When Compassion Meets the Cold Edge of Reality
They have been telling me for years—my colleagues, my friends, even my own conscience at times. “Pope, be careful. You overextend too much. You blur the lines.” But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t become a doctor just to treat symptoms. I wanted to treat people. I wanted to be the kind of physician who showed up—not just in the clinic, but in the moments that mattered.
So, I give out my number freely. I answer calls at odd hours. I offer free consultation over the phone for people I have never met before, and on a few occasions when patients with serious conditions refused to come to the hospital, I drove to their homes myself. I didn’t see it as reckless—I saw it as necessary. As human. I believed that if I showed up for people, they would show up for me. And that, kindness would beget kindness and a few times, it has.
But one of my close friends is always more pragmatic. “Pope,” he would say, “patients aren’t your friends. They come to you for what you offer. As long as things go well, they will smile and thank you. But make one mistake, or ask for something outside the script, and you’ll see exactly where you stand.”
I used to push back. I wanted to believe people were better than that. That relationships built on care and trust could transcend any transactional nature.
Then came the moment that cracked something inside me.
There was this patient—someone I had gone out of my way for more times than I can count. I had bent rules, extended favours, made exceptions. I thought we had a mutual respect. A bond, even.
He brought something I was buying from him recently while I was in theatre. He said it was brand new. It wasn’t. He claimed he had given me a generous discount. That was a lie too. I felt a twinge of disappointment, but I brushed it off. Maybe he was struggling. Maybe I was being too sensitive.
But then came the final blow.
I asked him to let me take the item and promised to send the money later that evening or the next day, depending on when I closed up. His response was chillingly blunt.
“Doc, this is business. I don’t do credit. You either pay now or I take it back.”
I stood there, stunned. My mouth went dry. My mind raced through every time I had gone out of my way for him—every time I had chosen empathy over protocol. And this was the response?
When I finally spoke, my voice cracked with disbelief. “So all the times I bent the rules for you… all the favours… they mean nothing?”
He didn’t flinch. “Doc, business is business.”
That phrase echoed in my head like a verdict. Cold. Final. Unapologetic.
Reflectintrospection
I walked away from that exchange feeling gutted. Not just by his words, but by the realisation that maybe my friend had been right all along. That maybe I had been naïve to think compassion would always be met with gratitude.
It’s a painful truth to swallow—that sometimes, the people you go the furthest for will be the ones who remind you just how transactional the world can be.
But as I sat with that pain, something else began to surface. A quieter, steadier truth. Why regret caring and showing up? Isn’t that who I am and what gives me fulfillment? Why should I let one moment—or even several—make me bitter?
Of course, I will be wiser. I will learn to draw boundaries that protect my heart without hardening it. Because compassion without boundaries isn’t noble—it’s self-sacrifice. And I’m learning that I can still be the doctor who cares deeply… without losing myself in the process.
What is your own story in trying to bring humanity back to humans? Just remember that it is not about them but what makes you feel fulfilled! It’s not out of place to know your place in people’s lives and place them appropriately too!
🛐 Serenity Prayer ☦️
Dear Lord,
Grant us the wisdom to care without losing ourselves, the strength to set boundaries with grace, and the peace to know that compassion is never wasted. Amen
