I remember when I was at my rock bottom in my personal life, I viewed her as somebody I would like to become. I wanted to travel as she had, find someone who loves me and supports me as she did, and just feel settled, steady, and drumming to my own gentle beat. It always struck me when I saw the flash of her mismatched socks because it felt so lighthearted, and joyful. It was so on brand for her.

I loved the humor she expressed in her Instagram stories, and usually she had to post about cats. She was a reminder of my lost humanity for myself, and that there was satisfaction in the little things in life and hope. I am sad I will never get to catch up with her and get to know her more as a writer, but I am filled with even more sorrow that patients will never be healed by her hands. She was part of my healing journey and finding my way back to medicine, and I hope she knows how much her light in my life meant. To her family, husband, and cats, thank you for being there for her and giving her the strength and levity to touch the people she did. Her wisdom and light will never be forgotten.

Tomorrow is never promised. May we carry forward what truly matters kindness, love, and connection and let go of the things that divide us, remembering the life of Megan.

I had the pleasure of getting to know her better on rotations this past year, when we were in the same Internal Medicine squad. We'd always run into each other in the early mornings at the hospital while doing rounds. She was so bright and cheerful, even at 6am. She was probably one of the most positive, genuine, hard-working and humble people I've ever met. I feel really grateful to have been able to cross paths with her in this lifetime.

Fight On Forever Megan <3

You were light in a world that’s often heavy.

Not because you didn’t see the mess,


but because you did, and still showed up kind.

Like a person waiting with the door open.

If I were a stray cat, I'd come in.

You didn’t try to fix everything, but made it easier to bear.


Your words landed soft, even when they told the truth.


You saw through people and chose to stay anyway.


Never loud, but somehow always present.


I always felt better whenever I saw you, even better when we said goodbye.

Now it’s just quiet.


And I keep thinking you should still be here.


I don’t have the right words, and maybe there aren’t any.


But I hope wherever you are, you feel light again.

I only knew her for a short time, but she made a lasting impact. Whenever we crossed paths, she’d always ask how I was doing — like an older sister checking in, especially on the days when med school felt like a string of quiet battles. Her presence felt like a warm hug of encouragement — a gentle reminder that we were in this together.

You left too soon, before I had the chance to thank you for all the moments you made brighter. You will be missed more than words can express, but we will carry you in our hearts, always.

Megan will remain with us—in our memories, in our work, and in the lives she touched.

We had occasionally talked during the preclinical years and on COMAT exam mornings when we always joked and exchanged horror stories from the prior month. But it was really over the last four months that we had grown closer. We had begun exchanging funny reels daily, whether it be funny cat videos or super southern animations that she said reminded her of me. She had a way about her that always made sure you felt comfortable and heard, and she always knew to check on you when you needed it the most. 

While Farin and I were recently at Good Sam for a rotation, Megan had mentioned an antique gynecological exam table and sent a photo. I knew from the background that it was at Belle Star in town. Megan soon arrived at the clinic, and we carpooled to the store. I remember learning that day that she had spent some time growing up in Arkansas, not all that far from where I did, and I asked her why we hadn't bonded sooner.  We ended up dragging Dr. Z with us, trying wholeheartedly to convince her to buy this exam table that none of us had room for. During that visit, I remember seeing this huge, 200+ year old book, and I waved Megan over so we could gawk over it together.

I wish we had bought something that day, but I cannot tell you how grateful we all are that we took this picture. I miss seeing your name on my notifications. I don't think I can look at hospital food or cats the same. Until we meet again, friend.

In every interaction I had with Megan, I understood that she was listening to me intently and was looking for ways to help and connect in any way she could. Her beautiful spirit, combined with her diligence and passion for giving a voice to those who didn't have one, made her not only a skilled clinician and advocate but also a great teammate and friend. I have repeatedly heard from my classmates and preceptors how impressed they were with Megan's ability to connect with patients while on her clinical rotations. Her fun-loving nature and sincerity could be felt by everyone around her. She was the kind of person who connected with people to build long-term relationships, with a foundation built on kindness and empathy. She would've been an amazing psychiatrist, and this loss is not only deeply felt in our school, but also in our community. I am eternally grateful to have met Megan.

I had mentioned this to Megan in passing and without missing a beat she offered to lend me an animal trap cage so that I could catch him and get him fixed. Without that, I definitely never would've been able to safely capture him. His name is now Sepper and he's living his best life with one of my classmates and his family. Sepper still gets to enjoy the outdoor life at his new home and come inside when he wants (especially when it's chilly).

There's so much I'm grateful to Megan for, and helping to bring Sepper together with his new forever family is only one of them.

Thank you for your profound understanding and love you gave, even when I struggled to receive it. I am sorry I never found the right words in time to tell you how much you meant to me. Since I can no longer say it, I hope these words can find you. Dr. Herrold, you remain forever my psychiatrist, tarot card reader, and irreplaceable friend.