Do my Patients Have the Right of Way?

On my way to the clinic each morning, I pass a modest Srinagar Municipal Corporation (SMC) billboard that reads: “Pedestrians Have the Right of Way.”

It’s one of those city signs we all see but rarely reflect upon. But that day, I paused. Not literally, I didn’t halt traffic, but mentally, something made me stop. I kept thinking about the phrase: “the right of way.” Who grants it? Who deserves it? And what happens when it’s denied?

By the time I reached my clinic, that thought had shape-shifted. I suddenly found myself asking: Do my patients have the right of way?

Of course, the analogy was imperfect. But it stayed with me. I couldn’t ignore the parallel between a pedestrian crossing through chaotic roads and a patient passing through pain, uncertainty and often a health system that feels indifferent. Just like on the roads, patients, especially those who are vulnerable, poor, elderly or voiceless, are often denied space, priority, dignity.

That morning, as I opened my OPD door and saw a frail elderly woman adjusting the scarf on her head with trembling fingers, I realized the answer was yes. Yes, patients do have the right of way—not just to be treated, but to be seen, to be heard, to be respected.

But that truth, I’ve come to believe, only holds when we see a patient not as a customer—but as a human being who is suffering.

More Than a Case File

In our increasingly commercialized healthcare system, there is growing pressure to view patients as clients. The transaction becomes straightforward: a fee is paid, a service is expected. But healing is never transactional. It is deeply relational.

There’s a certain spiritual bankruptcy in reducing the patient-doctor relationship to a mere exchange. The essence of medicine lies in human connection. When we stop seeing the person behind the pain, we start practicing treatment—not healing.

Yes, patients can be irrational. They can be angry, difficult, sometimes even hostile. But can we blame them entirely?

Illness does strange things to the psyche. It strips away control, clarity and sometimes dignity. A calm, cheerful individual can become anxious and agitated when they’re in pain or fear the unknown. What they need in such moments is not judgment, but compassion tempered with strength.

Healing Begins Before the Prescription

Studies in neuroscience and clinical psychology have shown that the way a doctor conducts themselves can influence clinical outcomes. One compelling study published in The Journal of General Internal Medicine found that patients of doctors perceived as more empathetic had significantly better recovery rates and fewer complications, even after accounting for medication and disease severity.

Another research paper in BMJ Open highlighted that physician warmth and attentiveness triggered measurable physiological responses in patients, such as reduced cortisol (stress hormone) levels and lower blood pressure.

Science now confirms what ancient medicine always knew: healing begins the moment you make a patient feel safe.

And that begins not with a stethoscope, but with your eyes, words and posture.

Unwritten Prescription

As doctors, we are trained to diagnose, prescribe and operate. But who teaches us to pause when a patient breaks down in tears? Who reminds us to lean forward and say, “I understand it’s hard”? These moments don’t appear in discharge summaries, but they change lives.

I’ve seen patients respond dramatically just because I remembered a detail from our last visit, a son’s wedding, a lost spouse, a fear they had expressed. The look of surprise and gratitude on their faces is its own kind of reward.

I once had an elderly patient with terminal disease. There was little more to offer in terms of curative treatment. But every visit, she’d smile and say, “When you hold my hand, the pain feels less.” Science can’t quantify that. But truth rarely fits into a chart.

Often in medicine, especially among surgeons or ER doctors, we’re taught to harden ourselves, to “not get emotionally involved.” But there’s a difference between emotional exhaustion and emotional intelligence.

Being compassionate doesn’t mean being unprofessional. It means remaining human while helping some of life’s darkest terrains. It means recognizing that behind the blood reports and CT scans is someone’s father, someone’s daughter, someone who isn’t just in need of medicine, but meaning.

Walking the Extra Mile

That SMC billboard that sparked this reflection reminds me daily that in a world full of rush and noise, someone needs to pause and let the other pass. As doctors, perhaps the most radical thing we can do today is not increase our patient load, but increase our attention span per patient.

It is said that the eye does not see what the mind does not know. But I believe the eye does not care unless the heart remembers to feel.

So the next time a patient walks into my OPD, before I check their pulse, I’ll remember they have the right of way. Not because they paid, not because they demanded it, but because they are human, and they are hurting.

And that’s reason enough.