With three months left of intern year of internal medicine residency, I took the leap and adopted a dog from the Dallas Animal Services shelter. She is my SuperNova.
Nova is a two-year-old Lab-Pitbull mix with big brown eyes that hold your heart and a wagging tail that could power a small town. Her world is simple: following me from room to room, shaking with excitement when I pull out her harness, rolling over for belly rubs, and barking at squirrels.
It’s her life, and she wants me to witness it all: her excitement, her energy, her need for nourishment and support. In the way she so clearly expresses her desire for connection, she has reminded me how deeply humans need it too. We long for someone to talk with, to laugh with, to cry in front of, someone to witness our lives.
Adopting her has deepened my appreciation for the patient perspective. When patients share their passions or describe how illness affects their daily lives, those details often get lost in workflow, especially during a busy call day. But those moments matter.
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I once cared for a patient with decompensated cirrhosis who shared that his asterixis was disruptive to his work as a writer. After discussing treatment options, I inquired more about his writing. His face lit up as he described his newest short story.
In a few minutes, I witnessed more of his life beyond his diagnosis. As physicians, we have the privilege of walking alongside patients through illness: their fears, hopes, discouragement, frustration, and everything in between. We all want to be understood. Patients want their experiences to be seen, and physicians want patients to understand that we are doing everything we can for them. At the heart of both desires is the same human longing: to be seen.
Unfortunately, many patients navigate illness without family or friends to witness their journey.
I recall caring for a patient with newly diagnosed heart failure, likely caused by long-standing atrial fibrillation. As he prepared for discharge, we reviewed his extensive list of new medications, dietary restrictions, and follow-up appointments. I paused and asked how he was feeling.
“It’s a lot, just, wow,” he said.
I slid down the wall across from him and took a deep breath with him. I asked whether he had a family member or friend he could connect with to decompress. Someone who could help carry the emotional weight of navigating life with a new diagnosis.
He mentioned a friend he planned to call, then asked how I felt about University of Michigan winning the college basketball championship.
In that moment, I witnessed both the weight of his transition home and a glimpse of his life beyond illness, a love of basketball, perhaps even a needed distraction. Greater than witnessing, I stepped into his emotional space and stood there with him.
We emphasize post-hospitalization follow-up for labs and medication adjustments, but what about emotional follow-up? What would it look like to ask every patient a simple question: Who is your witness? Who knows your story? Who will support you during the uncertainty and cheer for your triumphs?
I am deeply grateful for the many witnesses of my own life, including but not limited to God, family, friends, teachers, and mentors. Throughout training they have sustained me.
Before adopting Nova, I came home wading through the emotional highs and lows of being a physician to an empty apartment. My support system was always close, a phone call away, or even a short walk nearby to my close friend and co-resident. Now, I come home to my SuperNova, a sweet, resilient pup who has shown me the quiet power of witnessing each other’s lives.
To my patients, it is a privilege to witness this chapter in your lives. I hope to hold space for all that you are: your personality, your hopes, your fears, and your goals for your health.
Perhaps one of the most meaningful questions we can ask our patients is not only “What is wrong?” but also: Who is your witness?
Tosin Adeyemi is an internal medicine resident.
