When I was a third-year medical student on my obstetrics and gynecology rotation, I spent time working with an Ob-Gyn named Bruce who had a favorite line. As he scanned the bellies of expectant mothers, he would ask: “Do you have a name for the baby?” If they did, he would enthusiastically discuss the name. If they didn’t, he would grin and say: “You know, if it’s a boy, Bruce is a pretty great name.” As the rotation went on, I started doing admission histories and physicals for women arriving in labor. They say we absorb our clinical style from our teachers. So one day, while taking a history from a woman who had recently immigrated from Cape Verde, I decided to imitate my attending. “Do you have a name for the baby?” I asked. She told me she was still thinking about it. Without much thought, I replied: “Sachin is a pretty great name.” She paused. “What does it mean?” I told her: “It roughly translates as truth.” She smiled. “I like it.” I was suddenly caught off guard. What had started as a throwaway conversation starter borrowed from my attending had unexpectedly become something real. A few hours later, another “Sachin” was born into the world. I have thought about that moment many times over the years. Medicine gives us extraordinary access to people’s lives at moments of enormous vulnerability, hope, fear, and possibility. Sometimes we underestimate how much even small interactions can matter. And sometimes, without realizing it, we leave pieces of ourselves behind in other people’s stories.