The new website / blog for IN STITCHES is up and running. This will be the last post on the blogger site, so please update your bookmarks to: www.institchesbook.com.
Thanks for visiting!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
Deleted Scene- Medical School Interview, Part Three
Readers: This is the third of many scenes which I wrote for IN STITCHES, but didn't make the final cut. Over the next several months I'll post many of these 'deleted scenes.'
The interviewer blinks. Well, one of his eyes blinks. I can’t see what the other eye is doing. He waits for my answer.
“I’ve thought a lot about how I want to serve humanity,” I say, leaning in, meeting his stare with a grave look of my own. The truth is I’ve been preparing a list of key touchy-feely responses to this question for weeks. I let them fly. My mouth starts moving and I hear myself blather “family practice,” “rural,” “Appalachia” “the less fortunate,” “the homeless,” “inner city,” “free clinic,” and, my favorite, “I have a need to give back.” I stifle the voice in my head, the one I use with friends when we satirize this very moment, the one that threatens to blurt, “prescribing privileges,” “six figures,” “nice car,” “hot chicks,” “won’t accept Medicaid,” and “breast augmentation.”
Dr. One Eye keeps his one eye trained on me.
“You have a need to give back. A need.”
“Well,” I say, “A desire. Maybe that’s more—”
“Allow me to peruse your personal statement.”
Great. This guy hasn’t even read my application. He rifles through my folder, nods at a page, finds my photograph affixed to the corner and compares that face to mine, confirms that the photograph is indeed me, lowers his eye and begins reading—for five full minutes. I squirm in my chair, my eyes tracing the veins on his bald spot as he labors over the most dreaded part of the application. Took me hours to write the personal statement. As cautioned by my friends who applied last year—you have to become noticed without going over the top. You want to appear memorable, in a good way. If you’re up for a Nobel Prize or climbed Mount Everest, be sure to squeeze that into your personal statement, but always connect it to medicine. As I reached the summit of Everest, I thought about this unfortunate handicapped child I met while volunteering at the clinic—
“I find the personal statement the most telling part of the application,” my inquisitor says without looking up. “Ah, yes. Hmm.”
Hmm? I crane my neck to see what’s caused him to hmm.
He raises his head and looks at me with the slightest hint of a smile.
“Fascinating,” he says. “So you were a Candy Striper.”
“Yes, ah ha, for two years, in high school.”
“Two years.” He slowly closes the manila folder of my application as if shutting a door.
_____________
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, please click below!
The interviewer blinks. Well, one of his eyes blinks. I can’t see what the other eye is doing. He waits for my answer.
“I’ve thought a lot about how I want to serve humanity,” I say, leaning in, meeting his stare with a grave look of my own. The truth is I’ve been preparing a list of key touchy-feely responses to this question for weeks. I let them fly. My mouth starts moving and I hear myself blather “family practice,” “rural,” “Appalachia” “the less fortunate,” “the homeless,” “inner city,” “free clinic,” and, my favorite, “I have a need to give back.” I stifle the voice in my head, the one I use with friends when we satirize this very moment, the one that threatens to blurt, “prescribing privileges,” “six figures,” “nice car,” “hot chicks,” “won’t accept Medicaid,” and “breast augmentation.”
Dr. One Eye keeps his one eye trained on me.
“You have a need to give back. A need.”
“Well,” I say, “A desire. Maybe that’s more—”
“Allow me to peruse your personal statement.”
Great. This guy hasn’t even read my application. He rifles through my folder, nods at a page, finds my photograph affixed to the corner and compares that face to mine, confirms that the photograph is indeed me, lowers his eye and begins reading—for five full minutes. I squirm in my chair, my eyes tracing the veins on his bald spot as he labors over the most dreaded part of the application. Took me hours to write the personal statement. As cautioned by my friends who applied last year—you have to become noticed without going over the top. You want to appear memorable, in a good way. If you’re up for a Nobel Prize or climbed Mount Everest, be sure to squeeze that into your personal statement, but always connect it to medicine. As I reached the summit of Everest, I thought about this unfortunate handicapped child I met while volunteering at the clinic—
“I find the personal statement the most telling part of the application,” my inquisitor says without looking up. “Ah, yes. Hmm.”
Hmm? I crane my neck to see what’s caused him to hmm.
He raises his head and looks at me with the slightest hint of a smile.
“Fascinating,” he says. “So you were a Candy Striper.”
“Yes, ah ha, for two years, in high school.”
“Two years.” He slowly closes the manila folder of my application as if shutting a door.
_____________
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, please click below!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Dr. Drew Ordon From The Doctors TV Show Reviews IN STITCHES!
Celebrity plastic surgeon and star of TV's The Doctors Dr. Drew Ordon has been kind enough to provide this review of IN STITCHES:"My fellow plastic surgeon Anthony Youn, M.D.'s book, In Stitches, is a brilliant and bouncy read. Humorous and energetic, the author takes us along with him in medical school on his way to becoming a surgeon. He makes you feel as if you are along for the ride. Rich with dialogue, I found myself rooting for him in all sorts of circumstances from his first surgery to hitting on co-eds."
Thanks Dr. Ordon!
To preorder IN STITCHES, click the link below!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Deleted Scene: Medical School Interview, Part Two
Readers: This is the second of many scenes which I wrote for IN STITCHES, but didn't make the final cut. Over the next several months I'll post many of these 'deleted scenes.'
The interviewer yanks off his glasses and drops his head an inch above my folder. He squints at my transcript.
“Hmpf,” he says. “Your GPA. 3.94. Impressive.”
I whistle out a breath. The interview is turning around.
My friends were right. You have to relax during your interview. The application process is a crapshoot and the interview is only a small part of that process. It’s unlikely that these fifteen minutes are going to make any difference, unless you’re a superstar or a freak. You are only guaranteed admission if you’ve discovered the cure for swine flu, escaped from a communist country in a small boat when you were four years old, won the Gold Medal in figure skating at the Olympics and you only have one leg, or your father paid for a couple of buildings at this particular med school. I’m sitting here 0 for 4, so I might as well relax.
“Unless you’re a star, don’t stand out too much,” my friends have said. “Fly under the radar. Appear hard-working, sincere, and personable. Interviewers are screeners. They’re looking for a red flag—applicants who shout obscenities, political slogans, or drool on their shoes. So be cool and try not to piss the guy off.”
“So, 3.94, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Top five percent of your class.”
I smile modestly. “Only two B’s in my entire four years of college.”
“What happened there?” he grunts. “Why not all A’s? Why not a 4.0?”
My smile sinks.
Dr. Evil slaps my folder. “And your MCAT scores. An 8, 9, and 10. Are these right?”
“Um, yes— ”
“Did you actually study for the MCAT?”
“I thought I did. I bought several review books.”
“Maybe you should’ve considered taking a review course.”
“Apparently,” I mutter.
“Well, a lot of people do poorly on standardized tests,” he says. “Few of them become doctors.”
He folds his hands and leans across the desk, one eye staring at me, the other looking off into space.
“So, tell me, Mr. Young, how do you plan on serving humankind?”
It is hot in here.
_____________
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, click the link below!
The interviewer yanks off his glasses and drops his head an inch above my folder. He squints at my transcript.
“Hmpf,” he says. “Your GPA. 3.94. Impressive.”
I whistle out a breath. The interview is turning around.
My friends were right. You have to relax during your interview. The application process is a crapshoot and the interview is only a small part of that process. It’s unlikely that these fifteen minutes are going to make any difference, unless you’re a superstar or a freak. You are only guaranteed admission if you’ve discovered the cure for swine flu, escaped from a communist country in a small boat when you were four years old, won the Gold Medal in figure skating at the Olympics and you only have one leg, or your father paid for a couple of buildings at this particular med school. I’m sitting here 0 for 4, so I might as well relax.
“Unless you’re a star, don’t stand out too much,” my friends have said. “Fly under the radar. Appear hard-working, sincere, and personable. Interviewers are screeners. They’re looking for a red flag—applicants who shout obscenities, political slogans, or drool on their shoes. So be cool and try not to piss the guy off.”
“So, 3.94, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Top five percent of your class.”
I smile modestly. “Only two B’s in my entire four years of college.”
“What happened there?” he grunts. “Why not all A’s? Why not a 4.0?”
My smile sinks.
Dr. Evil slaps my folder. “And your MCAT scores. An 8, 9, and 10. Are these right?”
“Um, yes— ”
“Did you actually study for the MCAT?”
“I thought I did. I bought several review books.”
“Maybe you should’ve considered taking a review course.”
“Apparently,” I mutter.
“Well, a lot of people do poorly on standardized tests,” he says. “Few of them become doctors.”
He folds his hands and leans across the desk, one eye staring at me, the other looking off into space.
“So, tell me, Mr. Young, how do you plan on serving humankind?”
It is hot in here.
_____________
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, click the link below!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Deleted Scene: Medical School Interview, Part One
Readers: This is the first of many scenes which I wrote for IN STITCHES, but didn't make the final cut. Over the next several months I'll post many of these 'deleted scenes.'
For those of you who may wonder, yes, I did go to medical school.
I attended Michigan State University College of Human Medicine, the setting of much of IN STITCHES. Why Michigan State? Well, for one reason, they let me in.
Actually, I applied to several medical schools and got accepted to most. There was one school, though, that I applied to and received neither an acceptance nor a rejection; I never heard from them at all. Just as well. I didn’t want to go there anyway. Too far from home, too rigid a program, and the medical school interviewer freaked me out. Here’s that interview.
Oh, the school? I can’t tell you. Let’s just call it Case Eastern Reserve.
______________
I can’t get over this guy’s cred—the wall of his office is plastered with diplomas, awards, certificates of excellence, framed yellowed scientific journals containing articles he wrote, and pictures of him shaking hands with four different Presidents. You’d think he’d rate a bigger office. This is the size of a closet, dingy, dominated by a cruddy old desk, one visitor’s chair with the stuffing spilling out, and a lone smudgy window overlooking a dumpster.
We’re four minutes into the interview and so far all he’s talked about is himself, his career, his accomplishments, spoken in a mumbled garbled voice as inviting as someone trying to clear a throat full of phlegm. I felt nervous for the first two minutes, now I’m bored and planning my escape.
Then I notice his eyes. They go off in opposite directions. His right one’s looking at me, his left one’s looking out the window. Where do I look? I alternate and feel like an idiot. I choose the wall behind him where I focus on a photograph of my interviewer, much younger, shaking hands with a confused, stone-faced President Ford.
Finally, he speaks.
“Hmpf,” he says, rustling through a folder that I assume contains my application. “So then, Mr. Young.”
“Youn,” I say. “It’s Youn.”
“Ah,” he says. “Hmpf.”
Is it hot in here?
______________
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, click below:
For those of you who may wonder, yes, I did go to medical school.
I attended Michigan State University College of Human Medicine, the setting of much of IN STITCHES. Why Michigan State? Well, for one reason, they let me in.
Actually, I applied to several medical schools and got accepted to most. There was one school, though, that I applied to and received neither an acceptance nor a rejection; I never heard from them at all. Just as well. I didn’t want to go there anyway. Too far from home, too rigid a program, and the medical school interviewer freaked me out. Here’s that interview.
Oh, the school? I can’t tell you. Let’s just call it Case Eastern Reserve.
______________
I can’t get over this guy’s cred—the wall of his office is plastered with diplomas, awards, certificates of excellence, framed yellowed scientific journals containing articles he wrote, and pictures of him shaking hands with four different Presidents. You’d think he’d rate a bigger office. This is the size of a closet, dingy, dominated by a cruddy old desk, one visitor’s chair with the stuffing spilling out, and a lone smudgy window overlooking a dumpster.
We’re four minutes into the interview and so far all he’s talked about is himself, his career, his accomplishments, spoken in a mumbled garbled voice as inviting as someone trying to clear a throat full of phlegm. I felt nervous for the first two minutes, now I’m bored and planning my escape.
Then I notice his eyes. They go off in opposite directions. His right one’s looking at me, his left one’s looking out the window. Where do I look? I alternate and feel like an idiot. I choose the wall behind him where I focus on a photograph of my interviewer, much younger, shaking hands with a confused, stone-faced President Ford.
Finally, he speaks.
“Hmpf,” he says, rustling through a folder that I assume contains my application. “So then, Mr. Young.”
“Youn,” I say. “It’s Youn.”
“Ah,” he says. “Hmpf.”
Is it hot in here?
______________
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, click below:
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Praise for IN STITCHES by NYT Bestselling Author Jen Lancaster!
We just received this really nice review of IN STITCHES by New York Times bestselling author Jen Lancaster:“Surprisingly warm and unquestionably witty, In Stitches is a riveting look at the sacrifice it takes to become a premiere plastic surgeon. In a world where physicians can be almost god-like, Dr. Tony’s not afraid to show us his heart, his humor, and his humanity. I adored In Stitches and even though I’m not ready to book Dr. Tony for a face-lift, I’d sure like to call him for lunch.”
Thank you Jen!
To preorder IN STITCHES, please click below!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Ten Fun Facts You'll Learn About Me When You Read IN STITCHES
1-In high school my jaw grew… and grew… and GREW… until it jutted out so much it made Jay Leno’s jaw look normal. I would bump into walls chin first.
2-I played varsity tennis in high school. Earned a letter and everything. Yep. I was a jock. Kind of. Sort of. Not really.
3-Early on, I quit karate class after one lesson and joined the school choir. Doesn’t make me less of a jock. It doesn’t.
4-I play the guitar. I’m awesome. Well, okay, I play well enough that I formed a “cover” band with some friends. We actually played several gigs, got paid, and some people with apparent hearing issues asked us back.
5-I spent a summer at Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. I hung out with a bunch of Asian kids. This is notable because I never hung out with Asian kids before. That might be because in my hometown, Greenville, Michigan, there were no Asian kids.
6-Well, there was one Asian kid. Kirby. Funny story about him. Sorry, you’ll have to read that in the book, but it involves bullies, a playground, and lots of martial arts. Think Rush Hour.
7-I did not have one girlfriend in college. Not one. Could not find anyone to go out with me. In four years. If I ever write a book about my college years, I will call it Ice Station Banana.
8-My favorite singer/songwriter is Jimmy Buffett. Yes, I'm a Parrothead. Don't hold it against me.
9-I also like Olivia Newton John and the Carpenters. And Poison. And Guns N Roses. And the Indigo Girls. But not as much as Jimmy Buffett.
10-My father’s name is Steve. He changed it when he moved here from Korea. His real first name is Suck. Now you know why he changed it to Steve.
More to come—
To pre-order IN STITCHES, click below:
2-I played varsity tennis in high school. Earned a letter and everything. Yep. I was a jock. Kind of. Sort of. Not really.
3-Early on, I quit karate class after one lesson and joined the school choir. Doesn’t make me less of a jock. It doesn’t.
4-I play the guitar. I’m awesome. Well, okay, I play well enough that I formed a “cover” band with some friends. We actually played several gigs, got paid, and some people with apparent hearing issues asked us back.
5-I spent a summer at Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. I hung out with a bunch of Asian kids. This is notable because I never hung out with Asian kids before. That might be because in my hometown, Greenville, Michigan, there were no Asian kids.
6-Well, there was one Asian kid. Kirby. Funny story about him. Sorry, you’ll have to read that in the book, but it involves bullies, a playground, and lots of martial arts. Think Rush Hour.
7-I did not have one girlfriend in college. Not one. Could not find anyone to go out with me. In four years. If I ever write a book about my college years, I will call it Ice Station Banana.
8-My favorite singer/songwriter is Jimmy Buffett. Yes, I'm a Parrothead. Don't hold it against me.
9-I also like Olivia Newton John and the Carpenters. And Poison. And Guns N Roses. And the Indigo Girls. But not as much as Jimmy Buffett.
10-My father’s name is Steve. He changed it when he moved here from Korea. His real first name is Suck. Now you know why he changed it to Steve.
More to come—
To pre-order IN STITCHES, click below:
Saturday, December 18, 2010
It's Coming!
It’s coming. Less than four months away.
April 26, 2011.
Our publication date.
The day you can officially grab a copy or a download of IN STITCHES and read the crazy, irreverent, hilarious (I hope), emotional (it really is), and inspirational (I’m told) story of my life from the time I was two days old until the moment I graduated medical school. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll wonder who’ll play me in the movie—Brad Pitt? Robert Downey, Jr? Zach Galifianakis?
Actually, IN STITCHES starts before I was born, on the farm where my father grew up in Korea. Not exactly the Beverly Hills section of Korea, either. We’re talking dirt poor, as in nine kids sharing one room, no running water, practically sleeping on top of one another. And the toilet… let’s just say they didn’t really have one.
Getting IN STITCHES published has been a wild ride. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s really happening. I mean, a book about me? I feel humbled, happy, and blessed all at the same time and I’ve loved every minute of the ride.
In this blog I’m going to share some of the amazing, fun, and funny details of how IN STITCHES came to be, as well as offering some “deleted scenes” that didn’t quite make the… cut.
There might even be raffles with some really cool prizes—books and other good stuff.
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, click the Amazon.com link below.
April 26, 2011.
Our publication date.
The day you can officially grab a copy or a download of IN STITCHES and read the crazy, irreverent, hilarious (I hope), emotional (it really is), and inspirational (I’m told) story of my life from the time I was two days old until the moment I graduated medical school. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll wonder who’ll play me in the movie—Brad Pitt? Robert Downey, Jr? Zach Galifianakis?
Actually, IN STITCHES starts before I was born, on the farm where my father grew up in Korea. Not exactly the Beverly Hills section of Korea, either. We’re talking dirt poor, as in nine kids sharing one room, no running water, practically sleeping on top of one another. And the toilet… let’s just say they didn’t really have one.
Getting IN STITCHES published has been a wild ride. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s really happening. I mean, a book about me? I feel humbled, happy, and blessed all at the same time and I’ve loved every minute of the ride.
In this blog I’m going to share some of the amazing, fun, and funny details of how IN STITCHES came to be, as well as offering some “deleted scenes” that didn’t quite make the… cut.
There might even be raffles with some really cool prizes—books and other good stuff.
More to come—
To preorder IN STITCHES, click the Amazon.com link below.
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