The best part of my job

One of the pleasures of a busy outpatient practice is the privilege of meeting a wide variety of people. Perhaps my imagination is limited, but I can’t think of any other profession where one gets to interact in a meaningful way with a different person every 15 minutes.

Although the work of listening to patients tell me what ails them can be mentally and emotionally exhausting, there are unquantifiable rewards of getting to know so many different people. It might be a weakness on my part, but I get attached to my patients and frequently find myself quite invested in their well-being.

It helps that I practice in a small city with many universities and only a handful of rheumatologists. I have met judges and lawyers, restaurant managers, social workers, mail carriers, firefighters, politicians, strippers, local news meteorologists, jewelry makers, religious studies professors, radio talk show hosts, biotech rising stars, artists, 90-year-old ski instructors, and professional tennis players (something called court tennis, which is different from tennis as we know it but is apparently the game from which all racquet sports evolve). The list goes on.

I’ve met people from all over the world. There are Thai, Hmong, Laotian, and Vietnamese patients. There are those from Colombia, Peru, and Brazil. There are Nigerians and South Africans and Botswanans and Liberians (one of whom used to be good friends with ousted dictator Charles Taylor). I have a number of Greek, Italian, French, British, Spanish, and Portuguese patients, but most European transplants here are from the Azores.

A recent favorite is an accountant from Eritrea. He left Eritrea in the 1970s before Eritrea was even officially a country. In talking about his country’s history, he asked me this provocative question: "What have you heard about Eritrea?" What he really meant was that the country is run by a dictator who holds a tight reign over the media, so the outside world knows nothing about the corruption, human rights abuses, and political repression that occurs there.

That question got me thinking about how insular our lives can be, and how fortunate we are to have patients who enrich us by honoring us with their stories.

I’ve heard stories as dramatic as witnessing the slaughter of one’s family at the hands of the Khmer Rouge, or as mundane as teaching a son to make "adult decisions" in his senior year of college. I’ve heard stories of love and loss, of triumph and defeat, of gratitude and grace. Each encounter is a treasure, a distillation of the repository of wisdom that these unique individuals are. The experience is at once gratifying and humbling.

So I may be tired, and I may lose a bit of myself by becoming so attached to my patients, but I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing than being a doctor.

Dr. Chan practices rheumatology in Pawtucket, R.I.

One of the pleasures of a busy outpatient practice is the privilege of meeting a wide variety of people. Perhaps my imagination is limited, but I can’t think of any other profession where one gets to interact in a meaningful way with a different person every 15 minutes.

Although the work of listening to patients tell me what ails them can be mentally and emotionally exhausting, there are unquantifiable rewards of getting to know so many different people. It might be a weakness on my part, but I get attached to my patients and frequently find myself quite invested in their well-being.

It helps that I practice in a small city with many universities and only a handful of rheumatologists. I have met judges and lawyers, restaurant managers, social workers, mail carriers, firefighters, politicians, strippers, local news meteorologists, jewelry makers, religious studies professors, radio talk show hosts, biotech rising stars, artists, 90-year-old ski instructors, and professional tennis players (something called court tennis, which is different from tennis as we know it but is apparently the game from which all racquet sports evolve). The list goes on.

I’ve met people from all over the world. There are Thai, Hmong, Laotian, and Vietnamese patients. There are those from Colombia, Peru, and Brazil. There are Nigerians and South Africans and Botswanans and Liberians (one of whom used to be good friends with ousted dictator Charles Taylor). I have a number of Greek, Italian, French, British, Spanish, and Portuguese patients, but most European transplants here are from the Azores.

A recent favorite is an accountant from Eritrea. He left Eritrea in the 1970s before Eritrea was even officially a country. In talking about his country’s history, he asked me this provocative question: "What have you heard about Eritrea?" What he really meant was that the country is run by a dictator who holds a tight reign over the media, so the outside world knows nothing about the corruption, human rights abuses, and political repression that occurs there.

That question got me thinking about how insular our lives can be, and how fortunate we are to have patients who enrich us by honoring us with their stories.

I’ve heard stories as dramatic as witnessing the slaughter of one’s family at the hands of the Khmer Rouge, or as mundane as teaching a son to make "adult decisions" in his senior year of college. I’ve heard stories of love and loss, of triumph and defeat, of gratitude and grace. Each encounter is a treasure, a distillation of the repository of wisdom that these unique individuals are. The experience is at once gratifying and humbling.

So I may be tired, and I may lose a bit of myself by becoming so attached to my patients, but I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing than being a doctor.

Dr. Chan practices rheumatology in Pawtucket, R.I.

One of the pleasures of a busy outpatient practice is the privilege of meeting a wide variety of people. Perhaps my imagination is limited, but I can’t think of any other profession where one gets to interact in a meaningful way with a different person every 15 minutes.

Although the work of listening to patients tell me what ails them can be mentally and emotionally exhausting, there are unquantifiable rewards of getting to know so many different people. It might be a weakness on my part, but I get attached to my patients and frequently find myself quite invested in their well-being.

It helps that I practice in a small city with many universities and only a handful of rheumatologists. I have met judges and lawyers, restaurant managers, social workers, mail carriers, firefighters, politicians, strippers, local news meteorologists, jewelry makers, religious studies professors, radio talk show hosts, biotech rising stars, artists, 90-year-old ski instructors, and professional tennis players (something called court tennis, which is different from tennis as we know it but is apparently the game from which all racquet sports evolve). The list goes on.

I’ve met people from all over the world. There are Thai, Hmong, Laotian, and Vietnamese patients. There are those from Colombia, Peru, and Brazil. There are Nigerians and South Africans and Botswanans and Liberians (one of whom used to be good friends with ousted dictator Charles Taylor). I have a number of Greek, Italian, French, British, Spanish, and Portuguese patients, but most European transplants here are from the Azores.

A recent favorite is an accountant from Eritrea. He left Eritrea in the 1970s before Eritrea was even officially a country. In talking about his country’s history, he asked me this provocative question: "What have you heard about Eritrea?" What he really meant was that the country is run by a dictator who holds a tight reign over the media, so the outside world knows nothing about the corruption, human rights abuses, and political repression that occurs there.

That question got me thinking about how insular our lives can be, and how fortunate we are to have patients who enrich us by honoring us with their stories.

I’ve heard stories as dramatic as witnessing the slaughter of one’s family at the hands of the Khmer Rouge, or as mundane as teaching a son to make "adult decisions" in his senior year of college. I’ve heard stories of love and loss, of triumph and defeat, of gratitude and grace. Each encounter is a treasure, a distillation of the repository of wisdom that these unique individuals are. The experience is at once gratifying and humbling.

So I may be tired, and I may lose a bit of myself by becoming so attached to my patients, but I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing than being a doctor.

Dr. Chan practices rheumatology in Pawtucket, R.I.