Lately, I’ve been feeling something very deeply, and honestly, it hurts to admit it as a doctor.
Healthcare today no longer feels like just healthcare.
Somewhere along the way, healing has slowly started turning into business.
At times, it feels as though conversations around patients are no longer centred only around care, recovery, or comfort — but also around targets, conversions, procedures, packages, and numbers.
And perhaps what troubles me the most is not the existence of business in healthcare itself, because hospitals, clinics, infrastructure, staff, and technology all require financial sustainability.
That is understandable.
But the concern begins when profit slowly starts becoming more important than the person sitting in front of us.
Very few stop to ask:
Does this patient truly need this treatment?
Is this investigation genuinely necessary?
Can they afford it without burden?
Are we helping them… or simply growing ourselves?
Everyone seems to be running.
Competing.
Expanding.
Trying to stay ahead.
But ahead towards what exactly?
And the saddest part is that this is not limited to one space alone.
Whether it is hospitals, diagnostic centres, pharmacies, organisations, cosmetic practices, or even individual professionals — somewhere, humanity in healthcare often feels overshadowed by pressure, targets, and performance metrics.
As a doctor, this thought genuinely troubles me.
Because patients do not come to us carrying only reports and symptoms.
They come carrying fear, trust, helplessness, anxiety, and hope.
Sometimes they come after saving money for months.
Sometimes after hearing frightening possibilities online.
Sometimes simply needing reassurance more than treatment.
And healing cannot truly exist without compassion.
Knowledge, degrees, and skills are essential, of course.
But empathy is what makes healthcare feel human.
These things cannot always be taught through textbooks or training modules.
They are realised quietly within oneself — through conscience, sincerity, and humanity.
And despite everything, there are still people in this field who remind us what healthcare is truly meant to be.
Doctors who reduce their fees for someone struggling.
Professionals who guide honestly even when there is nothing to gain.
People who still choose ethics over convenience and humanity over profit.
Perhaps because of them, society still continues to trust healthcare during its most vulnerable moments.
This is not written with bitterness.
Nor against progress, growth, or success.
Only concern.
Because maybe this generation does not need more competition in healthcare.
Maybe it simply needs more conscience.
More sincerity.
More ethical responsibility.
And a reminder that before every patient becomes a case, a consumer, or a number —
they are first a human being.
MBH/DB
