Author: Prashasti Sharma

– Author – Anjana namboodiri

The day the NEET PG results came should have been the happiest day of my life till now; it was for a while but I could never really feel proud of myself. I got a 424 AIQ rank in NEET PG 2025. I should be on a high right? But when the excitement died down, in the middle of the night, I had a breakdown. Maybe it was a cry of relief or maybe a cry of anxiety about what lies ahead, I’m not exactly sure. I recently even saw a reel on Instagram about this, how someone said they can’t celebrate their achievements, because in their minds, it feels like it was an obligation to achieve it. And that really hit home.

And the feeling is universal, not just limited to healthcare workers either. The haunting question of what’s next. It originates from childhood with the question of “What do you want to become when you grow up?” I can’t even count the number of times I remember being asked this very question when I was small and I’m sure neither can you.

As a student who wants to pursue medicine in India, the answer to the “What Next” question is entrance exams- the dreaded NEET! Literal chills man. Also, if you are on a different path, like I’ve friends pursuing USMLE and PLAB, and wherever you are, it’s a struggle. What you need to know really is that you have to choose your struggle. The grass on the other side will always appear greener but do not loose yourself in this rat race. Take care of your physical and mental health.

MENTAL HEALTH– We ignore this so much and there is so much stigma associated with getting help for it. it is not easy getting counselling and therapy, because therapy takes time and constant effort. You have to unlearn and relearn the way you think and react. Reach out if you need help. It is the bravest thing to do.

So, to my fellow buddies wrestling with choosing a branch and a college, choose a place where you have support and talk to the people already in that particular branch and college. Make a thorough and informed decision. And to my friends who feel like they are stuck, just remember this quote, “Little by little, day by day, what is meant for you will find it’s way.”

And have hobbies. It could be as small as journaling or even doodling and colouring. Something to get a little bit of peace and quiet outside medicine.

Do not get sucked into the loop of this what next era. Remember to breathe and take care of yourself. You cannot save people if you are dead.

– Bhavna Pandey

The internship had just begun, and I was excited to start with medicine. Fortunate to be posted with a supportive team and mentors to guide me, I was placed in charge of the medicine ICU—unaware that I would soon be managing it all alone at night while on duty. It was only my first weekend, and already I was scheduled for a double night duty.

A typical day in the medicine ICU begins at 7:30 a.m., reporting for work with the postgraduate resident (PG) already waiting at the bedside. I rushed in with a blank sheet to record vitals, collected reports of investigations sent the previous night, and checked drug charts—assisting the PG with documentation before the senior consultant arrived. Just when there seemed a moment to pause, rounds began, and I found myself constantly on the move, sometimes clueless but busy finishing assigned tasks.

The hours blurred into raising investigations, sending samples, completing discharges, and counselling attenders. Yet all this effort carried meaning when I saw a patient improve. Witnessing the journey of a patient—shifted from the emergency in critical condition, stabilised in the ICU, and eventually recovering enough to move to the ward—was profoundly satisfying. That experience gave me the willpower to endure the night duties ahead.

My duty began on Saturday morning. After a quick breakfast—I knew breaks would be unpredictable—I reported to the ICU. On duty days, we were also required to attend outpatient clinics (OPDs), which I usually enjoyed. But this was my first medicine OPD as a non-local, with little command over the regional language, and I was expected to manage patient complaints independently.

I started slowly, taking a detailed history from my first patient. I was hesitant to gather the courage to present it to my PG or consultant sitting beside me, though they were encouraging. I was scolded for being slow, but I still felt proud: that day, for the first time, I had independently addressed patient concerns. I saw six cases, contributing my small share in wrapping up the OPD.

After a quick lunch, I relieved my co-intern in the ICU, only to face a mountain of pending tasks. Once immersed in work, fatigue seemed to recede, and I attended to each patient with attention. Amidst the workload, I also had the chance to assist in a central venous line insertion—an exhilarating experience indeed.

Just twelve hours in, I already longed to crawl into bed, but the night duty left no room for rest.

As the day ended, fellow interns from other units handed over their patients, leaving my co-intern and me with 12–15 patients to monitor overnight. When unfamiliar with a patient’s details, we relied on the instructions in the handover book. We began with routine tasks—sending blood samples, ensuring nursing staff administered treatments, and recording hourly vitals for the most critical cases. Suddenly, my senior asked me to fetch a narcotic agent for a restless patient. That night I learned the entire protocol: the paperwork, signatures, and consent required. After four trips across the corridors, I finally returned with the drug, and we were able to ventilate the patient effectively. From that day, I became adept at procuring medications through the proper channels—earning the nickname “smuggler” from colleagues, in jest.

I volunteered to rest during the first half of the night, though much of that time was wasted adjusting the fan speed. At 3 a.m., my phone rang—I was up to relieve my co-intern. I sat by a patient undergoing a blood transfusion, monitoring vitals, before joining my senior. She taught me topics in cardiology, and we shared a lively discussion on murmurs. That unexpected tutorial at such an early hour left me oddly delighted.

At 6 a.m. sharp, it was time to begin arterial blood gases (ABGs)collection for all patients. Despite multiple attempts, I managed only a few drops—insufficient for analysis—but at least I learned the procedure. Before my PG arrived, I rechecked vitals and asked patients if they had new complaints. Many ICU patients, bound by tubes, could not speak, yet their eyes spoke volumes. Even without sharing a language, I felt connected while holding their pulse. Communication came more easily in the wards, once I had gained fluency in the local language—a skill that pushed me daily to go to the wards early.

If all tasks were completed and ABG reports were ready, interns were usually permitted a short break. That morning, I was allowed to freshen up and eat, though there was no time for sleep before rounds. Rounds brought fresh tasks and new lessons. That day, I learned how to adjust ventilator settings in preparation for extubation—a critical skill.

It was Sunday, and as often happens, every other unit was eager to leave early, leaving much of the workload to interns on duty—unfortunately or not, but once again, me. Despite an early handover, the volume of work did not lessen. I felt dizzy, craving sleep, yet the patients still required constant attention.

We followed the routine drill—completing tasks, grabbing a short break, and preparing for another night. Even a ten-minute nap worked wonders, and after dinner, I managed a brief rest before resuming. All samples were sent, and a blood transfusion was planned for that night.

By 11 p.m., most tasks were finished. As I was assigned the second half for rest, I found myself monitoring patients between ventilators and chatting with a friend on call to stay awake. To survive the night, my PG and I exchanged lighthearted banter until around 2 a.m., when a nurse requested blood for a patient. I boarded the patient transport van, enjoying the cool breeze during the short ride to the blood bank in the adjacent building. There was no fear—only a sense of responsibility keeping me alert.

The transfusion began upon my return, and I asked my co-intern to follow up while I rested. The morning routine remained unchanged, though this time I felt refreshed from an hour of uninterrupted sleep. ABGs were done. Exhausted by two continuous night duties, I longed for a break. My mind felt numb, and I asked my PG to give written instructions, since verbal ones did not quite register in my fatigued brain.

I felt relieved to have survived two consecutive night duties, though the final 10–12 hours before I could finally change into my nightclothes stretched endlessly. My mind was clouded with fatigue, but eventually I witnessed, learned, and grew.

These 60 hours taught me a lesson that medicine is not about surviving shifts but standing witness to the resilience of both ours and the patients.

– Anjole Donapaty

Preparing for the USMLE has been the most demanding journey of my life. As an international medical graduate, it often feels like walking uphill with no clear view of the finish line. The long nights of studying, the constant financial strain of exam after exam, and the never-ending stream of information can be overwhelming. And even when you think you’re doing everything right, uncertainties completely outside your control—the Match process, visa hurdles, shifting policies—can weigh you down. Some days, it feels heavy enough to stop you in your tracks.

There have been times when I’ve asked myself if it’s really worth it. I’ve missed social events, sleep, and countless experiences that many others my age take for granted. There have been moments when I felt like Sisyphus, endlessly rolling the boulder uphill only for it to tumble back down.

But through all the struggle and doubt, one truth has carried me forward: resilience is built in the climb. Each obstacle, each setback, and each long night of studying has taught me something I never would have learned otherwise. I’ve learned perseverance—the ability to keep going even when the outcome isn’t guaranteed. I’ve learned adaptability, because so much of this journey requires adjusting to circumstances beyond my control. And I’ve gained patience, recognizing that meaningful growth often comes through slow but steady progress.

What I once saw as sacrifice, I now see as preparation. This process is shaping me into more than a strong test-taker—it’s shaping me into the kind of doctor I aspire to be. It has reminded me that medicine is not just about knowledge, but also about persistence, compassion, and the ability to stay grounded when things get tough. These are the same qualities I’ll need during residency, when the hours will be long, the work demanding, and the stakes higher than ever.

This dream has never been just about me or about a title. It has always been about building a future where I can serve patients who need it most. Nearly one in four physicians in the United States is an IMG, and many of us care for patients in rural or underserved areas where the presence of a dedicated doctor can make all the difference. Knowing that my efforts today may one day translate into serving people who otherwise might not have access to medical care gives meaning to the hardest days.

When I look back at how far I’ve come, I see more than exams and struggles. I see growth. I see resilience where there once was doubt. I see determination where hesitation used to live. And I see a sense of purpose that has only grown stronger as the journey has unfolded.

The road to residency is not easy—far from it. But it is meaningful. With each step, I am reminded that this path is shaping me into a physician who is not only prepared to apply knowledge, but also to connect with patients through empathy and understanding.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but its legacy remains.

– Adetayo Ajiboye

Sleep is essential for our health and well-being. When people think about improving their health or losing weight, they often focus on diet and exercise. But sleep plays a crucial and often overlooked role in weight management and endocrine health.

We tend to think of sleep as the body shutting down, like hitting the pause button at the end of a long day. But in reality, sleep is one of the most hormonally active times for the body. While you’re resting, a complex hormonal symphony is underway affecting everything from your mood to your metabolism.

The Circadian Rhythm and Hormonal Timing
At the core of this process is your circadian rhythm your internal 24-hour clock that regulates the sleep-wake cycle. This rhythm governs the secretion of several key hormones, including cortisol, which peaks in the early morning to help you wake up and gradually declines throughout the day. Disruption in this rhythm whether from shift work, jet lag, or chronic stress can lead to hormonal imbalances and poor-quality sleep.

In fact, the 2017 Nobel Prize in Physiology was awarded to American scientists for their work on the molecular mechanisms of the circadian clock, underscoring its importance to human health.

Melatonin: The Sleep Hormone
When darkness falls, your brain releases melatonin, a hormone that signals it’s time to wind down. Melatonin helps initiate sleep, but irregular schedules such as late-night work, exposure to screens, or travel can confuse this system. The result? Insomnia, anxiety, and even long-term metabolic disturbances.

Cortisol: The Internal Alarm Clock
Cortisol, often known as the “stress hormone,” dips to its lowest levels during deep sleep and begins to rise just before you wake. This natural pattern helps you feel alert in the morning. However, chronic stress or poor sleep can elevate nighttime cortisol, making it harder to fall asleep and leaving you exhausted during the day. Over time, this misalignment can impair metabolism and immune function.

Leptin and Ghrelin: Hunger and Satiety
Two other key players during sleep are leptin and ghrelin,hormones that regulate appetite. Leptin tells your brain that you’re full, while ghrelin signals hunger. Deep, restorative sleep boosts leptin and suppresses ghrelin. But sleep deprivation flips this balance, leading to increased cravings especially for high-calorie, sugary foods. It’s not just willpower,it’s biology.

Orexin: Staying Awake and Alert
Orexin is a hormone that helps maintain wakefulness and alertness during the day. Disruptions in orexin signaling are linked to disorders like narcolepsy, where the brain struggles to regulate the sleep-wake cycle.

The Cultural Misunderstanding of Sleep
In many cultures, sleeping less is equated with being more productive, while those who need more rest are sometimes unfairly labeled as lazy. But barring any underlying sleep disorders, adequate rest is vital and your hormones are better off for it.

In Conclusion
Sleep is not just a break for your brain,it’s a full-body hormonal reset. Every night, your endocrine system depends on quality sleep to function properly. When sleep suffers, your hormones do too—and the consequences can show up as weight gain, insulin resistance, and other metabolic complications.

Getting good sleep isn’t a luxury
it’s essential.

             -Shankar Reddy Challa

When a new medicine is approved, it may feel like the finish line after years of research and clinical testing. But in reality, that approval is just the starting line of its real-world journey. Clinical trials, no matter how thorough, can’t capture every possible side effect. Patients in daily life are more diverse; they’re younger, older, on multiple drugs at once, and living with conditions that trials can’t fully mirror.

This is where pharmacovigilance comes in: the science of monitoring, detecting, and preventing harmful effects of medicines once they’re on the market. The aim is simple but critical: to ensure every pill, injection, or treatment remains as safe as possible.

Why the Old Way Falls Short

Traditionally, drug safety relies on reports filed by doctors, pharmacists, and patients. These reports then flow into massive databases like the FDA’s FAERS or Europe’s EudraVigilance. Regulators scrutinise them for patterns that may point to hidden risks.

But the problem is scale. Imagine millions of case reports piling up every year, ranging from detailed medical histories to one-line notes about headaches or nausea. A physician may carefully review a few cases. Even expert teams working around the clock cannot sift through hundreds of thousands quickly enough.

Compounding this is the nature of adverse reactions. Some are rare, others subtle, emerging only after years of use or in vulnerable groups such as pregnant women or the elderly. Controlled clinical studies, with their limited size and narrow scope, often never catch these. That’s why harmful effects sometimes come to light only after a drug has already been widely prescribed,a dangerous delay for the patients affected.

Where AI Changes the Game

So how do we find those faint signals buried in mountains of data? This is where Artificial Intelligence becomes indispensable. Unlike human reviewers, AI doesn’t tire. It can process vast amounts of information in the time it takes a clinician to review a single file, while also recognising patterns spread across thousands of reports.

AI’s impact is not only about speed, it’s about insight. Think of it as an untiring colleague who reads everything, remembers every detail, and can highlight connections that would otherwise be invisible.

Here’s how it makes a difference:

Spotting the urgent first: AI can flag reports hinting at life-threatening reactions, bringing those directly to regulators’ and doctors’ attention.

Finding hidden links: Beyond checkboxes and codes, AI can read the free-text narratives patients write, surfacing unusual patterns, like a drug repeatedly linked to one rare symptom in a specific group.

Accelerating detection: Signals that once took months to piece together may now be identified in weeks.

Learning from many sources: Safety doesn’t live only in official reports. AI can pull from electronic health records, published research, and even patient forums, building a more complete picture of a drug’s impact on everyday lives.

The important point here is that AI doesn’t replace medical judgment; it adds another set of eyes. Eyes that never blink, never miss a line, and never forget.

Why It Matters for Patients and Professionals

For patients, this is about trust and safety. Many well-known drugs were only linked to serious side effects years after approval. An earlier warning could have prevented hospitalisations, complications, and even deaths.

For doctors, AI functions as a partner, lightening the cognitive load. Instead of wading through endless safety data, clinicians can focus on what matters most: treating patients and making informed choices.

For regulators, it’s about keeping pace. The flood of new drugs, biologics, and vaccines demands tools that can handle both scale and complexity. AI gives them that ability.

The Road Forward

Will AI fix pharmacovigilance overnight? No. The technology still depends on the quality of the data it receives, and algorithms must be transparent in how they reach conclusions. Human oversight remains central. Patients and physicians must trust not only the results but also the process.

Yet the trajectory is clear. We are moving from reactive safety monitoring, spotting harm after it happens, towards predictive, proactive approaches that catch risks earlier. That shift could transform how we safeguard public health.

Conclusion

As a physician, I don’t view AI in pharmacovigilance as a replacement for clinical experience but as an ally. The sheer volume of safety data today makes traditional methods alone insufficient. With AI, we have the chance to detect risks earlier, protect patients more effectively, and maintain the trust that every prescription must carry.

In the end, drug safety is not just about databases or algorithms; it is about people. Patients deserve the reassurance that medicines are as safe as possible. And AI, used wisely, may be one of our best tools to keep that promise.

    -Shankar Reddy Challa

Embarking on an MBBS course in India is a rollercoaster you never quite forget, equal parts sweat, tears, laughter, and occasional existential questioning (“Will I survive dissection practicals?”). Reflecting on my five years at Gayatri Vidya Parishad (GVP) Medical College, Vizag, I realised MBBS is not just about books and exams, it’s a journey of transformation with some truly unforgettable moments (and smells).

First Year: Anatomy and the Great Dissection Hall Adventure

First year hit me like a tidal wave of information. Anatomy, Physiology, Biochemistry, subjects as thick as a monsoon downpour. But nothing prepared me for my first entry into the dissection hall. Walking in, all eyes on the cadaver, an eerie silence hung in the air, broken only by whispered “Do you think this is Mr. Sharma or Mrs. Rao?”

The smell was unforgettable. Let’s just say it’s the kind of “aroma” that haunts you long after you leave. During my first few sessions, I found myself tiptoeing around, trying not to faint while attempting to remember that the “right lung has three lobes” was apparently more critical than my rising panic. At times, it felt like a weird mix of biology class and a ghost story.

Second and Third Year: When Theory Meets Real Life (and Health Camps)

As I moved into my second and third years, we dove into subjects like Pathology and Pharmacology, and things got a bit more exciting, with maybe a little less fainting. Around this time, I also got to experience the agency atmosphere in Paderu. Participating in health camps in the nearby tribal villages was eye-opening.

There’s something about trekking through rough terrains, carrying medical kits, and trying to convince curious locals that “no, this injection won’t turn you green” that textbooks just can’t teach. These camps showed me the real-world face of medicine, sometimes messy, always challenging, and full of humanity.

Fourth and Fifth Year: Clinical Rotations and the Road to Doctorhood

The final years shifted gears completely. Clinical rotations meant less classroom and more hospital hustle, where the stakes felt higher and the hours longer. Walking into the wards, I remembered my nervous steps in the dissection hall, except now, the patients were alive and definitely had opinions about my questions.

One memorable moment was trying to take a patient’s history while dodging the ever-looming threat of “Sir, please hurry up, the senior doctor is coming!” The transformation was clear; I was becoming less of a scared student and more of a doctor in training, learning to balance empathy, knowledge, and speed (sometimes with a little help from caffeine).

Final Thoughts: The MBBS Mix of Learning, Laughter, and Lung Lobes

Looking back, MBBS feels like a blend of science, life lessons, and a bit of dark humour. From the first time I stepped cautiously into the dissection hall, eyes watering, to confidently participating in tribal health camps and ward rounds, it’s been a wild ride.

This journey taught me resilience, compassion, and most importantly, how to laugh at myself when things get tough (like accidentally calling the “left lung” right three times in a row).

For anyone starting MBBS, here’s a tip: embrace the chaos, cherish the strange smells, and remember that every step takes you closer to making a real difference in people’s lives.

–Prashasti Sharma

One of the biggest challenges in medicine isn’t necessarily the complexity of the science—it’s keeping your life organised in the middle of the chaos. Between patients, lectures, studying, exams, and the unpredictability of clinical duties, it’s easy to feel like you’re just trying to stay afloat. For me, getting organised hasn’t meant colou  r-coded planners and on-schedule perfection—it’s found systems that allow me to keep focused on what matters most without losing my mind.

Why Organisation is Critical in Medicine

Unlike some careers where work is done behind the office door, medicine is an all-encompassing odyssey. There are perpetually unread articles, never-completed notes, never-returned messages, and exams looming overhead. If you do not have a plan, things pile up quickly, and the burden of it all can be overwhelming. I was taught this the hard way during my first set of clinical rotations, where I spent more time trying to mentally take care of business than doing it.

1. Make a Master List

The simplest tool I’ve ever had is a running list. Mine resides either in a notebook or in a plain ol’ notes app on my phone—nothing fancy. I divide it up into three categories:

Patients: labs to follow up on, consults to call, things to document.

Academic: lectures to study, questions to drill, things to read.

Personal: errands, appointments, calls, and the things that carry over outside of medicine.

Having everything in one place means that I do not need to juggle mental lists. If something happens to me, I jot it down immediately. My mind is not trying to hold loose ends in my brain all day.

2. Block Your Time Instead of Multitasking

I used to think that multitasking was the only means of survival. I’d be learning and looking at messages, and trying to take notes. Really, I was doing nothing particularly well. Now I block out time in small amounts of focus. Twenty minutes of going over patients. Thirty minutes of practice questions. Fifteen minutes of life admin. It’s not about rigid scheduling—it’s about giving yourself permission to focus on something at a time.

3. Pack a “Brain Book

In medicine, you will forget. That’s why almost every resident or student carries a pocket notebook (or electronic equivalent). Mine is filled with snap notes from rounds, patient care reminders, tiny mnemonics, and even random pearls I overheard from attendings. It’s a mess, but it’s gold. Writing it down frees up mental space and makes me less anxious about forgetting something important.

4. Prioritise Three Tasks a Day

On extremely busy days, it is impossible to accomplish all you want to. That is why I strive to identify three flat-out necessary tasks. If I accomplish them, I consider the day a success. The others can be carried over. It is a slight mindset shift that prevents you from burnout, because you stop expecting yourself to do the impossible daily.

5. Use Dead Time Wisely

Medicine is strange rhythms—wait hours and hours, then mad rushes.

I pack those “dead time” spaces with completing small but significant tasks. Five minutes to send a text to someone. Ten minutes to read a drug mechanism. Fifteen minutes to plan meals for the week. Those small boosts collect and they keep me from feeling like my list of tasks goes on forever.

The Bigger Picture

Organisation in medicine is not perfect. No notebook, app, or planner can get rid of the work. What they do is reduce the mental disorganisation so that you can focus on patients, learning, and self-care. There are always going to be long days and late nights, but with little habits, the disorganisation is less overwhelming. And in medicine, sometimes that is the best victory you can achieve.

-Prashasti Sharma

If there is one thing that every medical trainee dreads but cannot escape, it is the overnight shift. Hospital nights are a different world—quieter in a sense, yet much more tiring. The corridors feel alien, your body clock grumbles, and even small problems feel magnified at 3 a.m. Surviving night shifts is more than just staying awake; it’s about protecting your energy, your focus, and your well-being while still providing safe, compassionate care.

Over time, I’ve developed a handful of habits that make nights less brutal. They don’t make night shifts easy—nothing really does—but they do make them survivable.

1. Be Smart About Caffeine

Caffeine is the lifeline most of us reach for, but timing is everything. Early in my training, I made the mistake of drinking coffee whenever I was tired, only to wake up and see the ceiling hours after my shift had ended. Now I have a routine: a small amount of caffeine at the start of my shift to get me going, maybe a small top-up around midnight, and then I stop. Stopping caffeine about 4–5 hours before the end of your shift makes it easier to fall asleep once you’re finally home.

2. Pack Real Food (Not Just Snacks)

The hospital vending machine is seductive at 2 a.m., but sugar highs always lead to sugar crashes. I’ve learned to pack small but filling meals—yoghurt with fruit, a sandwich, trail mix, or even leftovers in a container. Eating something nourishing steadies your energy far better than chips or soda ever will. Plus, having food ready means you’re not relying on whatever happens to be open at odd hours.

3. Take Micro-Breaks

Nights can feel endless, especially when your body is screaming for sleep. The best way I’ve found to stay alert is to take short “micro-breaks.” Even five minutes to stretch, refill your water, or step outside for fresh air can reset your brain. I’ve had moments where a quick lap around the ward left me feeling more refreshed than a second cup of coffee would have. Breaks may not come automatically, but using them when they are offered makes an enormous difference.

4. Protect Your Post-Shift Sleep

Finishing the shift is half the work—the other half is getting over it. As you eventually get into bed after an evening shift, your body is still wound up. I’ve found that having a consistent wind-down routine lets my brain know that it’s bedtime. For me, this means a shower, a snack so I won’t wake hungry, blackout drapes (or an eye mask), and either white noise or earplugs to block out daytime sounds.

I also remind myself not to get an inferiority complex about napping during the day. Rest isn’t a luxury after working an evening shift—it’s a requirement. Not getting proper recovery just makes the next shift even tougher.

5. Rely on Your Team

One of the most comforting things about night shifts is realising you’re not alone. Everyone on your team is tired, but there’s a camaraderie that comes with it. I’ve had some of my most memorable conversations at 3 a.m., whether it was trading stories with colleagues, troubleshooting a tricky case, or simply sharing a laugh over how surreal the night felt. Medicine is never a solo act, and that becomes especially true on nights.

6. Watch Your Attitude

It’s easy to look at night shifts as a form of punishment, but I try to approach them in a different manner. Nights can be tough, but they’re also a chance to look at medicine differently. You have fewer patients, interactions are more intimate, and you get to control things with a little independence. Several of my favourite learning moments came when I least expected them—at 4 a.m., between a dimmed ward and a reassuring senior by my side.

The Bigger Picture

Surviving overnight shifts isn’t about pushing yourself to the limit. It’s about creating small rituals that help your body and mind adapt to unnatural hours. Plan your caffeine, pack food that sustains you, take short breaks, and fiercely protect your post-shift sleep. Most importantly, remember that you’re part of a team, and leaning on each other makes the night bearable.

Experience cannot make nights easy. But with preparation and attitude, they can also be nights for growth, toughness, and even bonding. And when the sun rises after a long shift, the feeling of relief you get leaving the hospital is indescribable—it’s proof that you survived, and that you are the better for it.

–Prashasti Sharma

At the SVIMS medical school, I was introduced to one of the most eye-opening experiences in my life—the Pink Bus program, a women’s health and cancer screening mobile outreach program. It was the first time for most of the women we met to be able to access care for their breast and cervical health, including manual breast examination, Pap smears, ultrasounds, and mammograms as needed.

I remember the first day vividly. The bus rolled into a country village, its bright pink hue nearly radiant amidst the dry road, but inside it was filled with hope, knowledge, and life-saving screenings. During the program, I screened more than 500 women—each with a story, a fear, a question, or a hope.

One woman, in her mid-40s, came begrudgingly, barely able to make eye contact with me. She’d never had a breast exam and was nervous, worried about what we’d find. I walked her through it step by step, explaining everything along the way. When I found a small lump, my heart sank—but I also felt determination. We set up an ultrasound and mammogram immediately. It was early, so she was able to get treatment in time. Seeing her get off the bus with tears of relief and gratitude in her eyes is a reminder why programs like this exist.

Another encounter that stands out was a young woman in her late 20s. She came in for a Pap smear, unsure and shy. She had never been educated about cervical cancer screening, and her anxiety was palpable. I explained the importance of the test and walked her through every step. When she got the results and found everything was normal, her relief and joy were contagious. She told me she felt empowered just by taking that small step for her health—something I’ll never forget.

Besides the screenings and the tests, the most rewarding aspect of the Pink Bus was the human element. We were not just providing medical services; we were winning trust, educating women about their bodies, and showing them that their health mattered.

This experience taught me what no textbook could: empathy, cultural sensitivity, and the importance of meeting patients where they are, both physically and emotionally. It shaped how I want to practice medicine—with compassion, sensitivity, and a commitment to caring for the underserved.

The Pink Bus was more than just a mobile clinic. It was a bridge to better health, knowledge, and empowerment for the women it touched. And for me, it was a reminder that small actions can have life changing ripples.