Breaking the Ceiling from Inside the OR

A Conversation with Dr. Dawn Tartaglione

Neurosurgery is often described as one of medicine’s final frontiers—technically demanding, emotionally taxing, and historically inaccessible to many. For Dawn Tartaglione, DO, this frontier was not simply professional, but cultural. As the first board-certified female osteopathic neurosurgeon, Dr. Tartaglione trained in an era when osteopathic physicians were rare in the operating room and women were rarer still. Her career is not a story of symbolic firsts alone, but of grit, confidence, and an unwavering refusal to ask permission to belong.

In our conversation, Dr. Tartaglione spoke candidly—often humorously—about her path into neurosurgery, her training experiences, and what it meant to navigate a male-dominated specialty as both a woman and a DO. What emerged was not a polished narrative of triumph, but something more meaningful: an honest account of how competence, confidence, and mentorship shape a surgeon.

Finding Surgery Early—and Choosing Neurosurgery Anyway

Dr. Tartaglione knew early in medical school that she wanted to pursue surgery. Her third year began with an intense immersion into the operating room, including trauma surgery, obstetrics, orthopedics, and later, surgical oncology at the National Institutes of Health.

“I really did want to do surgery,” she recalled. “Those first six months of third year, I was in the OR constantly.”

During her trauma surgery rotation in Olympia Fields, Illinois, she encountered a volume and severity of cases that would shape her future as a neurosurgeon.

“We did lots of craniotomies,” she said. “Bad car accidents. People with blunt head trauma and liver lacerations—sometimes both.”

As a third-year osteopathic medical student, she was placed on every-third-night call with the residents, often being awakened just before midnight to respond to emergencies. One night, when an attending neurosurgeon was unreachable, she was instructed to perform a cranial procedure herself.

“I was like, ‘I’m not going to do it,’” she laughed. “And my chief resident said, ‘Oh, you’re going to do it.’ And I did.”

Training Without a Safety Net

Dr. Tartaglione’s training environment was defined by responsibility early and often. At the NIH, she worked on a lean surgical team without residents, rounding daily and managing complex oncologic cases. “I saw things there I have never seen since,” she said. “It was amazing.”

Later, during her internship at Garden City Hospital in Michigan, she secured one month of training with Dr. Jacobs, a DO neurosurgeon who would ultimately become her primary residency mentor. At the time, osteopathic neurosurgical training positions were exceedingly rare, and mentorship within the profession carried enormous weight.

On her fifth day of internship, one of the neurosurgery residents unexpectedly quit, creating an unanticipated opening in the program. Dr. Jacobs offered her the position—a moment that would set the course of her career.

For Dr. Tartaglione, earning a neurosurgical residency spot was not about accommodation or symbolism—it was about opportunity, preparation, and proving herself in an environment that offered little margin for error and no safety net.

Being a Woman in Neurosurgery—Without Apology

Dr. Tartaglione does not describe her career through the lens of limitation. While she trained in a field where women were markedly underrepresented, she speaks less about exclusion and more about expectation—both those placed on her and those she placed on herself.

“I felt like I was treated well,” she said. “But I also know that other women weren’t.”

Her experience reflects a nuanced reality: being a woman in neurosurgery did not guarantee mistreatment, nor did it protect her from it. What distinguished her trajectory was not the absence of challenge, but her refusal to allow gender to define her professional identity.

At the same time, she is clear-eyed about the realities faced by many women in surgical training, particularly during the era in which she trained. She acknowledges that some female trainees endured overt harassment, retaliation, and systemic barriers that were deeply harmful.

Her confidence, she notes, was shaped long before medical school—by early responsibility, strong mentorship, and a sense of self that did not depend on external validation.

“I wasn’t afraid to say something,” she said. “I knew who I was.”

Dr. Tartaglione’s experience challenges the idea that women must choose between approachability and authority, or between confidence and humility. Her career demonstrates that these qualities are not opposites—and that self-assurance, when grounded in preparation, is not something to apologize for.

In a specialty where decisiveness can determine outcomes, she learned that certainty is not only acceptable—it is essential. And for women in neurosurgery, claiming that certainty remains a quiet act of progress.

Mentorship That Mattered

Dr. Tartaglione’s training was defined not only by early responsibility, but by mentorship from surgeons who demanded excellence—and modeled it relentlessly. Many of her most influential teachers were women who had already carved out space in surgery long before it was welcoming.

At Wayne State University, she trained under Anna Ledgerwood, MD, then Chair of Trauma Surgery. Dr. Ledgerwood was known for her intensity and uncompromising standards, but her expectations were universal.

“Being a woman on surgery didn’t matter to her,” Dr. Tartaglione said. “If you were on trauma, she expected you to perform. Period.”

That consistency mattered. Dr. Ledgerwood held everyone—regardless of gender—to the same high bar, creating an environment where performance, not perception, determined credibility.

Equally influential was Alexa Canady, MD, the first Black female neurosurgeon in the United States and the longtime head of pediatric neurosurgery. Dr. Canady’s teaching style was demanding, precise, and deeply intentional.

“She made decisions fast,” Dr. Tartaglione said. “When she was done, she was done.”

Operating on fragile pediatric patients required absolute focus and confidence. Dr. Canady taught her trainees to trust their judgment, maintain physical control in the operating room, and recognize when a case had reached its natural conclusion.

“You can’t hesitate,” Dr. Tartaglione explained. “She taught me that decisiveness is part of patient safety.”

Importantly, these mentors demonstrated leadership in spaces where few women had been allowed before—not by softening expectations, but by raising them. Their presence alone challenged assumptions about who belonged in surgery, while their teaching ensured that those who trained under them were capable, prepared, and resilient.

“They didn’t make excuses,” Dr. Tartaglione said. “They made surgeons.”

Through mentors like Dr. Ledgerwood and Dr. Canady, Dr. Tartaglione learned that rigor and respect are not opposites—and that the most meaningful mentorship is often the kind that holds you to standards you eventually learn to hold for yourself.

What Her Story Means Now

For women pursuing highly competitive surgical specialties, the question is rarely whether the work is possible but rather if they will be allowed space to grow without being diminished by stereotypes, scrutiny, or self-doubt. Dr. Tartaglione’s story offers something more powerful than reassurance: it offers proof.

She did not train in an era designed to support women in neurosurgery. There were few formal protections, little representation, and no roadmap for how to succeed as both a woman and an osteopathic physician in a field that questioned both identities. And yet, she advanced—not by minimizing herself, but by meeting every challenge with preparation, confidence, and decisiveness.

Her career reframes the narrative many women internalize when considering competitive specialties—that success requires exceptional luck, constant permission, or quiet endurance. Instead, her story emphasizes responsibility, visibility, and self-trust.

What stands out most is not that she was the first but that she never acted as though she did not belong. She showed up prepared. She volunteered when others hesitated. She accepted responsibility early and learned from it quickly. In spaces where women were often scrutinized more harshly, she did not attempt to soften herself to fit expectations—she sharpened her skills.

“You don’t have to be quiet to be competent,” she said. “And you don’t have to apologize for knowing what you’re doing.”

For medical students like myself, her experience challenges the fear that confidence will be misinterpreted or that ambition must be carefully concealed. Dr. Tartaglione demonstrates that confidence, when grounded in preparation and accountability, is not arrogance—it is a professional necessity.

Her story also matters because it does not erase difficulty. She acknowledges that other women faced far more overt discrimination, harassment, and retaliation—and that these realities are not relics of the past. But she also makes clear that resilience is not passive. It is active, vocal, and often uncomfortable.

For students considering neurosurgery or other competitive specialties, especially those who do not see themselves widely represented, Dr. Tartaglione’s career expands the definition of what is possible. She is not an exception meant to intimidate—she is an example meant to instruct.

Her legacy is not simply that she became the first board-certified female DO neurosurgeon. It is that she did so without surrendering her voice, her standards, or her sense of self—and in doing so, she created space for those who follow.

About the Author

Olivia Simcox is a second-year osteopathic medical student at Marian University Wood College of Osteopathic Medicine interested in pursuing a career in general surgery. She serves as President of MU-WCOM’s ACOS-MSS chapter and holds national representation within ACOS-MSS, where she advocates for osteopathic medical students pursuing surgical careers. In addition to her leadership in organized surgery, she is actively involved in surgical research and academic initiatives focused on mentorship and professional development.

About Franc Notes

Discover the voices of Marian University's health professions students through "Franc Notes", a vibrant, student-led blog that embodies our Franciscan commitment to community, reflection, and compassionate service. Inspired by the rhythm of "SOAP notes," it features weekly insights—from "DO Diaries" interviews with physicians to summer reflections and program spotlights—fostering collaboration across disciplines."