By: Cathy Hung
In the earlier years of my career, I always tried to accommodate patients’ needs anytime, all the time, whenever possible. I opened my office many times off-hours at the slightest concern of patients with complaints of bleeding or pain. One time, I rerouted my weekend day trip when my son was still a toddler. We planned to take him to a museum, but as soon as I got called, my family drove one hour back for me to see a consult while my family waited in the parking lot outside the emergency room, only to find out that it was a routine consult with no urgency what-so-ever. I jumped whenever someone called me off-hours. After all, I pride myself as a caring human and a good doctor. The fight-and-flight responses were by-products of being trained at a level-one trauma center during my residency. I would be frisked on the inside but put a smile on the outside to keep professional.
In 2017, when my father was gasping agonal breaths at the hospice of Robert-Wood Johnson Hospital and finally passed away from long-standing prostate cancer, I was on-call with another hospital. Right at the moment when my father released his last breath, my phone went off for me to see a jaw fracture. I remember interrupting the nurse abruptly without her going into all the details, “My father just passed away, someone else will have to take this consult.” I hung up. It was the first time I didn’t feel anxious or guilty of not responding right away.
Over the years, as life caught up with me and I dealt with many more professional and personal crises, I began to realize that I couldn’t save them all. Tending to others all the time left me depleted. I started to feel unwell physically and emotionally. I went into my office one morning in a crummy mood, and my first patient, who was an energetic gentleman in his sixties with a tan on his face, wearing a polo shirt and a cap, told me he played golf every day and gazed through me with concern: “How are YOU feeling?” He added, “You know, because if you are taking care of me, I want to make sure you are in top condition.”
We briefly had some conversations about family, and I went a bit more personal than what I usually would allow myself as far as conversations with patients. It was surprisingly soothing and just what I needed at the time. My patient played therapist for me. He was compassionate, and I did not feel I had to have a stoic exterior. I let down my guard a bit, and it felt alright.
That experience allowed me to start showing my human side to my patients. While still staying professional, I would let my patients know if I really wasn’t feeling well from time to time. I would allow myself to sometimes reschedule instead of toughing it out. To my surprise, most patients have been sympathetic, gracefully allowing their doctor to take a sick day.
Here are a few things I’ve learned over the years:
- Let go of perfectionism: we can’t be 100% of the time, and that is okay.
- Being vulnerable is human, and most patients will respond to your human side as long as you behave professionally.
- You can’t save every person, so relax and do the best you can.
- Don’t feel bad asking for support.
As surgeons, we are trained to act controlled, collected, and calm all the time. Having the courage to be vulnerable allows me to bond with my patients more. When I recuperate from whatever challenge I need to tackle, I return as a better human being. The act of vulnerability adds to resilience-building and better rapport with my patients.
Cathy Hung is an oral and maxillofacial surgeon in private practice in New Jersey. She is a twice-published book author, speaker, and coach in the areas of diversity, equity and inclusion, and wellness. She is one of the American Dental Association’s wellness ambassadors, a consultant for the Committee on Membership for the American Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeons, and a member of the Outreach Committee for the Association of Women Surgeons. She enjoys traveling, reading, cooking, and collecting shells.