How I Experienced This Year
Living through 2025 as a Physician, Scientist and Advocate
Here We Are Again
Here we are again, at the end of another year.
One that brought more challenges than there is ink to write about, but also moments that forced me to pause, to think about what lies ahead and how I might contribute, in my own small way, to a better 2026.
In this final Substack of 2025, I considered doing a rundown of the highs and lows of the year for infectious diseases, public health, and global health. I decided against it. There are many gifted writers and publications that will do a better job of that than I ever could.
Instead, I settled on sharing how I experienced this year in the many roles I occupy, and the lessons I drew from those experiences. I hope these reflections give you something to think about as you take stock of your own year and, perhaps, spark a bit of hope along the way.
The Physician
If you read this Substack with any regularity, you probably know that I am an infectious disease physician practicing in the United States. This year has been one of the hardest for my field and of my career since the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Watching organized and deliberate efforts to undermine vaccines and public health agencies and grappling with what that means for disease prevention and outbreak control, has made our work of keeping patients safe far more difficult. Planned cuts to HIV funding, and what they could mean for the epidemic in the U.S., have kept me up at night, particularly when I think about my own patients’ ability to access care and treatment. Compounding these challenges, another poor recruitment year for infectious diseases trainees has underscored a long-standing problem of a shrinking workforce and a pipeline that has been narrowing for over a decade.
And yet, through all of this, I have seen an infectious diseases community that remains deeply committed to showing up and doing what is right. Leaning on one another. Supporting each other. Locking elbows and holding the line, much like we did in the eye of the storm during the pandemic. The prevailing sentiment has been: we’ve been here before and this, too, will pass.
What I have had to recognize this year is that the fear and uncertainty I feel are not unique to me as a physician. My patients feel them too. The undocumented immigrant afraid to come to clinic for the care they need because of the threat of ICE raids. The person living with HIV who depends on the AIDS drug assistance program or the Ryan-White program to access lifesaving medications.
The patient on chemotherapy who is now afraid to leave home even to buy groceries because measles, pertussis, and other vaccine-preventable diseases are re-surging.
My role has been to be there for them and to use my training not only to provide care, but also reassurance, clarity, and a sense of safety amid so much chaos.
The Scientist
When I am not caring for patients, my other job is being a scientist conducting clinical and translational research. I once thought that when the clinical world felt overwhelming, I could find refuge in science.
That has not been the case. The research landscape this year has been just as uncertain. It began with devastating cuts to research funding across sectors, with biomedical and clinical research particularly hard hit. In another time, I felt I had my dream job combining clinical care with translational research to find better solutions for my patients. This year, many of us saw that dream profoundly challenged.
While I worry about whether my own young lab can sustain itself in a climate where funding is more limited and increasingly unpredictable, my deeper concern is what this moment is doing to the scientific ecosystem more broadly. Research questions that took years to build toward are being abandoned. Several labs I know have already been forced to downsize or close. University PhD admissions are shrinking. Trainees who once planned academic careers are quietly choosing other paths not because the science matters less to them, but because the ground beneath them no longer feels stable enough to stand on. These losses represent ideas that will never be tested, discoveries that will arrive later or not at all. They represent a generation of scientists being asked to build a future on uncertainty.
I stay on (for now), because I still believe deeply in the importance of the work we do to advance human health and serve the greater good. In response, I have leaned more heavily into my role of mentor. The mentorship meetings may have run longer. The conversations about balance, uncertainty, and life outside the lab may have gone deeper. Perhaps I needed that connection as much as my mentees did, to remind myself that the work still matters, that it is still worth doing, and that we will find ways to adapt. Maybe that means thinking more creatively about funding, or leaning more fully into collaborative science. Whatever it takes to keep our spark and our sense of purpose alive.
The Advocate
I have never met an infectious diseases physician who wasn’t also an advocate. The nature of the work demands it because pathogens do not exist in a vacuum, and neither do the people they affect. This year required that hat more often than most.
From sustained attacks on science and vaccines to policy decisions that quietly but profoundly shape who gets sick, who gets care, and who is left behind, it became impossible to sit on the sidelines and remain silent. Advocacy, for me, took many forms. Some of it was public and visible; running an Ask an ID Doc Q&A series online once a month, or writing this Substack to help make sense of complex infectious disease and global health issues and what they mean locally and globally. Some of it was quieter, ongoing conversations with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances trying to understand what they were worried about and why.
One of the most important parts of this work has been listening. Listening to people I disagree with. Listening to vaccine-hesitant parents and patients. Listening to those who question the value of funding global health efforts and science more broadly. Not to validate misinformation or harm, but to understand the fears, experiences, and gaps in trust that shape those views and to have honest, constructive conversations grounded in evidence and respect.
Some advocacy moments came from places I did not anticipate: speaking at my local church on Good Friday about cuts to healthcare research funding, or talking with a rabbi who reached out seeking thoughtful ways to address vaccine hesitancy within his community. They were ordinary moments of human connection but they add up, and they matter.
The Human
As I go into 2026, I am not carrying resolutions so much as renewed commitments. I will keep wearing these hats to the best of my ability. I will keep my oath to patients to do no harm, to tell the truth, and to care for their health with clarity and compassion, even as the systems around us falter.
I will remain curious in my scientific work, even when the path forward feels uncertain. I will continue to support my trainees and mentees as they navigate a landscape far more precarious than the one I entered, and I will do what I can to help them see that their work still matters.
I will continue to defend science and advocate for what is right, even when doing so is uncomfortable or inconvenient. And I will keep looking for ways, small and tangible, to support and contribute positively to the communities I belong to.
Thank you for reading this Substack over the past year and for trusting me with your time and attention. Whatever hats you wear in your own life, I hope this offered a moment of recognition or simply the reminder that continuing to show up still matters.
Especially on the hardest days.
Happy New Year.
Here is hoping 2026 is a better year for us all.
I write about infectious diseases, public health, and global health often through reflection and lived experience. If these reflections resonate, I hope you’ll consider subscribing.