Contributing Writer
University of Arizona-Tucson
Hannah is an MD/PhD student at the University of Arizona-Tucson who joined the program in 2020. In 2018, she graduated from the University of Florida with a Bachelor of Science in microbiology and cell science with a minor in bioinformatics. After graduation, Hannah dedicated 2 years at the National Institutes of Health (NIH)-NIDA branch to research novel therapeutic treatments for opioid addiction in a behavioral animal model. She completed her PhD in Medical Pharmacology in 2024. She enjoys hiking, trail running, and reading in her free time. Hannah is looking forward to experiencing the variety of opportunities the program has to offer her in helping her decide the right path and specialty best fit for her.
It, in fact, hit me like a wall. As I pushed past mile 20 in my first marathon, I felt the notorious ‘wall’. My glycogen stores were depleted, and my legs felt like they were no longer part of my body, but rather two 40 pound dumbbells I was lifting and dropping on the hard pavement with each step forward. Most distance runners would break down a marathon as a two-part race: cruising for the …
The clinic room was quiet, the air laced with the familiar scent of hand sanitizer. Cold air crept out from the overhead vent and slipped through my scrubs, sharpening my focus but numbing my hands at the same time. I was a third-year medical student on my family medicine rotation. Sitting across from me was my first patient of the day, a woman in her forties, here for her routine annual checkup. I settled onto …
“That doesn’t happen often,” I quietly but excitedly say to myself while discussing our consult from the PICU. My attending hesitates, pondering the precarious balance between encouraging my medical curiosity and protecting me from the horrors of child abuse and mistreatment that still haunt her to this day. That day, I was a first-hand witness to the necessary but horrible clinical task of a brain death exam. This task is a rite of passage for …
“Patient is a 34-year-old male with a nine-month history of rheumatoid arthritis-associated interstitial lung disease who is currently being treated with mycophenolate and rituximab. He remains on high-flow nasal cannula with oxygen saturations of 84-87% overnight. Transplant team signed off as the patient did not qualify for transplant. He reports feeling well this morning and that he learned a great new magic trick with a disappearing card.”
Oh God, what time is it? I stumbled over to my bedside table in pitch-black darkness, thanks to my new blackout curtains, which continue to be the best financial decision I have ever made, and checked my phone that was blasting my alarm.
At the start of clinical rotations, we are urged by preceptors to immerse ourselves in the experience, advocate for our patients and strive to understand them better than the rest of the team. I could not, however, shake an underlying thought: Why would any patient divulge their most intimate details to someone so inexperienced? After all, I was just a medical student.
I do not know what to say or feel when I first meet you. My first instinct is to introduce myself, but you can neither hear me nor reply.
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.
“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.”
I placed the first pill on my tongue, opened my mouth so the nurse could see, closed my mouth, swallowed the pill, and opened my mouth again so the nurse could confirm that I had swallowed it. I had to repeat this for nine more tablets and this drill continued for seven days a week and for seven more months of the treatment.
As we got closer to the ED, the excitement evolved into a feeling of discomfort. It was uncomfortable to feel even briefly excited by another person’s misfortune. I felt a sense of disequilibrium as I realized I had strayed from the delicate balance medical students and physicians continually try to find.
The once-sterile hospital room had become a sacred space, where the raw emotions of love and loss hung in the air. The young daughter, vibrant in her essence but tethered to life support, teetered on the precipice between existence and the inevitable.
Contributing Writer
Anne Marion Burnett School of Medicine at TCU
Chandana is a medical student at the Anne Marion Burnett School of Medicine at TCU in Fort Worth, Texas, Class of 2025. She graduated in 2019 from the University of Washington with a Bachelor of Science in Biochemistry and a minor in Medical Microbiology, and furthered her academic pursuits with a Master of Science in Physiology from the University of Cincinnati completed in 2021. In her free time, Chandana enjoys singing and was the founder of a band called UW Unplugged during her undergraduate years. She is also a trained classical dancer, and loves to read mystery novels. After graduating from medical school, Chandana aspires to pursue a career in promoting cardiovascular health in women through a blend of clinical practice and public health initiatives.
