11/03/2026
The scariest moment in a doctor’s career is not the first surgery.
It is the first time someone says:
“You killed him.”
Every doctor remembers that moment.
Medicine teaches anatomy.
Medicine teaches physiology.
Medicine teaches technique.
But medicine never truly prepares you for accusation.
Because in medicine, every decision carries uncertainty.
And uncertainty becomes blame when outcomes go wrong.
I have seen this play out across countries, cultures, and healthcare systems.
A friend of mine, a young surgeon in another city, operated on a critically injured patient after a road traffic accident.
The injuries were severe.
The chances were uncertain.
He operated for hours.
The patient did not survive.
Before the body had even left the operating room, relatives began shouting.
Then pushing.
Then hitting.
That night, the doctor who had tried to save a life needed stitches himself.
Another colleague working in a hospital overseas once told me about a night that still stays with him.
A patient with multiple organ failure died in the ICU despite days of intensive treatment.
Within minutes, grief turned into rage.
Relatives dragged a gas cylinder into the hospital corridor and threatened to blow up the building.
Security intervened before it escalated further.
But the message was clear.
When biology wins, someone must be blamed.
And often that someone is the doctor standing closest to the tragedy.
I experienced my own version of this early in my career.
A young patient came in for surgery.
He had eaten before the procedure but did not tell anyone.
In the operating room, when anesthesia was administered, he suddenly collapsed.
For a moment, the room froze.
Then the resuscitation began.
Adrenaline.
Airway.
Monitoring.
Every member of the team working in absolute silence and urgency.
Outside the operating theatre, panic spread faster than information.
The first words shouted by the family were not questions.
They were accusations.
“You killed my son.”
Fortunately, the story did not end there.
We stabilized him.
He recovered.
But I still remember the emotional weight of that moment.
Because medicine lives in a strange space.
Doctors carry enormous responsibility.
But very little control over biology.
Cells mutate.
Organs fail.
Bodies react unpredictably.
And yet the expectation often remains absolute.
Perfect outcome.
Perfect certainty.
Perfect control.
The reality is far more complex.
Every operation carries risk.
Every treatment carries uncertainty.
Every doctor knows this.
But patients and families often discover it only when the outcome is not what they hoped for.
Which is why conversations about medicine must include honesty.
Not only about success.
But also about uncertainty.
The Dear People Movement should be started to open exactly this conversation between doctors and society.
Because trust cannot survive if medicine is expected to be perfect.
Medicine is not perfection.
Medicine is effort.
Medicine is responsibility carried by human beings working against diseases that do not always cooperate.
Have you or anyone else you know ever faced physical or verbal violence in your medical career?
