Healing requires more than medicine

I was recently at a well-known hospital for a follow-up consultation when I noticed an elderly couple standing hesitantly near the billing counters, visibly uncertain about the procedure they were expected to follow. What struck me was the absence of anyone attentive enough to recognise their discomfort and assist them. My wife, standing some distance away, sensed their unease and quietly walked forward to help. A little later, I saw the same couple again at the coordinator’s desk, trying to make sense of a junior doctor’s instructions. They returned a few minutes later, still uncertain about the directions. The doctor repeated the explanation politely, though a trace of irritation had now entered his voice. Nearby, another young doctor was explaining something to a rustic-looking patient with far less patience and sensitivity.

A few days later, in another reputed hospital, I witnessed a similar moment of confusion. An elderly man and his son were standing in a long queue.  The son had already completed the appointment and payment online. They need not have spent more time in the queue after waiting there so long already. I explained the process to them and directed them towards the consultation area.

Another experience stayed with me even more strongly. A hospital had recently opened a geriatric department, and impressed by the idea, I took my father there for consultation. A young doctor listened to him for a few minutes before interrupting midway and writing out a prescription without hearing the complete medical history. We had hoped he would guide us towards appropriate care. Yet, despite having no waiting patients outside, he appeared impatient to engage further.

My grey-haired cardiologist consistently gives patients the time required to understand complex medical terms and treatment options. My younger ophthalmologist embodies genuine care. She greets patients warmly, explains things calmly, and apologises personally for delays. Both these compassionate doctors work within the same hospital systems where I had witnessed impatience and indifference. The issue lies somewhere deeper-in the gradual erosion of certain human abilities that are becoming increasingly critical in highly system-driven environments. We observe a diminishing presence of patience, attentiveness, and empathy. Modern systems have become faster, more technologically efficient, and administratively streamlined, but human beings do not always move at the same speed as systems. Healthcare and other institutional spaces are increasingly transactional environments where vulnerability is handled procedurally rather than understood empathetically. The ability to listen patiently and respond with sensitivity is cultivated slowly over time. It is perhaps here that literature and the arts assume deeper relevance than we often acknowledge. Such engagement allows individuals to encounter lives beyond their own. And yet, I increasingly encounter resistance even to such ideas. Parents often oppose such initiatives related to literature and the arts in favour of narrow utilitarian pursuits. In hospitals, senior administrators sometimes ask how literature can possibly be connected to medical intervention. The issue is not whether literature cures disease, but whether societies still recognise the importance of cultivating human beings capable of understanding suffering with patience, dignity, and care. Perhaps this is where institutions must rediscover their human side.

Sanjay Chandra, founder of Kala - Krazy About Literature And Arts, is an author, speaker, coach, and strategy consultant; Views presented are personal.