I’ve performed over 4,000 surgeries, a number that sounds vast even to me. But in the quiet moments before a procedure, that number fades into insignificance. I have never seen my patients as numbers on a chart or cases in a textbook; I remember their stories, their fears, and the incredible strength they carry into my office.

I treat bodies, yes—that is the craft I have honed for decades. But before my hands ever touch a scalpel, I make a point to sit, listen, and truly look into their eyes. In that space, I am not just a surgeon diagnosing an ailment; I am a witness to their journey. I’ve learned that a tremor in the hand can tell you more than a lab result, and the silence between words can reveal a fear that no MRI can capture. I don’t just treat the disease that presents itself; I try to understand the life it has disrupted and the roots from which it grew.

After all, not all pain starts in the body, and not all healing comes from medicine. Sometimes, the most potent prescription is validation—the simple act of acknowledging someone’s suffering. It is a lesson I am passionate about passing on. I teach the future generation of doctors to master their technical skills, but never at the expense of their humanity. I urge them to remember that behind every diagnosis is a person hoping to be seen.

So, for today, don’t think of me as “Doctor.” Think of me as a friend, someone who understands that healing is not an event, but a process. Someone who sits with you until the fear softens.