eat ealth SeCiti • Jewish medical students of the '90s work toward their M.D.s in a field of change. in yes li - j 4 40 , • APOP i1P-- ^lb dik.11E.Ar `Ak Michael Lumbers, WSU first-year medical student, still makes time for ESPN. -. 40 r. Joseph Honet, a specialist at Sinai Hospital in Detroit, graduated from Albany Med- ical College in 1957, a time when academic quotas threat- ened his chances of becoming a physician. "Jews were discriminated against," he says. "I was lucky in terms of being accepted to medical school, but it was still difficult." Today, young M.D.s-to-be face other chal- lenges. Although Jews are well-represent- ed in medical schools across the country, competition for spots in colleges and resi- dency programs is stiffer than ever. Dr. Honet graduated with a class of about 7,000 nationwide. Today, medical colleges annually produce more than 15,000 physicians. The Association of American Medical Colleges reports an upsurge in medical school applications from nearly 27,000 in 1989 to more than 42,000 last year. Wayne State University's School Of Medicine parallels this national trend. In 1989, the school received 1,500 applications for 256 places in its first-year class. Last year, it received 4,763 applications for the same number of spots. Dr. Joseph Dogariu, director of WSU Medical School admissions, explains that "enrollment is likely tied to the economy." An economic downturn seems to increase the popularity of medical school and other graduate programs — despite the cost. Although 1992 medical school tuition ranged from about $8,000 (for in-state pub- lic school students) to an average of $20,600 (for private medical schools), loans and scholarships tend to mitigate short-term financial strain on students and their fam- ilies. While it is more difficult than ever to get into medical school, it's not harder to grad- uate. WSU Medical School's attrition rate is less than 2 percent, and once students RUTH LITTMAN STAFF WRITER graduate, they are generally assured of finding a job. "The job security in medicine is very good," says WSU second-year student Kevin Feber. "You're not like an assembly line worker where the plant is going to close. People are always going to get sick and they're going to need someone to take care of them." Impending health-care legislation is an- other issue on the minds of medical stu- dents these days. Though many students support some type of health-care reform, they worry about how it eventually will af- fect their autonomy and ability to care for patients. "We don't know exactly what we're go- ing to end up with," says Mr. Feber, who also serves as president of the Jewish Med- ical Students Association at WSU. "But I'm going to roll with the punches. I want to be a doctor and I'm going to be a doctor. I'm going to be helping people. To me, that's what's important." Despite all the uncertainties, medical students still say security, to a large de- gree, motivates their choice of career. But most students do not define security ex- clusively in terms of income. Like Mr. Feber, WSU fourth-year stu- dent Scott Segel says the medical profes- sion guarantees him the opportunity to help people in a context that promises challenge. "It's kind of like problem-solving," he says. "Someone comes in with symptoms and certain signs that you detect, and you try to make a diagnosis. You plug the in- formation into a puzzle." Mr. Segel, who worked in customer ser- vice jobs as a teen-ager, believes the chal- lenge of medicine arises not only from the vast amount of material students must di- gest and retain, but also from learning how to communicate with patients. "I think there are doctors who are ex- tremely brilliant as far as their book knowl- edge, but do not relate well enough or enjoy