They tell me the physician’s art lies in the stitching of skin,
the analysis of shadows on X-rays,
and interpreting numbers in a medical chart.
Yes, there is skill involved.
a steady hand, a quick eye,
and a good memory for pathways and procedures.

But I wonder.
where, in the span of 20-25 minutes,
is the art that cannot be quantified
or coded?

It’s found in the stillness of listening,
in the weight of one person’s story
resting in another’s hands.

A doctor moves from room to room,
like a pendulum,
in constant motion.
Time dictates the rhythm,
not the heartbeat of the one
sitting across from him,
the one who feels confused and frightened.

In the shuffle of doors opening and closing,
faces blur,
and trust,
the fragile bridge between
doctor and patient, is left unfinished.

Is this medicine,
or is it corporate machinery?
A system tuned not to healing
but for profit,
as the corporate wheels are well greased,
and patients are hurried through.

I remember the time
when a doctor would come to your home,
sit at your kitchen table,
hear the cough in your chest
and the apprehension in your voice all at once.

When healing was about more than just a cure,
it involved care
and faith in another human being
who took the time to notice.

Have we lost sight
of the true essence of good medicine?

Good medicine,
I believe,
cannot be found in the impersonal
structure of efficiency.

It lives in a gaze that does not hurry,
in a question that is asked twice,
in the silence that accompanies a difficult story,
and in the hand that not only
closes wounds
but also opens the door to trust.

The sutures, the scans, and the charts
are tools that physicians use.
But true healing comes
from the relationship
established between patient and doctor,
a patient who feels seen,
a doctor who listens,
and both are working together to improve health.

The practice of medicine is at its finest
when a patient knows that they
do not stand alone
on this journey toward health.

Michele Luckenbaugh is a patient advocate.