Internships provide practical experience and career exploration to help students identify paths ahead. Isabelle ‘26 dove into her experience with MedStar Washington Hospital’s trauma bay during Intersession 2025. Read more about this life-changing experience below.
"Now go see something amazing," Cindy, the trauma nurse said with a smile, adjusting my hair net with practiced hands. Her encouragement was a turning point for me, setting the tone for an experience that would challenge me to grow beyond my fears and uncertainties. It was my first day at the trauma bay at MedStar Washington Hospital Center, and I felt like an imposter in the symphony of controlled chaos around me. The trauma bay housed the worst type of injuries and received more trauma than any other hospital in Washington, DC. Cindy’s use of the word, ‘amazing’, I would describe as more of a white lie, though it marked the beginning of a journey that would reshape my understanding of technology, healthcare, and myself.
The sharp scent of an antiseptic hung heavily in the air, its chemical tang prickling my nose and sharpening my senses as I stepped into the trauma bay.
The room buzzed with urgency—machines beeping, voices calling out instructions, so many white coats worn by Residents quickly stretching out to give me a handshake, a brief, “welcome,” they said and scurried on.
My supervisor, Dr. Christine Trankiem, the Chief of Trauma and Acute Care Surgery appeared. I had read a bit about her before the internship. “She can restart your heart with her hands,” the title of a piece written about her in the Washingtonian stated. I was nervous to meet and work with such a renowned surgeon. As I thought about how remarkable it was for me to be here at this exact moment, she appeared behind the desk. “I’ve been expecting you, she said. After our greetings and small talk, she excitedly said, “You must meet Dr. James Street. He’s African-American and one of our best surgeons, you will enjoy working with him as well.” Her introduction felt like a professional recommendation - an invitation to see someone who reflected a future I could aspire to.
According to the Association of American Medical Colleges, Only 5.7% of physicians in the U.S. are Black, despite Black Americans making up about 13% of the population. That lack of representation affects patient care, studies show that Black doctors are more likely to accurately diagnose and treat Black patients, and their presence alone increases trust in the healthcare system. Seeing a doctor who looks like you, and understands your experiences, can be the difference between receiving the right care or being dismissed.
That conversation with Dr. Trankiem made me realize that my path in medicine isn’t just about science, it’s about being part of the change. I don’t just want to be a doctor; I want to be a doctor who makes the field more inclusive, ensuring that future patients, especially those who look like me, feel seen, heard, and cared for
Operating Room 101: Before observing a tracheostomy, I found myself captivated by the complexity and precision of the procedure. Guided by a medical endoscope, the team worked seamlessly to restore the patient’s airway—a life-saving intervention that unfolded right before my eyes. Every step required not just skill but a profound trust in the tools and technology at their disposal. I watched in awe as the team’s expertise turned what seemed insurmountable into an act of hope and recovery. That night, as I replayed the day’s events, I realized it wasn’t just the technology that left me in awe, it was the harmony between human precision and technological innovation.
My first encounter with kidney stones was unforgettable. A woman in excruciating pain was wheeled in, her groans filling the room and her body shivering uncontrollably. The medical team sprang into action. “Want to give it a try?” a nurse asked, handing me an ultrasound probe. My hands trembled as I placed it on the patient’s abdomen. The screen lit up, revealing the telltale signs of kidney stones. This swift identification allowed the team to intervene immediately, relieving her pain and preventing further complications.
Outside, helicopters landed with zero notice, delivering patients whose lives hung in the balance. Each arrival forced me to confront the gravity of trauma care—not just the injuries but the families waiting on the other side of the hospital doors. The frigid winter brought a surge in burn victims from house and cooking fires. I struggled to find words to console one patient, but the presence of portable monitors tracking every vital sign mid-flight reminded me that technology was a lifeline, bringing order to chaos.
That evening, a burn victim was airlifted. Portable monitors tracked every vital sign mid-flight, ensuring stability before arrival. These tools weren’t just impressive; they were life-saving, transforming chaos into order with precision and speed.
Friday and Saturday nights were the busiest in the trauma bay. I braced myself for a 12-hour night shift under the observership of Dr. Street, a former Navy officer turned trauma surgeon. His presence commanded respect, and his movements were deliberate and efficient. On my third day, I stood wide-eyed as the team performed open chest surgery on a victim with a stab wound. High-definition imaging systems projected real-time views of the patient’s beating heart. Every movement was a dance of precision, guided by the synergy of human expertise and technological brilliance. Meeting Dr. Street that day added an unexpected layer of depth to the experience. His dedication and calm demeanor stood out as he guided the team with precision. I was grateful for the opportunity to shadow him, observing how his expertise and thoughtful integration of technology shaped patient care.
Then there was the ICU where I witnessed a teenage girl—about my age—being treated for sepsis on a rotoprone bed patient with sepsis being treated on a rotoprone bed. Her mother sat beside her, whispering reassurances, embodying the quiet strength of a mother’s love. The bed’s gentle rotations improved oxygenation—a simple yet ingenious solution.
By the fourth day, I no longer felt like a passive observer. I asked more questions, eager to connect the dots between diagnostics and recovery. Each monitor’s beep and every scan told a story—not just of survival, but of the resilience of both patients and their caregivers.
A car crash victim arrived with trapped air around their heart. Within minutes, an echocardiogram pinpointed the problem, and the team acted decisively. Meanwhile, a burn victim received antimicrobial dressings that minimized infection risks and accelerated healing. Each treatment was tailored with care, a reminder that medicine is as much an art as it is a science.
On my final day, I was introduced to the da Vinci Surgical Robot and had the chance to see a demonstration of its capabilities. Although I didn’t witness it being used in an actual procedure, I was allowed to sit in the surgeon's seat and operate the robot’s controls myself. Manipulating the EndoWrist instruments felt both surreal and empowering—it was like holding my future in my hands. Sitting in the surgeon's seat, I could envision two paths ahead of me: one leading to biomedical engineering, where I could design and improve such transformative tools, and the other drawing me deeper into the healthcare field as a doctor, directly wielding this technology to save lives. This hands-on experience was more than just a demonstration—it was a moment of clarity about how technology and human ingenuity can intersect to shape the future of medicine.
This rotation didn’t just teach me about medical innovation—it taught me about myself. I learned to adapt, to ask questions, and to embrace the unknown. I discovered the power of curiosity and collaboration in transforming challenges into triumphs.
Before this experience, I thought of technology as mere tools—helpful, but secondary to human effort. My time in the trauma bay reshaped that belief. Technology isn’t just an accessory; it’s the cornerstone of critical care, empowering medical teams to save lives with speed and precision. Trauma surgeons thrive on unpredictability; they embrace not knowing what the next case will be, and solving problems in real time. Watching them work reinforced the importance of a growth mindset; the ability to to think critically, adjust quickly, and trust in both human skill and technological advancements.
As I move forward, I carry not only the lessons from the trauma bay at MedStar, with Dr. Trankiem and Dr. Street, two of the most renowned surgeons in the field, but also a call to action: to contribute to a field, like medicine, where technology and humanity intersect.
Etched in my memory forever, my time in the trauma bay, the long car rides home from the hospital, and the conversations with my mother and sisters as we navigated January's snowstorms and treacherous weather all revealed one undeniable truth—life is short, and every day is a gift.
