Dr. Anshula Awasthi

People often say medicine is a noble profession. Some days, it truly feels like one. Most days, it feels like a battlefield.

The irony of being a doctor in India is that society rarely allows us to simply be human. We are either placed on a pedestal as gods or dragged through the mud as scammers. There is no middle ground.

Patients often walk into a consultation as customers rather than people seeking care. Paying a consultation fee somehow translates into feeling entitled to every second of a doctor’s time, unaware that the same doctor may have skipped breakfast, delayed lunch, ignored thirst, or postponed even a visit to the washroom because emergencies don’t wait. Behind every delayed consultation is often another patient fighting for life—not a doctor trying to inconvenience anyone.

Today, information is available at everyone’s fingertips, which is wonderful—until information becomes misinformation or half-knowledge becomes absolute conviction. Differential diagnoses are made through search engines. Every listed side effect becomes a reason to distrust treatment. Every prescription is questioned, even when it represents decades of rigorous research, multiple phases of clinical trials, quality control, and guideline-based recommendations built on Level 1 evidence. Ironically, many therapies with little or no comparable scientific validation are accepted without hesitation because they are “ancient,” “natural,” or government-promoted. Scientific scrutiny is demanded only from one system of medicine, while others are often exempt from the same standard of evidence.

And perhaps what hurts the most is how thankless the profession has become. Not because gratitude is owed—but because empathy seems to have disappeared.

The struggles don’t end outside the hospital.

Within medicine itself, we are not always kind to one another. Too often, seniors pull juniors down instead of lifting them up. Achievements become weapons rather than inspiration. Doctors are judged by ranks, medals, quiz victories, publications, fellowships, superspecialty choices, or the perceived earning potential of their branch—as though these numbers define the worth of a human being or the compassion of a physician.

Young doctors are criticised for wanting a life beyond hospital walls. Wanting to travel, laugh, fall in love, celebrate birthdays, spend time with family, or simply rest is somehow interpreted as a lack of dedication. As though becoming a doctor required surrendering the right to remain human.

Then there are the invisible prejudices—patriarchy, caste, religion, gender—still quietly influencing opportunities, mentorship, and acceptance in spaces that should have been governed only by merit and integrity.

The challenges extend beyond doctors too. Relationships with paramedical staff often become adversarial instead of collaborative. Nurses, technicians, ward staff, residents—we all work under immense pressure, yet somewhere along the way mutual respect gets replaced by blame. Doctors are ridiculed. Paramedical professionals feel unheard. Everyone is trying to prove they know more than everyone else, while forgetting that healthcare only works when every member of the team works together.

And then comes the system itself.

Successive governments have made many promises for healthcare, but doctors often feel invisible in the conversation. Violence against healthcare workers, burnout, unsafe working conditions, impossible hours, and even the deaths of doctors rarely sustain national attention. Our protests fade quickly. Our exhaustion is normalised. Somewhere along the journey, many of us quietly stopped expecting the system to stand up for us.

The hardest part of being a doctor isn’t just treating disease.

It’s fighting on multiple fronts at once.

You fight disease.
You fight misinformation.
You fight unrealistic expectations.
You fight bureaucracy.
You fight hierarchy.
You fight prejudice.
You fight burnout.
And sometimes, you fight your own profession.

Often, you fight alone.

Despite everything, I still love medicine.

Not because of the prestige.
Not because of the degree.
Not because of the title before my name.

I love medicine for its science. For the beautiful amalgamation of anatomy, physiology, pathology, pharmacology, psychology, ethics, and humanity that together attempt to understand one of the most complex creations—the human being. I love learning. I love solving clinical puzzles. I love the privilege of being trusted at someone’s most vulnerable moment.

That love is probably the only reason I am still here.

Because the version of medicine I dreamt of was about healing, curiosity, compassion, and lifelong learning.

The version I met came with politics, prejudice, hierarchy, violence, judgment, loneliness, and relentless emotional exhaustion.

Somewhere between those two worlds, the doctor in me survived.

The human in me is still trying to.

Happy Doctor’s Day to every healthcare worker who continues to show up despite everything the profession demands of them—and despite everything the world often forgets they sacrifice.

May we someday be allowed to be neither gods nor villains.

Just human beings trying to heal other human beings.

1 week ago | [YT] | 0