Contributing Writer
Eastern Virginia Medical School
Sai Kottapalli is a 4th year medical student at Eastern Virginia Medical School in Norfolk, VA class of 2025. In 2021, she graduated from Arizona State University with a BA in Spanish Literature and Culture. She enjoys pickleball, building furniture, and throwing around a football when she's stressed. After graduating medical school, Sai would like to pursue a career in urology.
“Could you water my plants?” I asked my roommate when I was out of town. They say it takes a village to raise a child, make it through medical school, to do anything worth knowing. When I started medical school, I had a village: parents, friends, family, a partner and my plants.
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.”
During my family medicine clerkship in medical school, I worked with a free mobile primary care clinic dedicated to serving uninsured patients. Parked outside a church in a large city, the clinic was a large blue bus standing in stark contrast to the gray asphalt parking lot around it.
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.
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.
The transition from the classroom to the hospital was an incredible experience. After spending endless days behind a bright screen, I felt an overwhelming sense of excitement to finally apply my medical knowledge and delve into the world of patient care.
No matter how much I learn, some things cannot be taught. There was no prepared script and no checklist to follow when my father tersely told me, “Your uncle in India passed.” Five solemn words and a pregnant silence. His eyes, rung with the blue of cataracts, did not shed a tear. Instead, they were fixed on an empty corner of our worn sectional couch.
Bright and early, I made my way into the hospital sipping on my coffee in hopes that it would make up for my lack of sleep. This was an ordinary start to a day in my OB/GYN rotation. After pre-rounding, I offered to help the residents with anything they had pending. One of them tasked me with seeing a new consultation in the emergency room (ER) for a pregnant woman who had presented intoxicated.
In elementary school, Indigenous land lived in my imagination as an expansive, beautiful and windy place. Images from storybooks painted pictures of golden plains speckled with horses, an oasis away from my suburban hometown. History is told in stories and these were the stories we were told.
Contributing Writer
Emory University School of Medicine
Eudora Olsen is an MD/MPH student at Emory University School of Medicine in Atlanta, GA class of 2024. In 2017, she graduated from Harvard University with a Bachelor of Arts in comparative religion and women and gender studies. She enjoys running to her favorite podcasts, trying new restaurants in Atlanta, and traveling. After graduating medical school, Eudora will be an Internal Medicine resident at the University of California San Francisco.
