Clinical Empathy: An encounter in the lift

Clinical Empathy in the lift

On a quiet Sunday morning, I arrived at the hospital and parked in my usual spot on B2. Still enveloped in the haze of early morning grogginess, I stepped into the lift, which ascended to B1.

As the doors opened, three women hurried in. Their brisk movements conveyed urgency; though the time to enter the lift remained constant, their increased velocity was palpable. The only sounds were their deep, measured breaths. Each clutched their identification cards, poised to rush to the registration counter or gantry.

My mind wandered. They appeared to be sisters, perhaps family. Who awaited them upstairs? A father? A mother? Could it be my patient? Would I need to be there to speak with them?

Memories surfaced of when my own loved one was hospitalized, the frustration of gantries delaying my visits. I imagined their shock, their anxiety. A morning call bearing bad news likely propelled them here in haste. I thought if they would wonder, why is this doctor slowly taking the lift, why is he not already up there helping my loved one?

In the vast expanse of the hospital, where numerous patients face deterioration or death daily, this particular individual was their world. For a fleeting moment, I felt their grief, their anxiety, their sadness, their fears—emotions that can sometimes manifest as anger.

I pondered the power of words. While I couldn't alter the outcome, perhaps my kindness could offer solace. In that instant, I experienced what is termed clinical empathy.

A study defines clinical empathy as "a sense of connection between the healthcare worker and the patient as a result of perspective taking arising from imaginative, affective and cognitive processes, which are expressed through behaviours and good communication skills that convey genuine concern" (Tan et al., 2021).

Similarly, the Society for General Internal Medicine describes empathy as "the act of correctly acknowledging the emotional state of another without experiencing that state oneself" (Markakis et al., 1999).

These definitions resonate with my experience. I could envision their turmoil without being engulfed by it. Such moments underscore the profound impact of empathy in our practice.

Yet, clinical empathy is delicate—it asks us to stand near the fire of another’s pain, to acknowledge it, understand it, but not be consumed by it. It is a skill and an art; something we nurture over time, often learning most profoundly in quiet, unexpected moments.

That morning, as the lift doors opened again, and we all stepped out to continue our separate journeys, I silently wished the three women strength and comfort. Our paths diverged, yet, for a brief moment, we had shared an unspoken connection. I would carry this quiet lesson into my rounds—more aware, more patient, and hopefully, more gentle.

In moments like these, I remind myself that healthcare isn't merely about curing—it's about caring deeply, wisely, and humbly, even when we cannot change the outcome. Perhaps our greatest gift lies not in the medicines we prescribe but in the empathy and kindness we offer freely to those entrusted to our care.

References:

Markakis, K., Frankel, R., Beckman, H., & Suchman, A. (1999). Teaching empathy: It can be done. Journal of General Internal Medicine, 14(Suppl 1), 3. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1494899/

Tan, L., Le, M. K., Yu, C. C., Liaw, S. Y., Tierney, T., Ho, Y. Y., Lim, E., Lim, D., Ng, R., Ngeow, C., & Low, J. (2021). Defining clinical empathy: A grounded theory approach from the perspective of healthcare workers and patients in a multicultural setting. BMJ Open, 11(9), e045224. https://bmjopen.bmj.com/content/11/9/e045224