“I was thrilled to see you today because I believed you would answer all my questions,” a patient once shared with me. I smiled, concealing my uncertainty. “I wish I could.”
The reality is, I frequently cannot (at least not during one visit). Medicine is grounded in curiosity and perpetual learning. Patients seek certainty, whereas doctors navigate uncertainty. We are aware enough to recognize how much we do not know. The gap between those expectations and reality creates disappointment and frustration for both parties.
In that brief moment between my patient’s naive comment and my response lingers a quiet intensity, akin to the inaudible crash of waves too distant to hear but too forceful to disregard, stretched infinitely between expectation and reality.
Beneath every lab coat rests the burden of another’s imagined perception of our existence.
These expectations carry real consequences. In my community, I am invariably “Doctor,” whether at the barber shop, the grocery store, the dinner table during game night, or even at family gatherings. The title remains constant, unyieldingly melding my personal identity with my professional one.
It is flattering, yet also isolating. Physicians are presumed to embody their role everywhere, all the time. However, boundaries around identities do not lessen the significance of any single one. They simply afford each its due reverence.
For better or worse, unlike other professions, our personal and professional identities are not viewed as distinctly separate.
The lab coat exudes more than professionalism and authority. It also conveys superhuman traits: flawless intellect, limitless empathy, immunity to mistakes, emotional fortitude, and moral clarity. Society often perceives capes where none exist. And too frequently, we assimilate it. We extend ourselves beyond our limits, smile through fatigue, and apologize for falling short of elevated expectations. We are lauded for continuously saying “yes” and criticized when we dare to say “no.” Even by superhuman standards, who seeks the “yes” for us?
The most distressing aspect is not the workload itself, but the belief that we must endure it without faltering, that the struggle is inherently noble, that seeking help is a sign of weakness, and that healers must not require healing.
If we are to continue caring for others, we must start by recognizing our own needs. Not through another wellness initiative, but by transforming both perception and practice.
– Uphold boundaries. Allow physicians to exist beyond their role. Titles matter less than names.
– Safeguard time. Quiet hours, uninterrupted lunch breaks, and EMR support are essential; they are prerequisites for quality care.
– Listen more. Inquire what genuinely affects physicians’ well-being, rather than offering generic solutions.
– Evaluate what matters. Shift focus from satisfaction scores to significant health outcomes.
Compassion and empathy are limited yet renewable resources. They require reciprocity for ongoing replenishment.
Lab coats are not capes. If physicians possess a superpower, it is not in our lab coats, but in what lies beneath, our shared humanity.
*Zaid Mahmood is a family physician.*