April Ascher, M2, Class of 2028
I knock on the door,
clipboard in hand, heartbeat racing.
The cold, hard plastic chair remains—
but I no longer sit in it.
The white coat still startles me,
even as I button it closed.
I feel unsteady.
Have I earned the right?
Once, I whispered symptoms.
Now, I ask for them.
I used to search for compassion in a physician’s eyes—
now, they search mine for answers.
Even as my confidence trembles,
I remember the work, the weight, the why.
I am here to help. To heal.
To make sure my patients know they matter.
And so I vow—
with every knock, every name, every note—
to become the physician
I once waited for.
Med Intima 