Before coming to medical school, I made a promise to myself: I will not become a robot doctor. Time and again, I visited what I call robot doctors: those physicians unable to empathize with me and seemingly unable to compute moments when I said something unscripted. For example, I once made an appointment with a doctor to discuss what might have been irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). While describing my symptoms and discomfort, I cried. The doctor stared at me, blankly, and offered, “I can also refer you to a psychologist. You know, to talk about your feelings.” I wondered, are human emotions so foreign to this doctor that my feelings need a specialist?
I also thought perhaps the doctor was off his game. He was sleep-deprived. He had a rough morning. Nevertheless, whatever excuses I mustered didn’t erase the hurt I felt. While I sat with that doctor, I felt alone; it was awkward and unnatural. I vowed never to become that type of clinician.
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