How Military Medicine Shaped the Physician I Am Today
Lessons in Sacrifice, Camaraderie, and Compassion
Pallavi Gowda, D.O., MHA, DABOM
U.S. Army Veteran
Internal Medicine & Obesity Medicine Physician
Every Veterans Day I think about faces. I remember the young soldiers in their hospital beds at Walter Reed, the spouses sleeping in chairs beside them, and the parents who flew across the country to sit with a son or daughter they had sent off whole.
I came to medicine as the daughter of an immigrant family who could not afford medical school. The U.S. Army opened that door through its Health Professions Scholarship Program. I joined for the opportunity. I came to love the Army because it gave me purpose, a place to belong, and patients who changed how I practice medicine.
The Human Cost of War
At Walter Reed Army Medical Center I came to understand that every wounded service member was a young man or woman whose life had been changed forever. Behind each of them was a family whose sacrifices too often went unseen.
Decisions about war are made by leaders far from the battlefield. The consequences are carried by soldiers who are often barely out of their teens, and by the families who wait for them at home.
Physical wounds could be devastating. The psychological wounds, and the strain on spouses, children, and parents, often lasted long after the uniform came off.
Decisions about war may be made in the halls of government, but their consequences are lived in hospital rooms, rehabilitation centers, and family homes for generations.
The Invisible Wounds of War
One young soldier has stayed with me all these years.
He was 22, a former sniper, and he came to our emergency department with a pulmonary embolism. He refused to be admitted, and he would not move on it.
Every physician knows that moment, when it would be easy to label a patient “noncompliant” and let the conversation turn into a standoff. Then his wife quietly told us what he could not say himself. He lived with severe PTSD, and darkness was one of his most powerful triggers. She thought he might stay if we promised him the lights would remain on in his room.
We made that promise, and everything changed. A tense confrontation became a calm, trusting conversation.
He was not a difficult patient. He was a frightened young man trying to feel safe in a place that was supposed to protect him, still carrying the war inside him. His wife understood what we had missed, and in that moment she was the most important member of our care team.
Sometimes the greatest barrier to care is not the disease itself, but the invisible wounds we fail to recognize.
Many of the veterans we see in our own practices here in Montgomery County carry wounds like his, and they don’t always tell us. Asking “Have you ever served?” and then listening carefully to the answer can open a door that no lab test will.
A Culture Defined by Mission
The Army brought together people of every background, ethnicity, faith, and walk of life. Why we were there mattered far more than how we got there. We were measured by duty, accountability, and outcomes, not by our differences.
Physicians, nurses, medics, and support staff worked side by side through exhausting days and sleepless nights. We trusted one another, and every person’s role mattered. When a life was at stake, personal recognition stopped mattering. The mission and the patient came first.
As Assistant Medical Director for Quality Management at Walter Reed, I learned that excellent medicine goes beyond individual skill. Patient safety, clear communication, accountability, and continuous improvement are just as important. Later, as Chief Medical Officer for Force Health Protection at Kimbrough Ambulatory Care Center at Fort Meade, I came to deeply value preventive medicine. Keeping service members healthy and mission-ready meant caring for their bodies, their minds, and their long-term well-being.
The Lessons I Carry Forward
Military medicine taught me discipline, humility, resilience, and how to stay calm when it matters most. It also taught me that leadership means accepting responsibility for every life your decisions touch.
Today, whether I am caring for patients at Premier Health or serving uninsured neighbors through RotaCare Maryland, I try to see the whole person: the diagnosis, and also the family, the circumstances, and the burdens they may not say out loud.
What I miss most is the camaraderie, the feeling of being united with people very different from me by duty, integrity, and service. I see that same spirit in our medical community, and I am grateful to share it with you.
The Army made me a better physician because it taught me that behind every diagnosis is a human story, behind every service member is a family, and behind every act of leadership is a responsibility that extends far beyond the moment.
To my fellow physician-veterans in our Society, to the veterans we care for, and to the spouses, parents, and children who carried the weight alongside them: thank you. And to the caregivers who sit quietly at bedsides and help us see what we would otherwise miss, you serve too.
Happy Veterans Day.
Dr. Pallavi Gowda is a U.S. Army veteran, board-certified Internal Medicine and Obesity Medicine physician, and founder of Premier Health in Rockville, Maryland. She trained at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, where she served as Assistant Medical Director for Quality Management, and later served as Chief Medical Officer for Force Health Protection at Kimbrough Ambulatory Care Center at Fort Meade. She is a Washingtonian Top Doctor Hall of Fame honoree and continues her commitment to service through community initiatives supporting underserved populations.
