Jasmine Bazinet-Phillips, M.D. ’26, M.S.Ed., graduated from the Larner College of Medicine in May and is a Categorical Pediatric Resident at the University of Maryland Medical Center Baltimore, her hometown. She recently completed a research project, funded by the Larner Dean’s Medical Student Research Fellowship, focused on preventing accidental overdose deaths in the postpartum period, the leading cause of maternal mortality in Vermont. Jasmine presented her research in April at the American Society of Addiction Medicine (ASAM) 57th annual conference in San Diego.
In a blog post she wrote during the conference, Jasmine reflected on the importance of connecting with one’s community, listening deeply to patients, and integrating patient narratives into evidence-based clinical care.
Jasmine Bazinet- Phillips, M.D.’26, M.S.Ed 
Jasmine Bazinet- Phillips, M.D.’26, M.S.Ed, at the ASAM conference with her research colleague, third-year Obstetrical and Gynecology resident, Presley Azarcon, M.D. 
Jasmine Bazinet- Phillips and Deepinder Singh, M.D.’26 learning in the Clinical Simulation Lab at the University of Vermont.
“As ‘The Great Divide’ plays softly in my headphones, I find myself reflecting on what is and what could be. For those living with substance use disorder, I imagine something different: systems that are integrated rather than fragmented, care that connects rather than isolates, and communities that choose to hold people close rather than push them away.”
A Call to Action
With less than one month until graduation, I find myself sitting among addiction medicine specialists focused on the intersection of women’s health and substance use. I’m acutely aware that while many of my classmates are signing leases and starting fresh chapters in new places, I am returning to my childhood home of Baltimore, a city where fatal overdoses have touched a third of city blocks. Recent data paint a stark picture: roughly 1,000 fatal overdoses each year, a rate that has outpaced every other major U.S. city, even amid recent declines.
This moment doesn’t feel like a transition, it feels like a call to act.
Listening & Reflecting
In the air-conditioned conference center, I find myself leaning in, as I listen to women in recovery. Their voices carry a clarity and urgency that cannot be ignored. In their stories, I hear both resilience and loss: the presence of those who have survived, and the absence of those lost to substance use disorder, including overdose and victims of impaired driving. Their reflections, often shared with remarkable honesty in rooms full of well-intentioned clinicians, challenge us. They speak to frustration, to moments of being unseen, and to a healthcare system that too often fails to meet them with dignity. They are asking us to do better: to build clinical care that recognizes substance use disorder as an illness and treats it without judgment, stigma, or bias.
I feel grateful to be here, one of more than 2,500 professionals willing to spend a weekend confronting the imperfections of our field and the needs of a patient population too often sidelined. Medicine played a role in creating this crisis. Through the widespread introduction and overprescribing of opioids, long after the risks of opioids were known, our system contributed to the unraveling of individuals, families, and communities. Acknowledging that history is essential if we are to move forward with integrity as a medical profession.
And yet, there is also something hopeful here. With opioid settlement funds now being directed toward prevention, treatment, and recovery, we are beginning to see progress in reducing accidental overdose deaths. Progress will require more than funding; it will require a sustained shift in how we listen, how we care, and how we value the lives in front of us.
Surrounded by Support
In the generic, carpeted, artificially chilled rooms, I also find something more personal: a sense of belonging. Surrounded by a sea of professionals, diverse in background, lived experience with substance use disorder, perspective, and expression, I feel at home. I arrived in my usual neutral pantsuits but quickly traded my professional shoes for my favorite platform sandals, letting my key lime nail polish show from a recent 100+ mile bike ride down the Florida Keys. This is the first medical conference where I feel I can fully be myself, where I can engage deeply in conversations about clinical care and addiction medicine, while also showing up as I am.
The usual posturing that can define medical spaces feels noticeably absent here, replaced instead by a shared commitment to care, care for individuals in front of us, who are too often overlooked, stigmatized, or even legally dismissed in other settings. My days begin in a closeknit circle of obstetrical providers from across the country and end at dinner with others committed to safeguarding the mother-baby dyad.
When my research colleague, third-year Obstetrical and Gynecology resident Presley Azarcon, M.D., and I jointly present our poster examining gaps in postpartum care, I realize we are a part of a larger row of posters that share a common purpose: eliminating gaps in universal substance use screening, expanding access to medications for treating opioid use disorder, examining pregnancy outcomes after child welfare involvement, and elevating patient perspectives on stigma, bias, and relationship dynamics. The conversations are rich, grounded, and deeply human.
Bridging “The Great Divide”
For the final session of the conference, Dr. Azarcon and I joined providers from North Carolina who are creating a perinatal Hub and Spoke model. The group’s work is inspired by the Vermont Hub and Spoke model pioneered by John Brooklyn, M.D., and the ongoing leadership of the Vermont Perinatal Quality Collaborative (PQC-VT) in addressing perinatal substance use disorder. With warm enthusiasm, the speaker pauses to applaud the Vermont providers in the room and calls out Vermonter Noah Kahan’s album release, “The Great Divide.” In that moment, I feel the weight and pride of that acknowledgement, of Vermont’s leadership, and the responsibility to carry it forward.
After the session, I connect with a maternal fetal medicine physician from Baltimore whose career is grounded in protecting the mother-baby dyad through patient-centered care. In those moments, I begin to more clearly envision my own next steps. Eventually, I step back out into the bright San Diego sun, make my way through airport security, and board a flight back to Vermont.
As “The Great Divide” plays softly in my headphones, I find myself reflecting on what is and what could be. For those living with substance use disorder, I imagine something different: systems that are integrated rather than fragmented, care that connects rather than isolates, and communities that choose to hold people close rather than push them away. That is part of the work ahead: building a medical system where no one is asked to navigate illness, motherhood, or recovery alone.
