The Moment I Felt a Fish’s Heartbeat and Everything Changed

I didn’t expect a class assignment to change the trajectory of my life but it did.

I was in a marine biology course when we were given the chance to observe the heartbeat of a white croaker while on a boat field trip cruising through the Los Angeles Harbor. I gently held the fish in my hands, feeling its tiny heart pulsing beneath my palms. That single moment of connection of witnessing life so close and fragile stopped me in my tracks. I had always loved the ocean, but this was different. This was personal. This was alive.

[An image of a pair of open palms, brown skin, holding a large, transparent tunicate salp, Thetys vagina,  over a metal sink, aboard a vessel.]

That experience stayed with me. So when I landed an internship at a marine research facility, I was eager but nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened on my second day.

One of my duties was to assist in the care of two massive, 300-pound blind sea bass. They were part of a research project studying sea bass mating rituals in captivity, but both fish were slowly losing more of their vision due to a persistent eye infection. They needed antibiotic injections, but because of their size and declining eyesight, the procedure had to be done gently and manually.

My supervisor looked at me, handed me a pair of waders, and said, “We need you to get in the tank.”

Next thing I knew, I was being carefully lifted into the water. These fish were enormous, heavy, and clearly frightened. My job was to hold them still, to soothe them, while the team administered the injections. As I wrapped my arms around the thick, slick body of one of the fish, it suddenly thrashed with full force. I felt the weight of it slam into me, struggling in fear and confusion.

[An image of two sea bass, Stereolepis gigas, peeking their heads out of a pool.] 

And then it hit me...not just the fish, but the realization.

This wasn’t just about science. This was about dignity. This enormous, blind creature had no way to understand what was happening. It couldn’t see the people trying to help it. It only felt restraint, unfamiliar hands, and panic. My job in that moment wasn’t just to hold it still but to give comfort, to be a calm presence in an otherwise terrifying situation.

That day, I truly understood the depth of responsibility that comes with working with living beings especially the voiceless ones. Whether it's feeling the tiny flutter of a croaker’s heartbeat or steadying a blind sea bass in distress, these experiences reshaped my view of marine life and deepened my respect for every creature we study.

I went into marine biology curious about the ocean. But it was compassion, not just curiosity, that anchored me to this path.