Patrick Hudson is a retired surgeon, psychotherapist, and author. Trained at Westminster Hospital Medical School in London, he practiced for decades in both the U.K. and the U.S. before turning his focus from surgical procedures to emotional repair—supporting physicians in navigating the hidden costs of their work and the quiet ways medicine reshapes identity. Patrick holds advanced degrees in counseling, liberal arts, and health care ethics, and is board certified in both surgery and coaching.
Through his national coaching practice, CoachingforPhysicians.com, he works with clinicians seeking clarity, renewal, and deeper connection in their professional lives. He also writes under CFP Press, a small imprint he founded for reflective writing in medicine.
His latest book, Ten Things I Wish I Had Known When I Started Medical School, was released in 2025 and became a #1 New Release in Medical Education & Training. To view his full catalog, visit his Amazon author page.
Patrick Hudson is a retired surgeon, psychotherapist, and author. Trained at Westminster Hospital Medical School in London, he practiced for decades in both the U.K. and the U.S. before turning his focus from surgical procedures to emotional repair—supporting physicians in navigating the hidden costs of their work and the quiet ways medicine reshapes identity. Patrick holds advanced degrees in counseling, liberal arts, and health care ethics, and is board certified in both surgery and coaching.
Through his national coaching practice, CoachingforPhysicians.com, he works with clinicians seeking clarity, renewal, and deeper connection in their professional lives. He also writes under CFP Press, a small imprint he founded for reflective writing in medicine.
His latest book, Ten Things I Wish I Had Known When I Started Medical School, was released in 2025 and became a #1 New Release in Medical Education & Training. To view his full catalog, visit his Amazon author page.
It was after dinner at The Goring, just the three of us—Ulla, David Chipp, and me. The kind of dinner where the wine lingers longer than the food, and the conversation slips into the quietly personal.
David, once Reuters’ correspondent in Peking during the Mao years and later editor-in-chief of the Press Association, handed me a gift: a copy of E. M. Forster’s What I believe. Inside, he had written a line …
You’ve probably had this experience. You ask someone—nicely—to do something that clearly needs to be done. And they don’t. Or they nod, walk away, and nothing changes. You’re not trying to be difficult. You’re just trying to keep the team moving, the patients safe, and the wheels from coming off.
But in medicine, authority doesn’t guarantee compliance. Respect doesn’t guarantee follow-through. And asking once—no matter how reasonable—doesn’t guarantee action.
So the question …
I read Dr. Harry Severance’s recent piece, “Violence in health care: Why doctors and nurses are leaving,” with a sinking feeling of recognition. He’s right. Health care is becoming the most dangerous profession in America. Violence is no longer rare or shocking—it’s something every physician and nurse now half-expects at some point in their career.
I still remember an early shift in the ER when I was stitching up a …
It’s not the easiest question to ask aloud—especially in medicine, where we pronounce death but rarely reflect on it.
We chart it. Certify it. Explain it.
But what does it mean to die?
For most of us, the word carries a double weight. It means to stop biologically. To cease. To end.
But it also means to vanish. To be forgotten. To be no longer seen, needed, or named.
As a surgeon, I saw death …
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