Hey Docs, You Treated My Body... But I Can Help You Treat My Spirit
A survivor’s take on the emotional journey of healing — and how it can help physicians build deeper trust, improve outcomes, and go beyond saving lives to transforming them.
Let me start here: I’m alive because of you.
Because of your education and training. Your timing. The incisions you made. The steady hands. The sleepless nights. The missed holidays and birthdays. The thousands of details you carry into every room.
I don’t take that lightly. You performed a miracle… and then moved on to the next. And the next. And the next.
But something else happened, too. After you “fixed” me, I started to change.
Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. And in ways no chart, lab value or imaging could capture. So, I’m writing this to invite you in. To share the part of the patient journey that happens after you fix us… but rarely makes it back into the healthcare system.
You saw the procedure. I lived the reconstruction.
I know your time is limited. I know you’re stretched. I’ve seen it: the rounds, the caseloads, the endless documentation, prior auths, letters of medical necessity, the after hours ‘pajama time’. The compassion fatigue that comes not from not caring, but from caring constantly with too little space to process.
So I don’t expect you to track what happens after we’re wheeled out of recovery. But I do want to help you understand what that reality looks like from our side… if you’re open to it.
Because healing isn’t just a clinical event. It’s a full identity shift.
And I’m not alone, thousands of patients in support groups and those I’ve met across my journey have said the same.
You told me I needed a second open-heart surgery just twenty days after the first. You saw parts of the treatment journey, but you couldn’t see it all.
You didn’t see the day I learned I’d be injecting antibiotics into my own arm 3x a day for six months. Or the day I learned the fourth thoracentesis would be happening. Or the time I panicked when my wound vac shut off in a parking lot. Or when I burst into tears watching a video of my son at home holding the hospital-issued heart pillow I sent him.
You didn’t see the new person I was becoming. And I don’t blame you. You weren’t supposed to see all of that.
But I’m sharing it because seeing it might give you a new perspective. A deeper dimension to the impact you already make. Because many of us patients, especially those who survive something as intense as open-heart surgery, we walk out not just patched up, but rebuilt.
A 6-point checklist for physicians and care teams:
Here are six ways to turn your already expert treatment into something patients carry with them: physically, emotionally, and meaningfully:
Ask, “What’s helping you stay on top of this?” You might learn they’ve built a medication spreadsheet, watched recovery videos, joined patient forums, are partnering with a caregiver, or even using AI to research their care.
When explaining a diagnosis, recommend AI tools in safe ways to help them process their condition. I used ChatGPT, Claude and Perplexity to research my condition on my terms, explain it to my children, summarize notes, translate radiology reports on my own terms, at my own pace
Invite patients to co-create consult questions. I used AI to prep for appointments and it made our conversations more productive and focused. Many clinicians said they appreciate a more informed patient. AI helped me become one.
Ask, “What does success look like to you coming out of this?” You might hear something you don’t expect: walking my daughter down the aisle, starting that business, being strong enough to kick balls with my children. The answer might change how you guide them.
Include caregivers in planning. My wife Janet wasn’t just support, she was the engine behind my recovery. She tracked meds, read reports, and used AI to surface questions I hadn’t even thought to ask
Frame recovery as personal reinvention. One phrase can go a long way: “As you go through this, it may feel like more than physical healing is happening… and that’s completely normal.” It gives patients permission to change.
These small things change how we show up. They help us feel seen. They make care feel co-created, not just delivered.
Why it matters
You already carry so much. And I know burnout is real- not because you care too little, but because you’re asked to care too much, for too many, with too few resources, for far too many patients. And of course you take it home with you…
So here’s the good news: This isn’t about adding more weight. It’s about finding more meaning.
When you acknowledge the transformation, not just the recovery, you unlock deeper relationships with your patients … and maybe also with your purpose.
Here’s what happens to patients when you see beyond the chart:
They become more engaged: because they feel like partners, not passengers.
They ask sharper questions: leading to clearer decisions and fewer complications.
They recover with more clarity: emotionally equipped, not just physically treated.
They become your advocates: educating others, even improving the system
And here’s the part that often gets missed: You could become better, too.
Not just clinically. But emotionally. Spiritually… in your sense of why this work matters. Because yes, you saved my life. But by helping me understand what came next, you also help me live it.
A final thought
AI helped me process complexity, calm the emotional overwhelm, and prepare for procedures I barely understood. It gave me confidence. Control. A sense of being in my care, not just under it.
But I didn’t just use AI. I also used mindset, love, and imagination.
I became someone new during those 43 nights in a hospital bed. Not just because of the surgeries, but because of what they awakened in me.
If you can recognize that shift- even just once a day- you’ll not only heal bodies, you’ll become part of the quiet miracle of human transformation.
So thank you for treating my body. But remember: many of us are also treating our souls. And we’d love for you to meet us there.
John Duffield is a survivor of multiple open-heart surgeries, father of two, technologist. He’s building a patient-first platform combining storytelling, empathy and AI tools to reshape the next era of recovery.