Laura, the chair of my department, is fervent in her passion for ambient AI systems within clinical healthcare. Daily communications, weekly updates, and even hands-on demonstrations; she’s certain this represents the future of medicine. Observing her, I can’t help but experience both respect and discomfort. Her fervor is authentic, but I question whether we’re hastily approaching something beyond our full comprehension.

In numerous respects, she’s correct. There’s a serene pleasure in integrating these ambient AI systems into our practices. They listen, transcribe, and create our documentation with astonishing accuracy. They gift us back time (valuable minutes that we once spent bent over keyboards), now repurposed toward our patients, our teams, and possibly even ourselves.

For many among us, this seems like a long-awaited respite. We can at last make eye contact with our patients without the EMR diverting our focus. We can be engaged in the room, not just physically, but emotionally and intellectually. Ambient AI systems have, in several respects, reinstated a facet of the clinical interaction that we feared was disappearing.

However, as we rejoice in this advancement, I want to kindly address what we may be sacrificing.

Medicine has always encompassed more than mere diagnosis and treatment. We are not solely doctors; we are narrators. We compose the tales of illness, healing, and endurance. We select words that convey not only symptoms but also humanity. And in the process of writing, we recall. We contemplate. We connect.

Now, with AI composing our notes, we jeopardize becoming mere editors of our compassion. We skim, we endorse, we move forward. The nuanced details (the ones that don’t fit neatly into a SOAP format but are deeply significant to the patient) may fade away. The act of documentation, once a ceremony of contemplation, devolves into a task of efficiency.

This is not an indictment of ambient AI systems. They are wonders of advancement, assisting us in regaining time and alleviating burnout. Yet, we must remain vigilant. Efficiency does not equate to care. And presence extends beyond eye contact; it includes bearing witness to the intricate realities of our patients’ lives.

As Sir William Osler once articulated: “The good physician treats the disease; the great physician treats the patient who has the disease.” Let us not overlook that distinction.

Let us wield these tools not to supplant our humanity but to safeguard it. Let us remember that the essence of medicine resides not in the documentation but in the relationships: in the narratives we listen to, the silences we respect, and the moments we carry with us long after the encounter concludes.

Technology will keep advancing. We must do so as well. But let us progress with purpose, grounded in compassion, directed by intention, and optimistic that with the proper balance, we can reclaim not only our time but also the core reasons we embarked on this journey initially.

And perhaps, just perhaps, Laura’s vision for the future can harmonize with the traditions that render medicine an art, not due to technological imperatives, but because we desire it.

Alexandria Phan is a medical oncologist.