When the doctor catches a cold

 

“If you cannot prevent yourself from getting sick, then what does it mean for all of us?” This is one of the most difficult and often annoying questions I face in the clinic on days when I am unwell. I have been down with a viral upper respiratory infection since the past 4 days that is typical of this time of the year. It comes with a running nose, cough, clogged-up sinuses and a thick heavy nasal twang in the voice and some hoarseness. Sometimes my face also gets bloated with all the congestion that goes on inside it. My nose, throat and sinus anatomy is such a way that it leaves very little for the imagination when I am down with a cold. Every time I run the clinic with such a cold, I have patients expressing all kinds of emotions to me. 

1.        Sympathy – By far, this is the commonest emotion that my cold evokes. People feel bad for me and suggest that I soothe my throat with some warm water. They give me well-meaning home remedies and things I can do to feel better. 

2.        Disappointment – A few patients cannot hide their disappointment when they say, “Doctors must not get such colds”. Unable to hide the expression of disappointment on their face, they part with me giving a sound piece of their mind “I am disappointed in you. You must first take care of yourself. Only then you can take care of us.” 

3.        Apprehension – Some are outright scared of the infection that had the audacity to infect a ‘doctor’. “Is this something dangerous? If a doctor cannot protect himself, then what hope do we have?” This is the sentiment that comes across in their reaction. 

4.        Betrayal – One patient reacted as though I had betrayed their trust by catching a cold. “How could you allow this to happen to yourself doctor? I trusted you so much.” 

5.        Cynicism – I have some elderly patients who are weather-beaten into cynicism over the years. “What is the use of all your education and the years you spend knowing your craft? You cannot protect yourself from a simple cold and you end up suffering like all of us.” 

 

I try my best to ignore all these comments and smile them off politely. But sometimes when the nose is running like a leaky tap, I am trying to balance listening to the chest of a patient with my stethoscope while positioning my face in such a manner that the run does not drip down and embarrass me in front of them, smiling off such comments becomes difficult. Very rarely I have also given some retorts to these comments. The most common one being “I am human like you”. But this is often not an acceptable answer. It is difficult for some people to imagine a doctor being sick, or a therapist being sad. This is referred to as the “Healer’s paradox”. 

 

In the mind of the patient there is a distinct line between the ‘sick’ and the ‘healer’. The ‘sick’ is the one who is weak. The ‘healer’ is strong, rock-solid and someone the ‘sick’ looks up to for healing. The distinction between them is clear and the ‘healer’ is always placed at a higher level than the ‘sick’. Being the ‘healer’ is associated with having knowledge, expertise and power to correct what is wrong. If this ‘healer’ is unable to apply their knowledge, expertise, power and mastery over themselves, then it questions the presence of this distinction between the ‘healer’ and the ‘sick’. It makes the ’healer’ lose their power. This leads to breach of the faith that the ‘sick’ has on the ‘healer’.

 

Professionals like doctors, nurses, therapists are dehumanized to a certain extent in the minds of their patients. Their ‘personhood’ is often stripped, and they are viewed as instruments of healing. I have noticed this in some of my patients, who find it hard to engage in small talk with me. To them, I am an instrument of healing and not a friend with whom they can have small talk. It is comfortable for many patients to see their doctors as disembodied instruments of healing. For them, seeing their doctor sick is a harsh reality check that they are also humans. It may be easier for them to accept the demise of the doctor, because even instruments have break-down. But it is never easy for them to accept their doctor suffering the same ailments that they are going through. It evokes very strange emotions in them. I vividly remember a situation when I was talking to a middle-aged man whom I had just diagnosed as having diabetes. He must have been my age and to make things relatable, I was sharing with him my own experience of being diagnosed with diabetes and how I am managing my lifestyle now. He broke out laughing and could not control himself. I waited for him to compose himself and he could not stop laughing. After some time he took my prescription and walked out and I have never met him again. I think it was a shocking truth for him to learn that his doctor also has diabetes. He must have thought, “How can a doctor who could not prevent himself from getting diabetes treat me effectively?” The irony of the whole situation must have tickled him! 

 

Many patients, even those who are learned and in professional occupations have a tinge of reverence towards their doctors and ascribe a ‘God-like’ role to them. Even yesterday, a very highly educated woman, much older than me, who is my patient, told me, “I can never refer to you by name doctor. I consider that disrespectful.” When someone so highly revered and ascribed the role of “God” suffers from mundane illnesses like a cold, it is an existential crisis for the patient. If ‘the doctor’ is not safe, then no one is safe. It creates a deep sense of anxiety and apprehension for the patient. This is how I try and understand the reactions of some of my patients to the illnesses and sufferings that I go through. As a counter argument, I consider my own experiences of illnesses and sufferings as highly insightful. They give me an insider perspective and a sense of heightened empathy to what my patients are going through. My prolonged struggle with mental health issues which are reasonably under control now, have helped me develop a keen sense of empathy to people who come to me for mental health problems. Therefore, I think expressing my vulnerability to illnesses and mental health problems is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of being human and empathetic and having an experiential understanding of what the patient is going through. At some level, it gives me the freedom to see my patient and me as fellow sufferers rather than as a ‘strong rock-solid doctor’ for a ‘weak and vulnerable patient’.