Empathy In Healthcare: Healing More Than A Body

A day before Doctor’s Day (when doctors are available for a full day of OPDs and patients from across the catchment area of the clinic come in), I got to know that I would be heading to Manpur, one of our clinic locations. One of the team members was on leave, and since the patient load on Doctor’s Day is significantly higher — especially in Manpur — the team needed extra hands.

This is the story of how I found myself at the heart of an experience that would change my perspective on healing, empathy, and human connection.

All of us got straight to work. My first task was to help locate patients’ case sheets, a process I had recently become pro with. It sounds simple — find a file, pull it out, and hand it to the team. But it’s not. The files are stored in shelves, some of which are disorganised, and with so many patients, it can take time to find a specific one.

It is crucial to have a smooth file retrieval process. If a case sheet is missing or takes too long to find, it delays the patient’s care. In Manpur, many of the patients are affected by tuberculosis (TB), and they have separate files because their treatment is long-term and requires constant monitoring.

While I was busy retrieving files, I got a call from the doctor. She asked me to accompany her for a home visit to meet the family of one of the patients. Curious but ready to help, I agreed and went to meet the patient — let’s call him Rohit. I don’t like calling people “patients” repeatedly, as it reduces them to their illness. They are more than that.

Meeting Rohit

Rohit is a 19-year-old boy battling TB. I saw him sitting in the clinic with his brother. The doctor was explaining to him that his health wouldn’t improve unless he took his medications regularly. I noticed the way Rohit sat — slouched, head down, and avoiding eye contact. He looked angry, distant, and disengaged. His brother, on the other hand, was visibly frustrated. His words spilled out quickly, as if he had repeated them a hundred times before.

“He starts feeling a little better and stops taking the medicine,” his brother explained, his voice filled with exhaustion. “Now, look at him. We don’t know what else to do. He just doesn’t listen.”

I observed Rohit closely. He wasn’t arguing or responding. He was just … there. It reminded me of how teenagers sometimes tune out the world, especially when they feel misunderstood or helpless. My initial reaction was, why can’t he just listen? His family is only trying to help him. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that perhaps nobody had taken the time to understand his side of the story.

Later, I spoke to one of the health workers, who told me that Rohit was a “defaulter” — someone who had started TB treatment but failed to complete it. His irregular intake of medication had worsened his condition, and he now had swelling in the right loin area. His family, worn out from dealing with his stubbornness, had seemingly given up.

“Now, even his family says, ‘do whatever you want,’ because they’re fed up with his attitude,” the health worker added.

The Home Visit

Once the clinic hours were over, the doctor, a colleague, and I set off to visit Rohit’s house. On the way, the doctor explained how crucial it is to counsel not just TB patients but their families too. Her words stuck with me. In most health interventions, we focus on the “patient,” but the role of family and caregivers is equally important. Without their support, treatment can be an uphill battle.

When we arrived, I was taken aback. Rohit didn’t live with his family. He stayed alone in a small, dimly lit room, while his family lived in a house nearby. His room looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, maybe months. Dust covered every surface, and there was an overwhelming sense of neglect. The air was musty, and objects lay scattered everywhere. Clothes were piled in one corner, utensils lay unwashed, and food wrappers were strewn around. It was more than just physical clutter — it felt like a reflection of Rohit’s mental state.

When we entered we found him lying on a chadar on the floor. His face was blank, his eyes distant. The doctor greeted him warmly and started talking to him. She asked about his family, his daily routine, and how he was feeling. At first, Rohit didn’t respond. He stayed quiet, looking away as if wishing we would leave. But the doctor didn’t give up.

Empathy In Healthcare Is A Practice

Her patience and persistence amazed me. She kept talking, asking questions, and showing genuine concern. Slowly, Rohit started responding. His words were short at first, but with every question, his sentences grew longer. He shared that before falling ill, he used to work at a hotel and also sold kachoris for a living. Losing his ability to work had left him feeling helpless. He felt like a burden. Sometimes, he skipped his medicines because food wasn’t ready on time, and on other days, he took his tablets on an empty stomach, which made him feel worse.

The doctor listened patiently and validated his feelings. She didn’t judge him but rather guided him with empathy and suggested practical steps.

“Start cooking your own food,” she said. “You’re capable of doing that. Take control of your health. If you feel hungry, make something for yourself, eat, and then take the medicine. You have the strength to turn your life around.”

The doctor reminded him that he wasn’t alone and that we were there to support him. Before we left, she handed him some groundnuts and a few snacks. I also spoke to him, encouraging him to think of the next six months as an opportunity to rebuild his health. I told him, “once you complete your treatment, you can stand on your own feet again and start working like before. But for that, you need to care for yourself first.”

By the time we left, something had shifted. Rohit promised to follow the doctor’s advice. His face, which had seemed so closed-off earlier, now carried a small but genuine smile.

The Power Of Empathy In Healthcare

A few weeks later, I checked in with the same colleague who had visited Manpur for Doctor’s Day. She excitedly told me, “Rohit came to the clinic today, and you won’t believe the transformation. He looked happy, clean, and well-groomed. He seemed like a completely different person!” Her words filled me with joy, but I needed to see it for myself. I decided to visit Manpur and meet Rohit. And when I did, I saw it with my own eyes — the transformation was real. Rohit, who once looked lost and disinterested, now radiated positive energy. He had taken control of his life. He looked healthier, happier, and more confident.

Reflection

That day, I learned something profound. Healing isn’t just about medicines. It’s about support, empathy, and kindness. Rohit’s journey taught me that people don’t change just because you tell them to. They change when they feel seen, heard, and understood. The doctor’s patience, persistence, and kindness had worked like magic — not just for Rohit but for me too.

I also realized that recovery is more than a medical process. It’s emotional and psychological too. People like Rohit are not just patients. They’re human beings dealing with multiple layers of struggle — mental, emotional, social, and physical. The dust-filled room, the neglected surroundings, and the disorganized objects were not just signs of an unclean space. They reflected the mental state of a person who had lost his purpose. Once his mental state improved, so did his surroundings. This, to me, was one of the most powerful lessons.

Every ‘Rohit’ out there deserves a chance to be seen, heard, and supported. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to turn frustration into transformation. And sometimes, it only takes one person to believe in you for you to believe in yourself. This experience taught me something I will carry with me always — empathy and kindness can do more than just heal the body; they can revive the soul.

*Featured image of Ramila who works in Basic Healthcare Services as a community health person.

Also Read: Building Empathy into the Structure of Health Care