Nothing feels more paradoxical than this — a cardiac surgeon doing his rounds, checking on patients who have come to him to mend failing hearts, hopeful of resurrection after a close brush with death. He would be assuring them that all is well, that recovery is on the way. And then, suddenly, the healer himself collapses, succumbing to the very ailment he was meant to cure with his therapeutic hands and words. The scene sounds surreal, yet it is becoming a chilling reality in India’s hospitals. Doctors are falling prey to a multitude of problems they cannot circumvent, often labelled as “pressures of the medical profession.”
Experts caution that doctors too need a life, offering advice on maintaining work–life balance even when one dons the mantle of lifesaver to hundreds, sometimes thousands. To pin this mammoth issue under the simple banner of “stress” would be reductionist. The profession demands deeper analysis and understanding, and solutions beyond generic advice. The pressing questions are: Why are doctors unable to achieve that elusive equilibrium?
What hidden maladies afflict our healers’ community? And do we, as patients, even realise that beneath the white coat and stethoscope lies a human body and a throbbing heart, prone to disorder just like ours? Why do doctors stretch themselves so thin that they tear, without being mindful of the consequences? Some are driven by sheer commitment, a sacred duty to their patients, inspired by the Hippocratic Oath. Others are held hostage by the modern trappings of life — money, prestige, reputation —that demand more than humanly possible. Then there are systemic pressures: Too few doctors for millions of patients (in 2020, India had 0.727 physicians per 1,000 people, according to World Bank data). Add to these administrative burdens, patient expectations, and the ever-present fear of legal or professional backlash, and the doctors’ plates are full. On top are societal and familial expectations; and for those in teaching hospitals, the relentless duress of research, publication, and academic excellence. The result is a profession caught in a paradox — facing wellness bankruptcy in a space that prescribes health as priority. Like most of us grappling with the changing dynamics of modern life, doctors too are pulled by duty, ambition, and unyielding demands of a system that rarely pauses to care for them. Commitment itself has consequences.
When a dutiful doctor consistently puts patients ahead of themselves, eating and sleep patterns collapse. It is heal over meal for them. The honour of donning the white coat does not permit complacency, even for a moment, while on duty. Constantly making life-and-death decisions, they face hazards unique to their jobs. In India, negligence and slip-ups can flare tempers and result in violent attacks. Doctors worry not only about the legal consequences of a botched procedure but also about the wrath of mobs demanding accountability in the roughest manner possible. At the end of the day, doctors have far more to accomplish than writing prescriptions. That they are deeply connected with the sacred act of healing does not insulate them from the commercial, social, and material strains of a world that measures worth in numbers and outcomes. Caught between service, success, and survival, they too, perhaps, lose sight of what truly matters — life — and will need psychosomatic support to carry on in a profession that demands their undivided self. The wake-up calls are loud — will there be a cure for the healers?