Contributing Writer
University of Florida
Ansh Shah is an undergraduate student at the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida, Class of 2027. When he is not playing sports or engaging in his community, he likes to read and gather knowledge surrounding a variety of topics. Ansh aspires to some day attend medical school and become a diagnostic radiologist.
Ever since I could remember, I stood out in my class for all the wrong reasons. I was the kid who dangled his feet from chairs while others rested their feet flat, the kid forced to stand in the front during class photos and the kid who always had his height checked by the ride operator during field trips to the local amusement parks.
As the hands of the large clock on the wall turn to 8 a.m, a wandering medical student strolls through the intricate hallways of the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU) at Nicklaus Children’s Hospital. Her eyesight shifted to various places in the unit as she struggled to find the so-called “fishbowl,” an office space where residents station themselves to work.
A light knock at your hospital room door and my introduction: “I am a first year MD-PhD student. Thank you.”
I sit, staring at my color-coded diagram of the nephron, trying to ignore the texts lighting up my phone screen. “Okay, furosemide works on the Loop of Henle. Furosemide’s brand name is Lasix, so I’ll remember L for Loop,” I mutter to myself.
“How’d you land in medical school?” Whenever someone asks me this, a family of frogs almost always immediately hatches in my throat. My long-winded journey itself doesn’t jerk tears, but the question always reminds me of the day I applied. The same word, like clockwork upon the inquiry, flashes from my heart like it’s a bat signal. “Widowmaker.”
On the fifteenth day that Marietta had not eaten, the psychiatry team knew they could no longer take care of her. With each day, her body grew weaker, her blood pressure softened, and her heart beat faster to keep her alive. By the time the medicine team was consulted, her heart was laboring at 130 beats per minute.
We lug our oversized backpacks into the van and climb in, slamming the doors with such haste that the chaos mere feet away is smothered instantly. What had just been a moment of mayhem dissolves into one of pure silence. Ben doesn’t start the car. I don’t need to ask him why. This group has never been short on chatter, but for once the outreach team is resigned to stillness.
Given this prevalence of individuals with disabilities, dental schools nationwide have begun to educate their students on the care for individuals with different disabilities, hoping to make it easier for these patients to access care in the future.
Opening the heavy glass door, the immediate rush of cold air hit my face and cooled me off after walking in the hot beaming sun. I said hello to the office manager and made my way to the back office I’ve become all too familiar with these past two weeks.
Every day after clinic, I eagerly anticipate the serene stroll along Brickell Key, a therapeutic journey that has become a source of solace. I look forward to the sound of palm trees swaying and waves crashing. I am excited about being greeted by wagging tails of enthusiastic dogs, eagerly seeking attention with their beady eyes.
It was just like any other screening visit and I had already organized the clinical trial documents in preparation for the patient’s arrival. The moment that the electronic medical record refreshed to show that our 9 a.m. patient arrived, I knew it was my cue.
A spoken word piece dedicated to the generous donors and their families of the Donor Body Program at the UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine.
Contributing Writer
UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine
Harika Kottakota is a medical student at the UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine in Los Angeles, California, class of 2025. In 2020, she graduated from Stanford University with a Bachelors of Science in Biology with Interdisciplinary Honors in Science, Technology, and Society. She has published her poetry both online and in print, including Pager Publications (forthcoming 2024), Los Angeles Global Health Conference (April 2024), Pegasus Physician Writers Press (2022) and American Medical Women’s Association (2021). She enjoys hiking, watching movies, reading historical fiction, comedy shows and finding the best coffee spots in town. In the future, Harika plans to pursue a career in pediatric neurology.
