The guidance counselor was an older, serious-looking silver-haired man. “You’re here to discuss the possibility of applying for medical school. Is that correct, Miss Elliott?”

“Yes. That’s correct.” I told him that I was thinking of applying to two or three schools and wanted to see if he had any advice for me.

“Yes. I do have advice for you. After reviewing your file, I’ve concluded it would be best for you to let go of the idea of going into medicine.” He said that medicine was not the right career choice for me and that I’d be wasting my time and money applying to medical school.

I stood in front of the guidance counselor in silence, the wind knocked out of me. It took a few seconds before I could regain my breath. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m trying to do you a favor and spare you disappointment and the costly expenses of the application process.” He said my file revealed several items against me.

“First of all, you’re a woman. Second, you’re 29 years old. That’s much too old to be thinking about pre-med and all that’s involved in getting into medical school. You’d be in you’re thirties when you were ready to apply. And third, you have a liberal arts background, not science. You have done nothing in your past that is related to medicine. Not good,” he said gravely.

The counselor reminded me that I had been a schoolteacher on the Navajo Reservation, Peace Corps Volunteer in South America, mountaineer and Outward Bound Instructor, and had just now finished my master’s degree in outdoor education. He warned me that the admissions people at the medical schools would wonder if I have what it takes to stick to one thing. “I don’t think you have a chance at getting accepted into any medical school. I’m sorry. I’m just being honest with you.”

My answer was polite, but with a tinge of defiance. “Never underestimate the power of a vision, sir. I know that medicine is my path in life. I believe it’s my destiny. It just took me a while to realize it. I’ll let you know what happens with the applications.”

The year was 1977, in Boulder, Colorado, one year after I had returned from the Peace Corps. I had enrolled in a master’s degree program in outdoor education at the University of Colorado. I was indeed a former schoolteacher and Outward Bound instructor and had seen the benefits of using the wilderness as a tool for experiential education. I envisioned forming my own wilderness school for kids with learning and behavior problems.

Midway through the master’s program, I had decided to take some science courses on the side. I had missed out on studying science in college. Antioch College in the mid 1960s was a school known for radical innovation and experimentation. Upon entrance, I took the required aptitude tests and scored high enough to waive all my science requirements, thanks to the rigorous education I received at the American High School in Frankfurt, Germany.

But then, over a decade later, I hungered to explore the sciences. I enrolled in a basic biology 101 class for freshmen, not realizing that it was primarily for premedical students aspiring to be doctors.

I had considered the possibility of becoming a doctor while in the Peace Corps, but dismissed the idea, thinking that one had to have extraordinarily high intelligence to pursue this route.

I thought about the Swiss doctors in my family—my grandfather who served an entire town in northern Switzerland, and my uncle whom I deeply admired for his ability to cure the “incurables” who came from many countries to receive his treatments. I regarded him as a genius. So did his patients. I didn’t think I could ever match the depth of his knowledge, so I gave up on the idea of becoming a doctor.

But when I started taking science classes at the university, I looked at my 18 year-old classmates; they did not seem extraordinarily bright. Well, if they can do it, why can’t I?

A wave of excitement washed over me as I realized I could indeed become a doctor. A slumbering force deep within me awakened with the clear recognition that I had finally found the path that would eventually lead me to my true calling in life.

With focus and determination, I signed up for every pre-med course I could squeeze into my schedule, while finishing up the final requirements for my master’s degree. I even took an EMT course to become a first responder for medical emergencies. Upon certification, I joined the Rocky Mountain Rescue team, a group of highly-skilled outdoors people who searched for lost, injured, or dead climbers in the surrounding mountains.

One day my chemistry teacher advised me to talk to a guidance counselor about my desire to become a doctor, implying I might be too old for medical school.

The guidance counselor’s discouraging remarks made me more determined than ever. I applied to take my MCAT test right away, even though I had only taken one year of pre-med courses at that point, and still lacked half of the requirements, including the major subjects like advanced chemistry, biochemistry and physics.

Pre-med students were supposed to finish the two years of pre-med requirements, then wait until the next MCAT test was offered, and then, if their scores were decent, apply to medical schools, followed by a year of waiting to see if they were accepted for the following fall.

I didn’t want to wait that long. If I followed the rules, I’d be two years older by the time I applied. Hadn’t the guidance counselor said I was already too old at 29?

The MCAT was a daunting test that took much of the day to complete. The auditorium was packed with aspiring doctors. Half the questions pertained to courses I had not yet taken, so I had no choice but to guess those answers.

By some stroke of providential luck I scored the national average on the MCAT test—probably not high enough to get into a top-notch medical school. But I wasn’t going to let my mediocre scores deter me from submitting my applications to Stanford Medical School, as well as to the University of Colorado and Dartmouth Medical Schools.

Then the phone call came. Fortunately, I was home in my cramped little rented room so that I could answer the telephone. These were the days before answering machines.

The voice at the other end said, “Hello. My name is Richard Dorfman (not his real name). I’m calling from the Stanford admissions office. Is this Erica Elliott?” I answered breathlessly, “Yes it is.” He went on to inform me that Stanford wanted to give me an interview. He proposed a date and time for me to meet with the admissions people.

“Oh my god. Thank you. That’s such good news. But wait. Um. Richard, I just came back from the Peace Corps last year and don’t have the money to fly out there for the interview. I have no savings. Can you fly out and do the interview here in Boulder?”

The long silence on the other end of the phone was begging to be broken.

I jumped in, my mind quick at work. “Listen, Richard, I could give you an experience you’ll never forget. We could cross-country ski together into the backcountry in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. You’ll get to see some of the most beautiful mountain scenery in the world. And you’ll be in good hands with me because I’m a former Outward Bound instructor and have taught dozens of students. I can teach you how to navigate on cross-country skis. It’s quite easy. Just like walking. I have an extra set of skis and poles I could loan you and then we could rent a pair of boots for you. You only need to bring warm clothes. I can pack a picnic lunch for both of us. We could sit on a log or some rocky outcropping and eat our lunch in the sun while you interview me. What do you think of that idea?” I took a deep breath.

“Um. Well. Hm. Let’s see. Uh. I’ll get back with you after I talk to the head of admissions.”

I excitedly told one of my pre-med classmates about the call from Stanford admissions office. He was appalled at what I had proposed. “You did what?! Are you out of your mind?” He explained emphatically how I was supposed to act if I was ever offered another interview, adding, “and you’re supposed to buy a new suit or a nice dress, get your hair done, and do whatever it takes to look good when you fly out for the interview.”

My classmate predicted Richard would never call back and that I had lost my chance at getting into Stanford. He advised me to play by the rules next time and simply borrow the money to fly to the interviews. Gosh, I should have played by the rules. Even if I didn’t know what the rules were, I should have found out ahead of time. I blew it.

A week later, Richard Dorfman called back. He had spoken to the head of admissions about my request. “Because you are one of the most unusual candidates to apply to Stanford Medical School, I will go ahead and interview you in Boulder.” We set up a time and date to meet.

Richard rented a car at the Denver airport and met me in Boulder with his warm clothes and a backpack. He seemed quite excited to have the opportunity to conduct the interview on skis, surrounded by magnificent, jagged peaks on a sunny day in early spring. His voice brimmed with animation and anticipation.

We drove to Rocky Mountain National Park and found a trail with freshly-fallen snow. Richard had only done a little downhill skiing. but had always wanted to try cross-country skiing. He willingly accepted some basic instruction from me. It didn’t take long for him to feel at ease on the skinny skis.

As we glided along the trail, Richard said that I had the honor of having the lowest MCAT scores of anyone Stanford had ever interviewed. Oh. Should I be proud of that?

I happily confessed to him how surprised I was at scoring the national average since I had guessed on half the test questions, unfamiliar as I was with most of the required pre-med courses.

Richard said that the reason the medical school went ahead and interviewed me was because of the out-of-the-ordinary life I had led, my 4.0 grade point average, and especially the letters of recommendation from my professors. One of them had written that I would provide refreshing “leavening” to any school I attended. Richard said Stanford liked to include unusual people as part of their student body, people who think out of the box and can offer a new perspective.

Richard’s voice became serious. “The admissions department would like to make you an offer. We think you’d be an excellent candidate for our medical school. However, we cannot accept your current MCAT scores. We’d like you to repeat the MCAT test after you’ve completed all the pre-med courses. If you get a score within the top 10%, then we’ll offer you a full four-year scholarship, all expenses paid.”

I was in such a hurry to move forward and start my medical studies that, as grand as his offer was, it still was conditional and meant waiting an extra year or more. “Thank you so much for your generous offer. I’ll think it over and get back with you.”

He replied that the interview was the most memorable one that he had ever conducted.

The next day I got a letter from Dartmouth Medical School saying that I was rejected this time around because I had not finished all my pre-med requirements. They suggested I reapply in a year when I had completed all the courses.

A few days later, I got a call from the admissions department at the University of Colorado requesting an interview. I drove to Denver for the meeting, wearing a dress and heels I had borrowed for the occasion, along with some eyeliner and earrings, and with freshly washed hair. I felt excited and nervous, like I was going to the prom.

The director of admissions, a white-haired physician with a kind face, grilled me about why I wanted to be a doctor and why it took me so long to make up my mind to pursue medicine.

Toward the end of the long interrogation, the director leaned forward, looking straight into my eyes. Speaking slowly, enunciating each word, he asked, “How do we know you’re going to stick with medicine? How do we know you won’t move on to something else after you finish your medical training? You’ve already lived a lifetime with all your various pursuits. Is medical school just one more feather in your cap?”

“Sir, I’ve come to realize that being a doctor is my real calling. It’s my destiny; it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. I needed to have a full life before going into medicine. I know that medicine will require all my dedication and energy once I step onto that path. If I had gone straight into medical school right after college, I wouldn’t have known anything about life. And besides, I would have been too immature to be a doctor. I know I might seem like an unlikely candidate for medical school, but I promise you that someday you will be proud of me.”

The admissions director grinned and said that Colorado Medical School had already decided to accept me into the next year’s program, right after I finished up all my pre-med requirements. He assured me there would be no loss of time waiting. And I would not have to repeat the MCAT test.

Pushing my luck, I told him I had been in the Peace Corps recently and had no money to pay for tuition. He said he was aware of my finances and had already made arrangements for me to receive a full scholarship for the first two years of medical school. The second two years would be paid for by the National Health Service Corps. In exchange, I would serve two years in an underserved area, making a very modest salary after my medical training was completed.

The University of Colorado was offering me a good deal, I reckoned. No waiting while I got older and older. No repeat of the MCAT test with the risk of not doing well, in spite of having taken all the required courses. And all expenses paid. It was a bird in hand. I accepted.

Not long after my interviews with Stanford and CU Medical Schools, I went back to the guidance counselor, the one who urged me to forget about the idea of going to medical school. With a big smile on my face, I handed him two letters, one requesting an interview from Stanford and the other my letter of acceptance at CU medical school.

A look of surprise crossed his face. “Congratulations, Erica. I’m happy for you. I want you to know I thought that I had given you good advice. I’m very sorry. I’m glad you persevered. I think I might have learned something from you.” I shook his hand and walked away with a smile on my face.

And the promise I made to the dean of admissions at CU medical school, saying that he would be proud of me one day?

In the early 1990s, while practicing at Lovelace Medical Center in Santa Fe, one of the faculty at CU medical school asked me if I would consider teaching in their family practice residency program.

Although I declined, I knew the offer meant I had kept the promise I made in 1978 to the dean of admission at CU medical school.