Our alum, Rachel, is in her 5th year of medical school at the University of Edinburgh, with a degree in biomedical engineering from Imperial College London. In this guest blog, she candidly discusses the challenges she’s faced in her journey from a deprived area of Greater Manchester to medical school in Edinburgh as she edges closer towards qualifying as a doctor.

My mum is a first-generation immigrant. My parents are divorced, neither went to university and I largely grew up in a council estate in one of the roughest parts of Greater Manchester. Now, I’m less than two years away from becoming a resident doctor in the NHS. Why does this matter?

Because becoming a doctor is almost unheard of for people with backgrounds like mine. According to a recent report by the Sutton Trust, just 5% of entrants to medical school are from lower socio-economic backgrounds. A disproportionate number come from independent fee-paying schools, and I know from personal experience that many of them have parents who are already doctors. So, why is it that so few of us make it through?

Let me take you through my journey.

I was born in Northern Ireland and moved to England at the age of 7 after my parents separated. We had no home, no support network, and very little money – you grow up pretty quickly in those circumstances as a kid. By the age of 8 I was answering the landline, filling in paperwork, and making phone calls to the GP on behalf of my mum. These are responsibilities no child should carry, but for many immigrant families, they’re not that abnormal.

At one point, we lived in a small house shared with another family. Privacy became a luxury, as did many other things: food, public transport, school uniform. But when you have no choice, you make do. I once walked an hour into town to avoid even paying the bus fare.

I remember joining a new primary school up north. I had always been shy and reserved, so you can imagine the moment when I started speaking with a strong Northern Irish accent, I stuck out like a sore thumb. So, what did I do? I changed my accent to fit in. It was only later that I discovered that a hierarchy of accent prestige exists in our country, with the Sutton Trust showing that accents associated with industrial cities like Manchester and Liverpool are considered the least prestigious.

These unfair stereotypes and biases mean we get taken less seriously. So again, I consciously shifted my accent and dialect to sound more southern when I went to university. Now, I’m left with a relatively neutral English accent with Irish, Scottish and Northern twangs I can’t get rid of. It’s a shame I felt the need to change. It shouldn’t need to be said, but your accent obviously does not determine your ability.

I wanted to fit in, but I couldn’t even join the same extra-curricular activities as everyone else. I was once asked to join the local hockey team, but I couldn’t afford it. Potential didn’t matter anymore – opportunity had a price tag I couldn’t pay.

Unsurprisingly, when these financial barriers were removed, everything changed for me.

I used to teach myself piano on a cheap keyboard my mum bought. When I reached high school, because I was a child on free school meals, I was allowed one free music lesson a week. It went on to define most of my high school experience: I joined the orchestra, most of my friends were musicians, and I was accepted onto a young musicians’ programme at the Royal Northern College of Music – one of the most reputable music conservatoires in the country.

It goes to show background doesn’t define capability. We have potential, ambition, and drive to succeed beyond the barriers instilled by society. There are many people like me who could reach their full potential if they had access to the same opportunities others enjoy. The support I received from charities like In2MedSchool, bursaries for my medical school entrance exam, and free volunteering opportunities led me to medical school. The Sutton Trust were an important part of my journey too, as I attended their summer school at the University of Cambridge in 2020 and later received their Opportunity Bursary (supported by JPMorganChase), which helped me to attend and submit research to national and international conferences. But sadly, the problems didn’t end there.

I’ll graduate with over £100,000 worth of student debt. There’s almost no one from the same background as me, and it feels as though all my peers have parents who are doctors. I had no one to ask for help when I started, almost failed my first-year exams, spent every summer working a job, and have had to miss out on attending conferences (huge components of our portfolios) because of financial reasons. When you don’t see anyone around you who shares your background, it’s easy to feel like an outsider – even if you’re just as capable.

And how can medical professionals truly understand the struggles of the wider population when we are not representative of them? This is especially important when health itself is shaped by socioeconomic inequality. Disparities in healthcare access and outcomes are shown to be deeply influenced by class, ethnicity and geography. If the workforce doesn’t reflect the people it serves, how can we hope to deliver fair and inclusive care?

Now, I’m grateful to be entering my 5th year of medical school, with a degree in biomedical engineering from Imperial College London, and building my own non-profit to make medical research accessible. I wouldn’t change any of the hardships I faced as it taught me plenty of perseverance, but I hope this post makes people aware of the experiences many of the working-class face, and the many hurdles that we face to achieving our dreams.

Talent is everywhere. Opportunity isn’t.

The opinions of guest authors do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Sutton Trust.