The Good, the Bad, and the Tolerant

Most everyone, I imagine, has had their share of good doctors and bad doctors. Good doctors have thousands of pictures up in their offices and, regardless of how long an absence, remember things about you. My pediatrician, Dr. Scroggie, embodies my vision for a good doctor. I’ve gone to him since I was born at Cooks Children’s Hospital in Fort Worth, and even though I’m nearing my 20s, I still find him more reliable than most other doctors. On the other hand, bad doctors are those who seem anxious to get to the next patient. It feels like they have a certain quota to fulfill for the day in order to maximize their practice. They’ll jot a few notes and be gone. There is no real effort to learn anything about the patient. Months ago, Emily said that she wanted to be a compassion doctor because there doesn't seem to be very many of them. This remark has stuck in my head for quite some time, and I thought about Rinpoche's remarks about how to improve this situation.

It seems to the patient that there is a clear distinction between a good doctor and a bad doctor. However, after reading Rinpoche’s Medicine and Compassion I believe that these roles are nonexistent. Just like the roles of the helper and helped in How Can I Help?, good doctors and bad doctors are only distinguished by the practice of true compassion. After all, a career in medicine is a noble one no matter how rough or abrasive a doctor may be; he is there to save lives. Sometimes the doctor even places his own life at risk to save others. Rinpoche says that “Acting in an unwholesome manner often seems easier to accomplish, whereas being noble can be extremely difficult” (Rinpoche 70). Months ago, Emily said that she wanted to be a compassion doctor because there doesn't seem to be very many of them. This remark has stuck in my head for quite some time. There are remarkable similarities between the roles of helper and helped and Rinpoche’s perceiver and perceived, or the concept of dualistic thinking. Just as Dass emphasized breaking down the barriers of helper / helped to get to perfect compassion, Rinpoche states that “recognizing our true nature means knowing that there is no real basis this dualistic way of perceiving” (Rinpoche 46). The causes of these similar role barriers are negative emotions that people allow to interfere with their conscience, like attachment, aversion, and ignorance. Attachment to some patients may lead doctors to avoid it for others. We are unable to know the reasons behind each and every doctor’s character toward their patients, but we can certainly understand their reasons regardless.

Just as doctors can learn to deal with intolerant patients, patients can learn to deal with irritated or rash doctors. We are not better than the doctor, for we possess negative emotions as well. We are not less than the doctor, because the doctor-patient relationship is a mutual, two-way one. Instead, we can learn to recognize that each doctor is a good one. Perhaps they are not always anxious or hotheaded; maybe they’re suffering from some personal problem that is causing them to have an off-day. In which case, the patient can learn to share their compassion with the doctor and communicate with them of their tolerance. Patients must foster true compassion as well as the doctor, especially if the doctor is the one needing most of the work. And overall, the patient must realize that this doctor can change the way he behaves to become an even better one. Practicing true compassion will make the hospital or clinic environment much less stressful if done diligently with good intentions. Practice will allow each doctor to see the hero inside of them, the all-compassionate hero defined by Brad. So, in essence, there are no bad doctors. There may be doctors who need work, but so do most people. The important thing is that people understand that “we [can] become buddhas by recognizing and training a potential that is already present in all of us” (Rinpoche 66).