Physician Appreciation Quotes

We are wrestling with some form of imposter syndrome, unable to internalize and appreciate our own accomplishments

DR. JOHN SNOW—This well-known physician died at noon on the 16th instant, at his house in Sackville-street, from an attack of apoplexy. His researches on chloroform and other anaesthetics were appreciated by the profession.

I used to read in books how our fathers persecuted mankind. But I never appreciated it. I did not really appreciate the infamies that have been committed in the name of religion, until I saw the iron arguments that Christians used. I saw the Thumbscrew—two little pieces of iron, armed on the inner surfaces with protuberances, to prevent their slipping; through each end a screw uniting the two pieces. And when some man denied the efficacy of baptism, or may be said, 'I do not believe that a fish ever swallowed a man to keep him from drowning,' then they put his thumb between these pieces of iron and in the name of love and universal forgiveness, began to screw these pieces together. When this was done most men said, 'I will recant.' Probably I should have done the same. Probably I would have said: 'Stop; I will admit anything that you wish; I will admit that there is one god or a million, one hell or a billion; suit yourselves; but stop.' But there was now and then a man who would not swerve the breadth of a hair. There was now and then some sublime heart, willing to die for an intellectual conviction. Had it not been for such men, we would be savages to-night. Had it not been for a few brave, heroic souls in every age, we would have been cannibals, with pictures of wild beasts tattooed upon our flesh, dancing around some dried snake fetich. Let us thank every good and noble man who stood so grandly, so proudly, in spite of opposition, of hatred and death, for what he believed to be the truth. Heroism did not excite the respect of our fathers. The man who would not recant was not forgiven. They screwed the thumbscrews down to the last pang, and then threw their victim into some dungeon, where, in the throbbing silence and darkness, he might suffer the agonies of the fabled damned. This was done in the name of love—in the name of mercy, in the name of Christ. I saw, too, what they called the Collar of Torture. Imagine a circle of iron, and on the inside a hundred points almost as sharp as needles. This argument was fastened about the throat of the sufferer. Then he could not walk, nor sit down, nor stir without the neck being punctured, by these points. In a little while the throat would begin to swell, and suffocation would end the agonies of that man. This man, it may be, had committed the crime of saying, with tears upon his cheeks, 'I do not believe that God, the father of us all, will damn to eternal perdition any of the children of men.' I saw another instrument, called the Scavenger's Daughter. Think of a pair of shears with handles, not only where they now are, but at the points as well, and just above the pivot that unites the blades, a circle of iron. In the upper handles the hands would be placed; in the lower, the feet; and through the iron ring, at the centre, the head of the victim would be forced. In this condition, he would be thrown prone upon the earth, and the strain upon the muscles produced such agony that insanity would in pity end his pain. I saw the Rack. This was a box like the bed of a wagon, with a windlass at each end, with levers, and ratchets to prevent slipping; over each windlass went chains; some were fastened to the ankles of the sufferer; others to his wrists. And then priests, clergymen, divines, saints, began turning these windlasses, and kept turning, until the ankles, the knees, the hips, the shoulders, the elbows, the wrists of the victim were all dislocated, and the sufferer was wet with the sweat of agony. And they had standing by a physician to feel his pulse. What for? To save his life? Yes. In mercy? No; simply that they might rack him once again. This was done, remember, in the name of civilization; in the name of law and order; in the name of mercy; in the name of religion; in the name of Christ.

A century ago, historians of technology felt that individual inventors were the main actors that brought about the Industrial Revolution. Such heroic interpretations were discarded in favor of views that emphasized deeper economic and social factors such as institutions, incentives, demand, and factor prices. It seems, however, that the crucial elements were neither brilliant individuals nor the impersonal forces governing the masses, but a small group of at most a few thousand people who formed a creative community based on the exchange of knowledge. Engineers, mechanics, chemists, physicians, and natural philosophers formed circles in which access to knowledge was the primary objective. Paired with the appreciation that such knowledge could be the base of ever-expanding prosperity, these elite networks were indispensable, even if individual members were not. Theories that link education and human capital to technological progress need to stress the importance of these small creative communities jointly with wider phenomena such as literacy rates and universal schooling.

In the first place, in the physician or surgeon no quality takes rank with imperturbability…. Imperturbability means coolness and presence of mind under all circumstances, calmness amid storm, clearness of judgment in moments of grave peril, immobility, impassiveness, or, to use an old and expressive word, phlegm. It is the quality which is most appreciated by the laity though often misunderstood by them; and the physician who has the misfortune to be without it, who betrays indecision and worry, and who shows that he is flustered and flurried in ordinary emergencies, loses rapidly the confidence of his patients. AEQUANIMITAS, IN AEQUANIMITAS, 3–4.

Who will I be when I have fewer patients? When I have no patients at all? It's often noted that "practice" as it relates to medicine has two meanings: the act of caring for patients and the doctor's never-ending process of perfecting his or her craft. But there's a third meaning, too, one I'm only now appreciating as I contemplate the end of my career. Medicine is a practice in the way that yoga or meditation is for many people, an activity repeated so often that it becomes a kind of incantation. I have, for so long, stood to my patients' right sides as physicians have done for centuries, palpated the lymph nodes in their necks, armpits, and groins; auscultated their hearts and lungs; asked the same questions I first learned to ask nearly forty years ago—What makes the pain better? What makes it worse? These rituals are for me an anchor without which I fear I might simply drift away. Of course I suspected all along that what I feared wasn't abandoning my patients, but myself.

Please understand, Conception of a Dialysis Patient (the untold truths), is for those who have never crossed over, and experienced this world first hand. Tethered to a machine for survival, takes an emotional toll, yes on the patient, but family and friends as well. Anyone who draws breath needs to take this expedition. Dialysis patients, unfortunately, know their untold truths, so this may simply be confirmation of sorts, acknowledgement of their not being alone. This is the point of view of one patient, not a physician. I ask that you and others hear our voices. As the creator of the opus, I have firsthand experience. Removed from the machine, with my second transplant of a lifetime, I am certainly blessed. My objective is to open everyone’s eyes and minds, especially those of you who never been tethered to a dialysis machine. From my perception, you will value the emotional charge, and destruction dialysis forces upon patients, and their families. Again, the goal is to enlighten, in a manner that is sure to linger, and have you examining your own predicaments. I so appreciate you passing the word, Please take that breath with us… -Fayton

the most colourful characters of the historical advocates of vegetarianism was George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950). When Shaw decided to eliminate meat from his diet, it was so contrary to his culture that his physician was alarmed. He cautioned the young Shaw that if he continued to insist on this meat-free diet, he would surely die of malnutrition in short order. Shaw replied that he would sooner die than consume a “corpse.” One can appreciate the irony of the situation when, as he approached his eighty-fifth year, Shaw proclaimed: The average age (life expectancy) of a meat eater is 63. I am on the verge of 85 and still work as hard as ever. I have lived quite long enough and I am trying to die; but I simply cannot do it. A single beef steak would finish me; but I cannot bring myself to swallow it. I am oppressed with a dread of living forever. That is the only disadvantage of vegetarianism.

The symbolic connection between the dress code and Mayo’s standards for performance is clear: “There is a Mayo way of doing things. Don’t come here if you don’t want to adopt it—completely.” These standards and traditions translate into well-coordinated care that patients appreciate and physicians are proud of.

Please understand, Conception of a Dialysis Patient (the untold truths), is for those who have never crossed over, and experienced this world first hand. Tethered to a machine for survival, takes an emotional toll, yes on the patient, but family and friends as well. Anyone who draws breath needs to take this expedition. Dialysis patients, unfortunately, know their untold truths, so this may simply be confirmation of sorts, acknowledgement of their not being alone. This is the point of view of one patient, not a physician. I ask that you and others hear our voices. As the creator of the opus, I have first-hand experience. Removed from the machine, with my second transplant of a lifetime, I am certainly blessed. My objective is to open everyone’s eyes and minds, especially those of you who never been tethered to a dialysis machine. From my perception, you will value the emotional charge, and destruction dialysis forces upon patients, and their families. Again, the goal is to enlighten, in a manner that is sure to linger, and have you examining your own predicaments. I so appreciate you passing the word. Please take that breath with us -Fayton

What these older physicians exhibited is termed clinical curiosity. They stroke to understand their patients in order to elucidate the underlying medical conditions. This thoroughness, patience, and dogged curiosity may have been ingrained in them because they trained at a time when they were no rapid CTs or MRIs. But even now, when these diagnostic tools are at their fingertips, these physicians maintain this approach to patients, one that serves to appreciate the dignity and uniqueness of each patient and his or her illness.

But not all patients and their families cope well and find relief. Not all resolve their fears and uncertainties and address their feelings. Those situations provide physicians and others yet another opportunity to intervene in a way that is healing, enriching, and strengthening for the patient and the family. While much of the time, the patient is the center of the drama, sometimes other important dramas are going on in the patient's family, and complex relationships need to be explored. Do we know the whole story? Do we really understand what it is like? Only when we focus on the patient's experience do we begin to appreciate the richness, depth, and challenge of being a physician.

Service is an action word, a perfect antidote to boredom, loneliness, alienation, and fear. Service can impart the gift of inner peace. Service is the physical expression of thanks to the world, an apt way to appreciate the miracle of life.

While Bernice didn't much trust a baby-faced physician, she appreciated young men called to serve as preachers and farmers, the highest of callings in her opinion, cultivators of souls and the land.

HH Dalai Lama: Some forms of meditation are very difficult. One of my close friends was a very good meditator who attempted to cultivate single-pointedness of mind. He had the experience of spending a few years in a Chinese prison, and he told me that the meditation was actually harder than being a prisoner. The point is that he had to be constantly aware and attentive without losing his attention even for a moment. A constant vigilance was required. One factor that needs to be taken into account is the intensity and quality of the meditator’s motivation. In the traditional Buddhist context, meditators are highly motivated individuals who have a deep appreciation of the framework of the Buddhist path and an understanding of its causes and effects: If I do this, this will happen. They understand the nature of the path and its culmination. There is a deep recognition that the fulfillment of one’s aspiration for happiness really lies in the transformation of one’s undisciplined state to a more disciplined state of mind. These individuals take into account all of this context, so when they engage in meditation, they have a tremendous sense of dedication, joy, a very strong motivation, and sustained enthusiasm. But if you just tell a child, with no context at all, to start meditating, there will be no incentive, no inspiration. Robert, you made the comment that in small doses, stress can actually raise dopamine levels, which we assume corresponds in the rat to a heightened sense of well-being or pleasure. I wonder whether there might be an analogue in meditation, specifically in the training of single-pointed attention, or samadhi, which is not uniquely Buddhist. As one trains incrementally in developing attention, a quality arises that is described as suppleness or malleability of the body and mind, and is often conjoined with a sense of well-being, perhaps even bliss. It happens very strongly when one achieves a high state of samadhi, but even incrementally along the path, there are many surges of this type of malleability together with a kind of bliss. This may be an interesting area of research, to see from the neurophysiological perspective what some of the unexpected events are that come out of such attentional training.

Tattooing is definitely an art form,” Kenzo said. “I do agree with you about that, and I’ve recently learned to appreciate the beauty of the art tattoo. But tell me, speaking not as a collector but strictly as a physician and a rational man, don’t you think it’s stupid to undergo so much pain and expend so much energy on self-mutilation? I mean, surely no one with an iota of common sense would ever do such a thing.

The task of the physician is to appreciate what it's like to be in the patient's situation, to clearly define the patient's needs, and then to help the patient meet those needs.

A few lines from Wordsworth’s “Prelude” come to mind: “There is a dark inscrutable workmanship that reconciles discordant elements, makes them move in one society.”100 I think of the continual flux, the deconstructing and cohering of patterns of connection in the brain, moment by moment. Whether you call it Tao or dharma or God or I-don’t-have-the-slightest-idea, there is certainly a sense that we are participating in something quite extraordinary and mysterious. This time together has been like a bell ringing for five sessions over two and half days. The bell has now rung, but the reverberations have the potential to go out infinitely. We do not know what the consequences are of having eavesdropped on this conversation in His Holiness’s portable living room, but whatever the consequences may be, they will have something to do with all the questions that didn’t get answered. The challenge is to ask where those questions come from in the first place, and what your job on the planet is, whether it has to do with children, with trauma, with the military, with government, or with something else. The challenge is to ask, “What is my job on this planet, in this moment, given who I am and everything I know—including whatever has come from this dialogue? Might this inquiry begin to cohere and synchronize for us, individually and collectively, into some deeper manifestation of what it might actually mean to belong to Homo sapiens sapiens, the species that knows, and knows that it knows, in other words, the species of awareness and awareness of awareness?” Or will we go back to sleep on our way home? I was so touched by what Richie said, and I want to bow to him for holding seemingly different worlds in a way that truly has heart. I value our friendship tremendously and am deeply appreciative of the opportunity to have been able to work together to develop this meeting and host it together.

A new movement reinforced by activists such as Buddhist monks, physicians who practised traditional medicine, teachers, farmers, and laborers brought Prime Minister Bandaranaike into the political helm. The leaders of the Davulawatta community considered this election a personal achievement. They saw this as a people's government and appreciated its genuine interest in fulfilling the needs of the common people. They trusted that the present government would eradicate poverty and the caste discrimination, and work to promote self-esteem.

It dawned on me, slowly, that I was not alone in my desolation or my loneliness. And that I knew all too well what had happened last time this state of affairs had become obvious to both of us. Granted, we were not drunk, but I thought he couldn’t help but remember it, as well. “Do you … wish me to … comfort you?” he said quietly. “I do know how, you know.” And, reaching down, he moved a finger very slowly, in such a place and with such exquisite delicacy that I gasped and jerked away. “I know you do.” I did have a moment’s curiosity as to how exactly he had learned, but was not about to ask. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought—I do,” I assured him, and felt my cheeks flush hotter. “It’s—it’s only—” “That you would feel unfaithful?” he guessed. He smiled a little sadly. “I understand.” There was a long silence then. And a sense of growing awareness. “You wouldn’t?” I asked. He lay quite still, as if asleep, but wasn’t. “A standing cock is quite blind, my dear,” he said at last, eyes still shut. “Surely you know that, physician that you are.” “Yes,” I said, “I do know that.” And taking him gently but firmly in hand, I dealt with him in tender silence, avoiding any thought of whom he might see in his mind’s eye.