Michael Ain – Height Doesn’t Matter

Aiming High, Soaring High – Michael Ain

If Michael Ain believed in playing the odds, he never would have become a doctor. Rejection letters from more than 20 medical schools–as Ain received–would have convinced most people to change career plans.

But more than anything else, Ain wanted to be a doctor. He was smart and knew he could do the job. Being only 4 feet 3 inches, he staunchly believed, should not affect how his dice were cast.

Fortunately, the odds do not always prevail. At last he is a renowned pediatric orthopedic surgeon.

From A Demographic Perspective

Ain, 38, is remarkable. A pediatric orthopedic surgeon at Johns Hopkins Hospital, he is one of only a handful of physicians in the country who are dwarfs. He may be the only dwarf in the world who is an orthopedic surgeon, a field that has the reputation of being the rough and rugged medical specialty.

But to Ain, the day-to-day adjustments that enable him to do his job and thus be remarkable are really quite simple. “To be very honest, the only special things I need are a stool in the O.R., and I have special gowns tailored that are shorter.”

Michael Ain Treats Patients who have a wide variety of orthopedic illnesses and injuries, from fractured tibia to club feet, but he specializes in the orthopedic problems of dwarfism and related disorders.

“When I was growing up, I didn’t have role models who were dwarfs,” he says. “My mother and father were good role models, great role models. They were very wonderful, always encouraging. Being short could never be used as an excuse–if I came home and didn’t make the basketball team or get an A. They always instilled in me I could do anything I wanted to.”

Early times of his life

In school, he experienced the teasing that most “little people” go through. But he has always been outgoing and made friends easily. He and eight childhood friends get together every year for a reunion.

After attending Andover Academy in Massachusetts, Ain went to Brown University, where he decided he wanted to become a doctor. “I thought medicine was a fascinating field, a chance to help people.” Having been a patient himself, he felt, would also be an advantage. He was determined to have a better bedside manner than many of the doctors who treated him when he was a child.

At Brown, Ain built the solid academic and extracurricular record that medical schools seek in their applicants. He majored in math, earning a better-than-B average, did research in a physiology lab, and earned good MCAT scores. He also played second base on the varsity baseball team, co-directed the university’s Big Brother program, and was an officer in his fraternity. Ain sent out 20 to 30 applications to medical schools all over the country including Hopkins. On the advice of a guidance counselor, he noted in the personal letter each school required that he was a dwarf. “Because I am,” Ain says simply. “It shaped me.”

Optimism Began to Fade

At first he thought he had a good chance of getting into medical school. But then his optimism began to fade. During several of his admissions interviews, officials told him he’d have great physical difficulty performing the duties of a physician. When Ain pressed them to explain, they told him he would not be able to reach his patients’ bedside. To Ain, the solution seemed obvious. He would use a footstool. Others worried that he wasn’t strong enough. Ain, who had been lifting weights and working out regularly, fired back, “I’m stronger than anybody you’re interviewing today.” He suggested he could match any of them in the weight room. What about gaining the respect of his patients? asked some interviewers. Ain thought that was a lame excuse. His classmates at Andover had chosen him to receive the coveted “End of the Year Award,” signifying their respect and admiration. He had proved his leadership skills time and again. “You don’t have to be intimidating to be respected,” Ain says.

But Ain’s fears were confirmed. One by one, the thin envelopes bearing rejection notices arrived, until eventually Ain had received one from every medical school to which he had applied.

Ain was devastated. Although none of the letters mentioned his height, he had no doubt that some or all of the admissions offices believed a dwarf could not or should not become a physician.

“I was scared. I was angry. I was hurt. It was the only time I hit the wall”…

“I was scared. I was angry. I was hurt. It was the only time I hit the wall,” he says. “It was the only time I felt trapped.”

Ain decided to try again. He returned to Brown the year after he had graduated to try to improve his chances of getting into medical school. He took two advanced science courses, earning two A’s with distinction. He continued his research and got his work published. He applied to about 20 medical schools, including some of the same ones he had applied to the first time, again frankly revealing that he was a dwarf.

Again the thin envelopes began arriving. But this time, one envelope was fatter than the others. It was an acceptance from Albany Medical College in upstate New York.

Ain did well at Albany and decided while he was there that he wanted to become a pediatric neurosurgeon. He was an avid woodworker and had always enjoyed working with his hands.

Ain spent the next years doing a pediatrics residency at the University of California at Irvine. Though he enjoyed working with children, he still yearned to be in the operating room. So Ain wrote to John Hall, a renowned pediatric orthopedic surgeon at Children’s Hospital in Boston, who had done surgery to straighten Ain’s bowed legs when Ain was 19. When Ain was in medical school, he had done a rotation at Children’s under Hall’s supervision. In his letter to Hall, Ain asked what his chances would be of getting into an orthopedic surgery residency. Hall was encouraging, and Ain applied to two residencies. He was considering a third, but the chairman at that program told him, “There’s no way you’re going to get in. You should be quite happy doing pediatrics,” Ain recalls

But the chairman at Albany Medical College did not see it that way. Richard Jacobs, who is now retired, told Ain, “If your record is as good as everybody else’s, you’ll get in. It doesn’t matter whether you’re 4 feet 3 inches or 6 feet 3 inches. We will take you.” After examining Ain’s record, Albany accepted him

During his five-year residency at Albany, Ain proved he could do the job, says Allen Carl, an associate professor of surgery at Albany who was one of Ain’s mentors. “He’s just a wonderful person who exudes the positive,” notes Carl.

Defied The Odds…

For a long time Ain saved all the rejection letters he had received from medical schools. Perhaps one day, he thought, he would write back to those schools to tell them that he had defied their odds. Over the years, however, his anger faded. He mellowed and lost track of the letters. It’s no longer important to tell people he can do the job. Now he just shows them.

“What’s Your Excuse?…”