
Why?
One of the reasons, says medical student James Lawrence,
is that fewer people feel "locked in" to one career. Another,
says Tim Desmond, is that it's generally easier now for older
applicants to get into the medical schools.
Lawrence was a practicing veterinarian when he decided to
go back to school and get an M.D. Desmond was first a
merchant seaman and then a lawyer before he dared to take
up medicine. Now, in their 30s, they are candidates for a medi-cal
degree in May.
McElroy first encountered their kind when a 27-year-old
chemical engineer walked into his office and said he wasn't
happy as a chemical engineer and wanted to go into medicine.
"In general, they tell you they want to work with people,"
McElroy said. "Of course, he was working with people but not,
he felt, in a contributing way."
John Marvel can understand that.
Marvel didn't start out to be a doctor either. He started out
as a quality control engineer with General Motors.
Marvel was doing all right where he was; his future with GM
looked promising. There had been a personal crisis, "through
which I met the Lord Jesus in a powerful way," but he had got
back on track and was happy in his work. Or thought he was.
He was in a maintenance supervisory position at a small GM
plant when he got a trouble-shooting assignment that earned
him a new offer from the company. Then suddenly there he
"
liStii
Clem Binnings, former tedcliefi
carpenter, ca nstr u cf ton worker
Randy Richfer, former probation bentse Sharbono, an ex-Marine, fought high school for etgm years
A rare off-moment—from left, Randy Rkhter, Demise Sharbono, James Lawrence, Clem Binnings James Lawrence; a Vietnam vet, practiced veterinary science
was with a choice of jobs, "and just realizing I wasn't excited
about either." He was 30 at the time.
"This resolved itself rather quickly," he said, with a tight lit-tle
smile. "A good friend entered the scene. And this good
friend of mine proceeded to die."
Now Marvel got his first "solid look" at the medical pro-fession.
"For the first time, I saw a doctor-patient rela^
tionship." To him, the doctor's role appeared to be one of "min-istering."
He was intrigued.
"It was like the Lord was telling me, 'You can do that.' I
couldn't put it out of my mind."
Marvel went to LSU-Shreveport to pick up the courses
necessary to meet admission requirements. He's a second-year
medical student now, aspiring to "direct contact with pa-tients
in the world of hurt."
Tim Desmond came into medical education in a more round-about
way.
Desmond went to sea after getting out of high school, though
he had a scholarship to Tulane University. He wanted to see the^
world. In time, he became a marine engineer.
Then he got married and the sea lost its pull. He entered col-lege
and graduated with a degree in mathematics.
He had intended to teach, but the "politics" of academia
turned him off. So he decided to go into law. He entered Tulane
on a scholarship.
He had practiced law a year when a nurse he knew started
him thinking about something he had put aside a long time ago.
When he was growing up, Desmond thought that a doctor
was the greatest thing a man could be. But he had a tremor in
his hands, "a familial thing," so he felt he had to give up any
idea of being one himself.
The nurse encouraged him to take it up again. He was
mature now, less self-conscious about the tremor, so he
thought, why not? Well? echoed his wife, why not?
Today he's in the home stretch and looking ahead to a res>-
dency in radiology.
James Lawrence just decided he'd rather work with people
than animals. "A super student," says McElroy, "second in his
class."
Lawrence is a Vietnam veteran with an undergraduate
degree from then LSU-New Orleans and a veterinary degree
from Alabama's Tuskegee Institute. His specialty preference
is pediatrics.
Denise Sharbono, a freshman with a husband and two sons
in Monroe, thinks older students have "a better appreciation
of what they want to do." She also thinks "society will be ben-efitted
by this in us."
Mrs. Sharbono is a former Marine who got her under-graduate
degree under the GI Bill and taught high school sci-ence
for eight years.
Her thoughts turned to medicine after a "frustrating year"
with students. When she told her husband what she wanted to
do, he rebelled, she said. "He didn't want to be married to a
doctor." But he didn't say no, and now she thinks — she hope»
— he's adjusting to the idea.
Randy Richter is a former probation officer. When the state
Department of Corrections transferred him to Shreveport
from Monroe, Richter was in the U.S. Army Reserve. Conse-quently,
he had to transfer to a USAR unit here. He was as-signed
to a medical unit.
He was happy in medics. In fact, he found himself enjoying
his drills more than his job. The idea of entering medicine
came to him then.
It meant going back to school and picking up the dreaded sci-ence
courses he had avoided "like the plague" when he first en-rolled
in college. He got them at LSU-Shreveport. He's in his
second year at LSUMC School of Medicine, still fixed on the
goal he came in with. Richter wants to be a family practi-tioner.
Clem Binnings said he was glad he entered medical school
when he did. He thinks his past experience has broadened his
mind and perspective.
Binnings is a junior and wants to go into family practice too.
"I guess I've always been interested in medicine," he mused.
"Even as a child. I've always felt it was something I wanted
to do."
Like Mrs. Sharbono, he switched over from teaching. Like
Desmond, he arrived at this stage of his life after taking a cou-ple
of detours.
Binnings came here from New Orleans several years ago.
He had been working in his father's construction business, but
had begun "feeling the pull" to take over the company, which
he didn't want to do. He came here to take a job in carpentry.
For a while he was co-director of a drug crisis center, wait-ing
tables in Shreve Square to supplement his income. Then he
was a teacher's aide. After his marriage in 1975 he returned
to college and got a degree.
Like Mrs. Sharbono, he was teaching the high school scj-ences
when he realized he was not happy in education. It was
his sister, the wife of a doctor, who suggested he go into medi-cine.
He was visiting her in Maryland at the time. On the trip
home, he decided that was what he was going to do.
"So here I am," he said, and smiled.
What about the 27-year-old chemical engineer? He got a
medical degree in 1977 -
12-F Sun., Mcr. i- 1923 Tho Times The Times Sun., Mar. 6, 1983 3-f=