AMSA Reproductive Health Project
June 2025 Essay Contest Winner: Premedical Student Category
Student Name: Pranitha Kaza
The summer of 2022 marked more than a Supreme Court ruling; it was a turning point for how I, and many aspiring physicians, think about care, ethics, and community. When the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision overturned decades of legal precedent protecting abortion access, I felt grief, but I also felt clarity. In a moment when the boundaries between medicine and politics collapsed so visibly, even though I was only at the start of my undergraduate career at the time, I knew that my commitment to becoming a physician would require not just clinical training, but a lifelong engagement with advocacy.
Like many pre-medical students, I was once introduced to medical education as being a linear path: do well in school, gain experience, apply, train, and serve. But since Dobbs, the questions I ask myself about that path have shifted. Will I be trained to provide full-spectrum reproductive care? Can I safely advocate for patients in states where abortion is banned or criminalized? How do I reconcile the oath to do no harm with legal mandates that force harm: delaying care for miscarriages, forcing continuation of nonviable pregnancies, or discouraging patients from seeking help? These aren’t just hypothetical concerns. In states with abortion bans, medical students and residents are being trained in limited environments, unable to learn essential skills or discuss options openly. And patients, especially those who are low-income, BIPOC, or undocumented, are shouldering the weight of that silence and fear.
I’ve worked with community organizations focused on bodily autonomy, patient education, and reproductive health access to bring it to my own campus. Through a campus student organization, Support, Health, and Education (S.H.E.) for Women, I’ve helped organize and advocate for menstrual equity and distribute accurate, accessible health information about contraception in spaces where stigma and disinformation run deep. This work has shown me the power of local advocacy and the harm of national decisions that ignore it. The Dobbs ruling didn’t just impact clinics; it disrupted the trust between communities and their providers, raising questions about who medicine serves and who it excludes.
That loss of trust is especially dangerous in a field like medicine, where consent and confidentiality are cornerstones of ethical care. As a future physician, I want to be in a position to affirm, not control; to protect, not punish. I want every patient, regardless of their zip code or income, to know that their body belongs to them and that my job is to support their decisions, not impose my own or those of the government.
But that commitment requires preparation. It means working with mentors who believe in autonomy, even when it’s politically inconvenient. And it means staying grounded in community, not just learning from textbooks, but from doulas, abortion storytellers, midwives, and patients themselves. The hidden curriculum in medicine is shaped just as much by politics as it is by professors. And the Dobbs decision calls me to be vigilant beyond reproductive health. If the state can insert itself into one kind of care, it can do so elsewhere: gender-affirming care, contraception access, maternal health, even end-of-life decisions. Each of these domains rests on the same foundation: that people deserve to make informed choices about their bodies, free from coercion. As someone entering this profession, I see it as my responsibility to reinforce that foundation: not only in my practice, but in policy, research, and education.
There is grief in this moment. But there is also resolve. The surge of organizing in the wake of Dobbs, from youth activists to physicians risking their licenses to care for patients, is a testament to what’s possible when we refuse to normalize injustice. Thirteen states have moved to enshrine abortion rights in their constitutions since the ruling, and more are mobilizing. These decisions matter, too. They remind us that patient-centered care doesn’t end in the exam room. It lives in our institutions, our ballots, our classrooms, and our daily conversations.
The impact of Dobbs has been seismic, but it has also clarified my purpose. I am not becoming a physician in spite of this moment—I am becoming one because of it. My path is not just about learning to heal; it’s about helping build a system where everyone has the right and resources to make decisions about their own body. That is the kind of medicine I believe in. That is the kind of future I’m fighting for.
