A Month Behind the White Coat
For one month, I stepped into a world I had only ever seen from the other side: the world of medicine. At Ananthapuri Hospitals and Research Institute, I observed four departments — cardiology, neurology, obstetrics and gynecology, and pediatrics. I sat beside doctors during outpatient consultations, joined them on rounds, followed them through procedures, read patient files in the CCU, and even helped enter symptoms and medications into patient records. I watched echocardiograms, ECGs, Holter tests, TMTs, angiograms, and angioplasties. In OBGYN, I learned the basics of identifying fibroids and cysts on scans.
I expected the month to teach me about diseases and procedures. Instead, it taught me something less tangible: every department offered a different way of seeing a patient.
In cardiology, precision seemed to matter most. I learned about ECGs, TMTs, and the difference between an angiogram and an angioplasty. I watched doctors interpret subtle changes and make decisions where even the smallest detail could matter. There was something almost mathematical about it. Every measurement had a purpose, every movement had to be deliberate, and every decision depended on accuracy.
I respected that precision, but I also realized that cardiology was not where I felt most connected to medicine. It was fascinating, but technical. I found myself drawn to something beyond the machines, measurements, and procedures.
That something was storytelling.
Neurology quickly became my favorite department. I began to notice that even when two patients had the same diagnosis, their experiences were never the same. The disease could have the same name, but the person living with it never did. Each patient brought a different history, a different family, a different set of fears, and a different way of understanding what was happening to them.
What fascinated me was realizing that every patient carried a different story, even when their diagnosis was the same.
Neurology made me realize that medicine is not simply about identifying what is wrong with a body. It is also about understanding the person living inside that body. A diagnosis may fit neatly into a medical textbook, but a patient’s experience never does. That human complexity — the stories behind the symptoms — is what drew me most deeply to the field.
My experience in OBGYN was different. Before entering the department, I imagined I would feel something profound watching a field so closely connected to bringing new life into the world. Instead, I found myself surprised by how repetitive some aspects of clinical practice could feel. The symptoms were often similar, the medications familiar, and the procedures followed recognizable patterns. I learned the basics of identifying fibroids and cysts on scans, but I also found myself uncomfortable at times while observing certain tests that felt deeply personal and invasive.
That discomfort made me think about the relationship between medicine and vulnerability. Patients allow doctors into some of the most private moments of their lives. What may become routine for a physician can still feel deeply personal for the person being examined. I began to understand that being a good doctor requires more than knowing what to do. It requires recognizing the vulnerability of the person who is trusting you.
Pediatrics taught me something different again.
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There was something about watching children in the hospital that made me think about my own childhood. Their innocence was still visible in the way they spoke, played, or reacted to the world around them. Watching them, I found myself thinking about the child I used to be — the version of myself who did not constantly think about grades, college, careers, or the future.
Somewhere along the way, I had become so focused on achieving my dreams that I had forgotten to enjoy the journey toward them.
I realized that I often feel as though I am running toward a finish line that does not exist. There is always another goal to reach, another achievement to chase, another version of myself I think I need to become. But watching the children reminded me that life is not meant to be measured only by how quickly we reach our destinations. There is value in the small moments along the way — the moments we might otherwise overlook because we are too busy thinking about where we are going next.
By the end of the month, I had learned more than I expected. I learned how an ECG can reveal the electrical activity of the heart, how a TMT can help evaluate the heart under stress, and how an angiogram differs from an angioplasty. I learned to recognize fibroids and cysts on scans. I learned how doctors move through rounds, review patient histories, and make decisions based on information that may seem insignificant to someone outside the field.
But my most important lessons were not technical.
Cardiology taught me the importance of precision. OBGYN taught me to recognize the vulnerability that comes with being a patient. Pediatrics reminded me to slow down and appreciate the present. And neurology showed me why I am drawn to medicine in the first place: because behind every diagnosis is a person, and behind every person is a story.
For one month, I was allowed to stand just behind the white coat and watch medicine unfold. I entered expecting to learn how doctors treat diseases. I left with a deeper understanding of why they treat people.
I am deeply grateful to all the doctors who allowed me to learn from them throughout this month. Their patience, dedication, and commitment to their patients showed me the kind of physician I hope to become — one who strives to provide the best care possible for every patient, regardless of who they are or what they are going through. I am especially thankful to Dr. Anand Marthanda Pillai, the Director of Ananthapuri Hospitals and Research Institute and a cardiologist, who took the time to ask me questions and challenge me to apply what I knew. Those conversations pushed me to think beyond simply observing and encouraged me to remain curious and continue learning.
To every doctor who welcomed me into their department, answered my questions, and allowed me to experience medicine from a closer perspective, thank you. You made this observership more than an opportunity to see medicine in practice. You inspired me to work toward becoming a doctor who combines knowledge and precision with compassion, humility, and a genuine commitment to every patient.
A Note on AI
This piece is a reflection of my own experiences and thoughts from my month-long observership at Ananthapuri Hospitals and Research Institute. I used AI as a writing tool to help me organize, refine, and articulate those experiences into this memoir. The observations, reflections, and ideas shared here are my own.
