In the great gladiator arena of American medical education—where four years of ramen-fueled cramming, sleep-deprived clerkships, and emotional trauma from being yelled at by residents finally culminate in a single, fateful envelope—comes the annual ritual known as Match Day. A day of triumph. A day of tears. A day when fourth-year med students across the country collectively realize, "Wow, I actually have to work now."
At the Brody School of Medicine at East Carolina University, however, this rite of passage took a distinctively local flavor. On March 21, 14 students learned they would be staying in eastern North Carolina for their residency at ECU Health. That’s right—more than 20% of the class voluntarily committed to spend the next three to seven years right where they started. It’s like senior year of high school never ended—except now there's more paperwork, less sleep, and way more liability.
Sarah Waddell: Birthday Girl Becomes Birthday Doc
Let’s kick things off with the star of this Hallmark movie—Sarah Waddell. It was Match Day and her birthday, because God clearly wanted her to peak emotionally in a single 24-hour span. She matched into family medicine at ECU Health Medical Center, which was her top choice, because… of course it was. Eastern North Carolina is her jam. She grew up in Elizabeth City, went to college in Wilson, and now gets to take her talents all the way to checks notes Greenville.
Sarah said, “There’s just so many emotions.” We bet. Imagine reading the letter that determines your next three years of sleep deprivation, and also having to pretend you're thrilled while someone films you. She’s “excited for the new adventure,” which sounds adorable until you realize that “adventure” is a euphemism for 80-hour workweeks, an inbox full of Epic alerts, and trying to explain to your patient for the seventh time that antibiotics won’t fix their viral sinus infection.
But don’t worry—Sarah is ready. She’s a “lifelong learner” who can’t wait to “serve the people who need it.” Let’s check back in six months and see how that enthusiasm is holding up after her 14th night shift in a row and her third encounter with a patient who believes the COVID vaccine contains microchips.
Micah Lee: Pediatrics and Other Ways to Get Sneezed On
Next up is Sarah’s bestie and co-conspirator in residency matchmaking: Micah Lee. Hailing from Mount Olive—a town best known for pickles and existential despair—Micah is another shining example of Brody’s rural retention program. She matched in pediatrics, which is noble, in the sense that someone needs to keep the toddlers from licking light sockets and eating Legos.
Micah waxes poetic about “being able to influence the next generation,” which is code for “getting yelled at by exhausted parents while their kid wipes boogers on your scrubs.” Still, she seems genuinely thrilled. “I didn’t want to leave for residency,” she said. That’s dedication—or perhaps Stockholm syndrome. Either way, we respect it.
Micah is passionate about encouraging “healthy choices” in young people, which is both admirable and completely aspirational. Because if you’ve ever tried to convince a 4-year-old to eat a vegetable, you know it takes the patience of a saint and the negotiating skills of a hostage negotiator. But go off, queen. Someone’s gotta try.
Jamie Lemons: Not Just a Fruit-Themed Name
Joining the pediatric dream team is Jamie Lemons—yes, that is her real name, and no, we’re not making a pun about it. Except we are. Because when life gives you Lemons, apparently it also gives you a residency at ECU Health.
Jamie’s from western North Carolina, so this is technically a cross-state adventure. A bold move! She matched into pediatrics as well, proving that nothing unites aspiring doctors quite like the masochistic desire to manage tiny, unpredictable humans hopped up on juice boxes and existential chaos.
She noted that the rural vibes of eastern NC remind her of home, which is a very poetic way of saying, “I’m used to limited broadband access and patients who think WebMD is a second opinion.” But again, kudos. It’s easy to chase big-city glamor and dermatology paychecks. It takes real grit to say, “No, I want to practice medicine where Walmart is the epicenter of healthcare and cultural activity.”
Brody School of Medicine: Rural Dream Factory
Let’s pause to admire the real MVP here: the Brody School of Medicine. With an impressive 47% of the class matching into primary care, they’re clearly churning out an army of doctors who believe in doing the work nobody else wants to do—for a fraction of the salary. In an era where every med student dreams of orthopedic riches or radiology hours, Brody’s over here saying, “You know what sounds fun? Managing chronic diabetes for people who still think insulin is a conspiracy.”
This is not sarcasm. (Okay, it’s some sarcasm.) But it’s also respect. Because primary care is the unsung hero of medicine. It’s unglamorous, underpaid, and essential—kind of like the guy who fixes potholes. You don’t think about him much, but when he’s not around, everything falls apart.
Dr. Michael Waldrum, the ECU Health CEO and dean of Brody, even got a few lines in the press release. “These students understand what it means to answer the call of becoming a physician,” he said. A noble sentiment. Also: a subtle way of reminding them that this was their choice. No backsies.
He praised their willingness to run toward a challenge during a pandemic, which is true. Nothing quite says “medical martyrdom” like entering clinical rotations while the rest of the world hoards toilet paper and argues on Facebook about ivermectin.
Match Day Madness: The Ritual Continues
For those unfamiliar with Match Day, it’s essentially a Hunger Games-style spectacle where students open envelopes to find out where they’ll be working, living, and probably crying for the next several years. It’s the closest thing medicine has to The Bachelor, except instead of roses, you get malpractice insurance and a $200K debt load.
Some match at prestigious hospitals in big cities. Others, like these Brody students, opt to stay closer to home—because they care about their communities, or because they’ve learned to fear the words “affordable housing” in places like Boston and San Francisco.
But for real: choosing to stay and serve in rural North Carolina isn’t just heartwarming, it’s crucial. These are areas that desperately need healthcare providers. And not just the flashy specialists. They need the everyday docs—the ones who treat ear infections, deliver babies, and gently explain that WebMD is not an acceptable substitute for actual medical advice.
Eastern NC: The Land of Possibilities (and Pollen)
Let’s not romanticize it too much, though. Eastern North Carolina is many things—charming, resilient, historically rich. But it’s also where the Wi-Fi goes to die and mosquitoes grow to the size of hummingbirds. Practicing medicine here is more than just a job. It’s a lifestyle. One where you better get used to being asked if you take Medicaid and whether you can prescribe antibiotics for allergies.
These residents are stepping into a world where every third patient has “done their own research,” and where health literacy levels range from “semi-informed” to “thinks Gatorade is a vaccine.” And yet—they chose this.
That, folks, is the true miracle of Match Day.
The Big Picture: A Rural Renaissance?
In the grand scheme of things, ECU Health welcoming 14 new residents might seem like a local story. But it’s actually a microcosm of a much bigger issue: the rural healthcare crisis in America. With physician shortages mounting and burnout rates skyrocketing, it’s more important than ever to get boots on the ground in the places most often overlooked.
These 14 med students represent more than just numbers. They represent hope, grit, and an almost concerning level of optimism. They’re betting that they can make a difference, one patient, one prescription, one difficult diagnosis at a time.
And honestly? That’s kind of badass.
Even if they’ll spend the next three years eating hospital cafeteria food, wearing Crocs to work, and fielding 3 a.m. calls about rashes that “just look weird.”
Final Thoughts: Here's to the Next Chapter
So here’s to Sarah, Micah, Jamie, and the rest of the ECU-bound crew. You chose the path less traveled, and by that, we mean a path that includes endless patient portals, sleep deprivation, and occasionally being asked if you’re “old enough to be a doctor.”
But you also chose community. You chose purpose. You chose to serve in places where help is needed most. And for that, even the snarkiest among us have to tip our hats.
Now go forth, future Dr. Waddell and company. May your call nights be short, your preceptors chill, and your patients remarkably well-informed for once. And may you always remember: in a world full of surgical divas and derm bros, there’s something deeply heroic about just showing up—especially when it’s in Greenville, North Carolina.
