The wind outside was icy, and sheets of wintry rain pounded against the window of the cramped little waiting room.  Patients of all ages crowded in and thumbed through old magazines, while a symphony of endless coughs and various snorts provided a morbid soundtrack.  The mood inside the room was nearly as glum as the weather outside.  I tried diligently to concentrate on the open medical book on my lap, but the barrage of information seemed endless and somehow at that moment totally unimportant.  A million tiny, glistening raindrops filled my visual field, splashing against the thin plate glass of the window.  

The rain seemed infinite and enchanting, but in an instant my melancholic daze was shattered.  My consciousness returned to the congested little waiting room as two burly men walked in.  They approached the receptionist and eagerly explained that their mother’s wheelchair had broken.  Apparently, the elderly woman was waiting in the family van in the parking lot.  She had an urgent appointment with the doctor.  Her sons saw no other option but to carry the frail woman inside through the rain.  They felt that this task would be easier on them—and more comfortable for their mother—if she was sitting in a chair as they carried her, and they respectfully asked if they might use one from the waiting room or office. 

The receptionist glared out the window at the progressively worsening storm, and decided to check with the doctor.  There certainly weren’t many chairs to spare, and the thought of having one ruined in the rain did not seem very pleasing.  She called the doctor and recounted the situation to him over the telephone.  What happened next turned a rather gloomy situation into a warm, compassionate example of humanism in action.

Hearing of the patient’s unfortunate predicament the physician barged into the waiting room, the tail of his white coat billowing behind him.  The bearded little doctor hurried past the two men and out the door.  He knew the patient well, and did not want her worrisome respiratory aliments exacerbated by exposure to the harsh weather, especially while being haphazardly carried through such conditions by her two well-meaning sons.  

The doctor approached the van’s large sliding door, and he proceeded with his exam and interview.  His back shielded the old woman from the stinging icicle raindrops, and provided her with a surprising amount of privacy.  Someone offered their small umbrella, and one of the woman’s sons went outside and held it over the doctor’s head.  It was too little avail, as the nearly horizontal sheets of rain were no match for the tiny umbrella.  The doctor was pounded, as water gushed from the sky. 

The physician was patient and thorough, acting as if he wasn’t conscious of the downpour surrounding him.  He carefully examined the fragile patient; he listened intensely to her concerns; and he even wrote a prescription on a moist, cold pad. 

When the doctor walked back into the office, all were stunned by his appearance.  His neatly pressed white coat had become a sloppy, soaked garment, which hung heavily around his saturated frame.  Rainwater ran off his rough whiskers, and more poured from his limbs.  He smiled warmly, as he acknowledged each of his patients.  As he walked back toward the exam rooms a small river of frigid water formed in his tracks. 

Humanism in medicine can take many forms and encompass multiple ideas, but one of the simplest, yet most profound acts of humanism has to be the doctor who is willing to literally stand in the rain for his patients.  Of course, it wasn’t the physical act of getting soaked by rainwater or enduring chilling temperatures that made this action so meaningful.  It was this physician’s absolute devotion to a patient and his deep understanding of her needs. 

            By showing genuine compassion, not only were the medical needs of a patient met, but the emotional and psychological components of healthcare were also addressed.  It provided much comfort to the patient, her sons, and even the entire crowd in the waiting room, to know that they were in the hands of not only a capable healthcare provider, but a physician who was willing and ready to go the extra mile for his patients—to move beyond the normal bounds of work and into the benevolent realm of true humanism. 

After witnessing this remarkable act of human kindness and compassion, the mood of those in the waiting room elevated from a depressed, under the weather dreariness to a warm, vibrant confidence.  The sniffles and sneezes were still going strong, but pride in this doctor flowed through the room.  The patients all cheerfully began recounting how pleased they were to be able to call such a man “their doctor.”  Stories and examples began to be exchanged, about how simple acts of empathy and respect by physicians had changed worrisome situations of the past into far more manageable events.

The rain still poured outside, but with a simple act by a caring physician, not only was an elderly patient treated, but an entire group of people had their spirits lifted.  As I stared down at the numerous diagrams in the book on my lap, it all started to make sense again.  I remembered why I was studying these alien drawings, and why I sought to learn about anatomy and disease.  It was all so that I might one day be able to follow in this doctor’s footsteps; that I might show the compassion, empathy, and thought that he had that day; and that I might provide warmth and reassurance in the mists of turbulent storms of illness and cold, harsh disease.  Most of all, it was so that one day I might have the privilege of standing in the rain for a patient.