Oh, Yes! You're My Doctor!

by Norman Clothier, M.D.

On many Sunday mornings, our family eats at a fast-food restaurant on our way to church, finding it easier to leave the cooking to someone else on these early mornings. One recent Sunday, as I rushed to the register to order, a woman in line turned to me with a smile of recognition. As I’m sure is true for any of us who see many people in various settings, my mind began searching to place her face with a name. I busily began thinking, “Do I know her from church? The hospital? Is she a patient? My neighbor? One of my nurses? A drug rep?”

She interrupted with a warm smile and, extending her hand, exclaimed “Good morning, Brother Whitfield!”

Well, I’ve been called a number of things, even answering to most, but “Brother Whitfield” was a new one to me.

Naturally, I didn’t wish to ruin her day by splitting hairs over little details, such as my name or identity. “Good morning. Good to see you!” I said.

Just then, one of my children ran up to join me. The woman greeted her, asking me, “Now who is this?”

“Oh, this is my daughter Kayla.”

A curious look crossed her face as she said, “I didn’t realize you have a child, Brother Whitfield.” I was about to cross that barrier of potentially ruining her day after all, or at least of ruining her image of Brother Whitfield.

“Actually, I have eight children,” I offered as she turned to receive her food.

Turning back slowly toward me, she said, “Well, you’re not Brother Whitfield, are you?”

“Uh, no, I’m not,” was all I could manage before beginning to order. Moments later, she returned and said that she knew she recognized me from somewhere. “I just know that I know some man with a bunch of kids.” By now, I was pretty sure that she was my patient, one I hadn’t seen for a few weeks or months. “I believe you are one of my patients,” I acknowledged.

She lit up again, exclaiming, “Oh yes! You’re my doctor! You’re Dr. Crothens!” This was much closer to what I usually answer to. Identity solved, we wished each other well, ate and headed to church.

Reflecting on this later, I considered how many people family physicians encounter on any given day, and how a chance encounter often becomes an impromptu consult. It may be awkward, but we are very fortunate to get to know so many people in our communities. Perhaps that social contact played a role in the recent passage of proposition 12. We truly practice community medicine as the heart of family medicine.

Upon further reflection, I realized how very pleasant it was to hear “You are my doctor.” I feel there is a certain warmth associated with this phrase, an inherent expression of trust. It was nice to feel this sudden bond between two customers on a busy Sunday morning. Although she hadn’t needed my services for a few weeks, she implied that I was there for her, in that very unique role that we call “the doctor-patient relationship.”

I do not believe it would have been the same had she said, “You’re my PCP!” or “You’re my health-care provider!” I think we have been robbed of some of our bond with our community of patients by the use of such generic mumbo-jumbo. Some of the inherent value and trust of this very important partnership is lost to terminology when we are reduced to a contractual title. I would not want a close friend to change “You are a great friend” into “You are a good relationship provider” or worse a PFP (primary friendship provider).

Let us strive to rekindle the closeness of our relationships with patients, though they may change “providers” on an annual basis by insurance assignment. The art of performing true family medicine means bonding through trust with our community, even if it means being mistaken for Brother Whitfield from time to time.