Author: Prashasti Sharma

-Sarika Sarakinti, Edited by Prashasti Sharma

Management of diabetes has changed immensely in the last few years, thanks to technologies like Continuous Glucose Monitoring (CGM). CGM monitors the amount of glucose in the body almost all the time (every few minutes), giving feedback on how blood sugar goes up and comes down throughout the day and at night. This helps physicians and patients make better decisions. In this we explore how effective CGM is, what are the benefits, and how much still needs to be addressed.

What is CGM Success Rate?

“Success rate” means many different things: how well the device is accurate, how well it improves things for blood sugar management, and how many people stick with it.

• Accuracy: CGM sensors have improved in recent years. The mean absolute relative difference (MARD) – a common measure of how close are CGM values to reference (blood) glucose has fallen, showing that the sensors become increasingly trustworthy.
• Improvement of glucose control: Studies have found that patients who use CGM, especially those with poorly controlled diabetes (type 1 and type 2), have better results. These are lower HbA1c (a measure of average blood sugar over time), more time in target glucose range, less time in hypoglycemia (low sugar, potentially harmful), less frequency of hyperglycemia (high sugar, very high).
• Reproducibility/consistency: There has also been some research into how day-to-day consistent CGM readings are. For example, one large study found that in diabetes, daytime readings are more day-to-day consistent than when non-diabetes is present.
• Adherence / Acceptability: Also depends on whether people will keep using the CGM properly. If technology is painful, or costly, or information hard to interpret, then people stop sticking with it and miss out on benefits.

In general then, CGM is very successful in making blood sugar better and reducing risk, if people keep using it and the technology is good.

Benefits of CGM :

Following are the main advantages of CGM, according to published studies and clinical experience:

• Enhanced blood glucose control
• More information than fingerstick. Trends are apparent: is glucose rising after meals? decreasing at night? This translates to faster corrective intervention. It lowers HbA1c.
• Reduced hypoglycemia and hyperglycemia
• Since CGM has ongoing readings, it will warn users (and, occasionally, caregivers) in advance if glucose is at risk of going too high or too low. This reduces risky episodes.
• Improved “time in range”
• While doctors once looked only at HbA1c, now they are more likely to monitor how long a person’s glucose stays within a desired range (say, 70-180 mg/dL). More time spent in range means fewer highs and lows. CGM improves this measurement.
• Enhanced patient engagement and quality of life
• Access to real-time glucose data can help patients make changes in diet, exercise, insulin dosage, and feel more in control. It removes ambiguity. Some studies note higher satisfaction with care.
• Complication prevention
• By keeping blood sugar in the vicinity of normal, CGM can prevent late complications (such as kidney, eye, nerve damage) as well as reduce hospitalization for severe episodes.
• Helpful in type 2 diabetes as well
• Although CGM has been used extensively in type 1 diabetes, evidence is coming out that patients with type 2 diabetes benefit whether they receive insulin or not.

Challenges and Limitations:

No technology is perfect. CGM is not without challenges which limit its success and use in some populations or settings.

• Cost: Devices and sensors are expensive. They may be uncovered in certain areas or health systems, so access is limited. This is one of the biggest obstacles.
• Wearability and comfort: The sensor will need to be strapped to the skin (typically with adhesives) and need to be replaced eventually. Some people object to the adhesive as it is annoying, or the sensor as being bulky or

injurious. Dermatitis and discomfort can act as a spoiler.

• Visibility and social or psychological concerns: A few do not prefer that the sensor is visible; it becomes stigmatic to wear it. Data overload and continuous alarms can also cause anxiety.
• Some inaccuracy in some instances: Accuracy is well and good in general, but there can be inaccuracy with rapid glucose fluctuations (e.g. after meals or intense exercise), or with sensor pressure, or with sensors that are not well-calibrated. Additionally, some devices lag behind actual blood glucose, as they are measuring glucose in interstitial fluid, not identical to blood.
• Data interpretation and handling: CGM creates a lot of information. Good user and clinician training, as well as good software programs, are needed to interpret patterns as opposed to random numbers. In other words, data can be under utilized otherwise.
• Issues with adherence: As noted, benefits are lost if users don’t wear the sensor daily, or don’t respond to alarms, or don’t react to the information. Studies recognize gaps in data usage with worse outcomes.
• Equity and accessibility: Cost, availability, and infrastructure (i.e. internet, clinics with trained staff) limit CGM in the majority of low- and middle-income countries. Insurance or health system subsidy differ significantly.
• Practical Considerations / What Enhances Success
• The following from the literature are identified to increase how well CGM functions:
• Selecting a CGM device that has accuracy and function to be good (alarms, data logging).
• Proper patient education: learning to read trends, respond to alarms, adjust lifestyle.
• Frequent follow-up with healthcare providers to share CGM information and adjust treatment.
• Support systems: peer support, apps, sensor replacement reminders.
• Making devices and supplies affordable / financially supported by healthcare systems.

Conclusion:

Continuous glucose monitoring is a powerful tool in modern diabetes management. It has a history of enabling patients to decrease HbA1c, remain within healthy glucose levels for longer, and avoid dangerous glucose highs and lows. It enables better decision-making, active participation, and possibly fewer complications. But its promise depends upon overcoming challenges: expense, accessibility, precision in difficult situations, and making sure people can use it properly. With continued innovation in sensor technology, greater availability, and quality education, CGM can be even more effective.

SOURCES:

1. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4717493/
2. https://diabetesjournals.org/clinical/article/43/1/139/157329/Continuous-Glucose-Monitori

ng-in-Individuals-With

• https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s13300-025-01769-w
• https://academic.oup.com/intqhc/article/37/3/mzaf046/8127067
• https://e-dmj.org/journal/view.php?doi=10.4093/dmj.2019.0121
• https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-023-40949-1
• https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10460137/

-Prashasti Sharma

When I started my medical training in India, I relied on handwritten notes and bulky folders and a rudimentary EMR system. While technology existed in medicine, it was not the mainstay of practice. The doctor–patient relationship was often garnered through time spent together, conversations that were not solely focused on illness, community relations, and so forth.

There is a stark difference between my experience in India and my experience as an international medical graduate (IMG) in the United States. The healthcare system looked and felt different. Technology was not a tool; it became the backbone of healthcare. From electronic health records to telemedicine platforms, to artificial intelligence-driven diagnostic tools, to automated reminders, technology was integrated into almost every patient care process.

I remember my first week on my externship at Medical City Denton. I was given a login for the electronic health record (EHR) system, and I felt really lost.

In India, we depended upon written charts and a rudimentary EMR system. While it was systematic, it took time to communicate and was often disjointed. Here, with a few clicks of my mouse, I could see a patient’s laboratory results, imaging, and previous notes all on one screen and organised. I quickly realised that this type of system saved not only time, but also reduced errors, improved communication across different specialties, and allowed me to concentrate on the patient in front of me rather than running after their documents.

Telehealth was another area that I found remarkable. I had the opportunity to observe how virtual visits supported patients during the pandemic. One patient, in particular, stood out. A middle-aged woman living several miles away and who struggled with her transport, without telehealth, she would have delayed care or missed follow-up. Instead, she connected with her physician and was able to manage her plan consistently. Having come from a country where geographical barriers continue to hinder access to care in rural areas, this felt groundbreaking. I felt excited to consider how the same technology could provide care in these areas back home.

AI is having an impact as well. While I have not “relied” on it for decision-making, I have seen decision-support tools flag possible drug interactions, propose possible diagnoses, and even read imaging with astounding accuracy. As a physician, I know the responsibility ultimately remains with us, but I also see how AI can be a safety net—identifying the flaws in judgment of a tired human who has just finished a long shift. For me, AI is not as much of a threat as an assistant in the background that keeps patients safe.

Of course, this journey has made me wonder what we also lose by relying on technology too much. I have noticed patients sometimes feel rushed, and I suspect it has more to do with the amount of time spent in front of a screen instead of in front of them. I am continually reminding myself that while technology improves power efficiency, it can never recreate the warmth of human-to-human interactions. A delightful reassurance, a simple pause to listen, or shared silence is a type of healing a machine will never achieve.

For me, the most important lesson has been balance. As an IMG, I bring with me the values of patient-centred, relationship-based care I have been taught in India and adapt them in conjunction with the efficiency and innovation of American health care. I see the future of medicine not as a choice between tradition and technology, but a tapestry that offers us opportunities to embrace both.

As I continue my journey in the U.S., I carry this vision with me: technology shouldn’t redefine what it means to heal, but it should provide us with more options to heal better. Healing, at its core, will always be about people—and no algorithm can ever change that.

-Prashasti Sharma

One of the greatest teachings during my externship in the United States was not based on lab values, imaging studies or diagnostic criteria, but rather my quiet observations of a seasoned clinician, Dr. Kodali, as she saw patients in the outpatient clinic.

As a medical graduate, I had studied in books, written exams and attended enough rounds in hospitals to feel like I knew what patient care meant—take a good history, do a comprehensive physical examination, formulate the correct diagnosis and prescribe treatment. Now, sitting in that clinic after two years of these rigorous academic preparations, I was struck by the revelation that medicine is only half the science of patient care. The remainder, and perhaps most important part that makes a patient feel cared for, is the relationship we build with patients.

What impressed me most about Dr. Kodali was not merely her medical acumen but also the manner in which she walked into every consultation. Her gentle demeanour and presence were only matched by the timeliness of her discussions with her patients. At no time was she vulnerable to impatience and rushing—regardless of appointments or the number of patients she cared for. Dr. Kodali recognised that there was still much ahead of her and simply took time considering a patient’s holistic needs. She would approach each visit not immediately with lab results or medication lists, but with a small, thoughtful question not easily forgotten: “How are you doing today? Tell me everything.”* That short moment was sufficient to set the stage for the visit.

The patients would lean in, open up, and share all sorts of details about their lives beyond their medical conditions. For instance, one woman was there for diabetic management. Rather than starting with the blood sugar numbers and treating her condition, Dr. Kodali asked her about her family, her diet, and how she was doing with stress at work. Within a few minutes, it became clear that her issues with adherence were more than a lack of knowledge. Her issues with adherence were tied to her overwhelming responsibilities day to day. By allowing the time for a compassionate exchange, Dr Kodali was able to provide realistic, compassionate solutions rather than just a simple medication adjustment.

Then there was an older man who was stone-faced, sitting in front of me seemed anxious even before we started the consultation.

Dr. Kodali paused rather than hurriedly conducting the visit; she made eye contact and described each piece of the plan in simple, reassuring language. By the end of the visit, the man was visibly more relaxed, nodding in trust that simply had not been there earlier.

These moments really left a mark on me. As an IMG transitioning to the U.S. healthcare system, I was still learning about all the new regulations, electronic health records, and other structured systems requiring detailed patient notes. More than that, I realised the basis of medicine is the same in every country—empathy, respect, and communication. Dr. Kodali was a reminder to me why I went into medicine in the first place—not simply to treat illness, but to connect with others at a vulnerable time in their lives.

In the U.S., visits were usually much more regimented than I saw in India. In fact, I found it interesting that in that short time, compassion could shape the experience. It was not a matter of how long you spoke, but how well you listened.

To me, the takeaway from the outpatient clinic was this: patients remember how you made them feel, not necessarily the content of your words. A patient will forget the name of a medication, but they will not forget the doctor who listened, respected their concerns, and treated them like a person rather than a case. As I continue my journey, I carry this lesson with me. Medicine will always demand clinical accuracy and technical skills, but it also calls for humanity. Observing Dr. Kodali showed me that a physician’s greatest tool is not only the stethoscope, but also the ability to connect, comfort, and build trust.

And in the end, that human connection is what transforms good medicine into great healing. Communication is not just a tool in medicine but the very heart of it.

–Prashasti Sharma

Good day, dear readers. I am Prashasti Sharma, and this is a story of my experience and how I navigated a huge transition from one healthcare system to another, dealing with a very culturally diverse population. When I moved to the United States as an international medical graduate (IMG), I knew that I was transitioning to a new healthcare system.  What I didn’t realise was how cultural influences can shape medicine in so many aspects of its practice, understanding, and respect by patients. My training has taught me to recognise diseases, create treatment plans and lead clinical situations, but I have learned from living and working in the U.S. that to be a good physician, one must also be a student of culture.

I remember one of my first patient encounters here, the patient was receiving a commonly prescribed medication for a chronic medical condition, but was hesitant to start it.  When I asked the patient to explain what was keeping him from starting the medication, he noted that as a family, they preferred using herbal remedies first, and viewed any prescription as a “last resort.” As an IMG from India, I was no stranger to a family using traditional medicine and embracing a holistic approach that included allopathic treatments as appropriate, but in the U.S., where adherence and outcomes are monitored closely, I only needed a second to figure out that this situation was not non-compliance, but rather culture.

That small shift in perspective helped me to engage with the conversation with more empathy. I did not push him toward the prescription, but rather asked him about the remedies he believed would work, talked about their potential effects, and then worked together with the supervising physician to implement a plan that would keep the patient safe while respecting his beliefs.

My experiences have made me realise that cultural sensitivity is not an optional skill in medicine; it is an essential competency. Patients present with their symptoms, but also bring along their traditions, values, and lived experiences when consulting with a physician. I began to notice that some families wanted every detail of the illness explained, while others wanted us to have limited discussion. Some patients wanted to include extended family in their decisions, while others wanted the utmost privacy. Sometimes these nuances bend as much to clinical decision-making as the lab work.

In the same vein, I was also adjusting as an IMG. The terminology, style of communication, and even the way the notes are structured could differ greatly from what I was accustomed to. Consults in India sometimes turned into long-winded conversations that did not just discuss health, but life.

In the United States, the visits were more formal and time-constrained, but the prescriptive expectation for clarity and documentation was far greater. At first, I struggled to find the sweet spot between efficiency and connection. Over time, I realised that simple, open-ended questions (“What matters most to you in your care?”) would help frame the encounter and re-establish that human connection. Patients were usually quite warm and open once they felt they were truly being heard.

There have certainly been difficult moments for me. Adapting to new protocols, electronic health records, and even some of the norms of non-verbal communication left me occasionally wondering if I had missed something obvious. However, as an IMG, I have the gift of being able to see a lot of things with a unique perspective.  I am able to carry with me the cultural richness of my own background and medical education, while also learning to utilise my own perspective in the culturally diverse American context. Because I can inhabit both perspectives, I realise I can observe things quite differently. For example, when a patient is silent, it might actually mean that they are acting respectfully, rather than being disengaged. Alternatively, when a patient does not understand a recommendation, it may be due to a difference in generational beliefs or cultural precepts rather than a misunderstanding.

Medicine is actually, at its core, inherently universal.

The biology of disease is consistent, but the experience of patients and their illness is distinctly shaped by culture. If a treatment plan is effective medically, but is not congruent with a patient’s goals, then medical treatment falls short. Finding this congruency is the art of medicine.

As I progress in my professional development in the United States, I have come to appreciate each of my patient encounters as more than just a medical disclosure. It is a cultural exchange, an opportunity to learn and to connect. I feel that the practice of medicine is more than treating an illness—it is honouring the person attached to a particular diagnosis. I feel that is where true healing begins.

-Prashasti Sharma

My day as a medical extern often starts off by seeing patients. I take histories, do physical exams, and talk to patients about their symptoms and concerns. Every time I interact with patients, I remember that medicine is not only about diagnosing pathology but also that medicine is about listening carefully, focusing on detail and how illness affects someone’s daily life.

After the patient encounters are finished, I spend time writing notes and participating in case discussions. I have found this is often the time when the real education occurs. Dr. Simcha Weismann makes these discussions engaging and participatory. I will always remember his teaching discussion we had on sepsis and septic shock. I have read about sepsis and septic shock before, but the way he dissected the clinical topic as it related to a patient case made it so much more impactful.

Dr. Adam Atoot brings his own energy and teaching style to the learning process. He keeps us mentally sharp with games, quizzes, assigning group tasks for us to work on, and actively involving the learning process.

I presented a topic – “Pancreatitis and its management”, and the follow-up discussions led me to deepen my education and think with a more critical mind; he also spent time with us teaching us about some cardiology diagnostic tests – telling us the difference between a nuclear stress test, cardiac catheterisations, CT angiograms, and a few other modalities. He makes complicated topics much easier to digest while also keeping us sharp.

One particularly intriguing case I saw during this externship was a young girl with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, precocious puberty, and POTS. Her paediatrician suggested the possibility of it being a syndromic co-occurrence of hEDS and congenital adrenal hyperplasia. It was exciting to be a small part of her evaluation and learn just how complex and layered real-world cases can be.

What I enjoy the most is how both Dr. Weismann and Dr. Atoot create an inclusive team culture that makes me feel like I am a resident already.

They do not just lecture; they ask questions, challenge us, and invite us to embellish their discussion with our contributions. They ask questions, challenge our thinking, and encourage us to contribute actively, creating a dynamic space where learning feels collaborative and rewarding. The mentorship and guidance I receive every day reinforce my confidence and help me grow into a more capable, thoughtful physician.

At the end of the day, I feel a sense of fulfilment after wrapping up my responsibilities at this rotation. I am reminded with every case that I see, every procedure I help with, and every discussion I am involved in, that I am doing more than just watching medicine- I am learning it, and imbibing it. Each day reinforces that medicine is as much about connection, critical thinking, and empathy as it is about knowledge and skills, and I feel privileged to be gaining this experience firsthand.

-Prashasti Sharma

The computer age and the period of technological advancement have led to a tremendous increase in the healthcare system’s ability to meet the needs of the population, but it has also led to a remarkable increase in chronic disease prevalence and incidence. They are also known as lifestyle illnesses because a cluster of a variety of unhealthy lifestyle factors causes most of them. The progression and development of such diseases are gradual; they grow slowly rather than manifest as acute symptoms, concealing their progression until they become fatal. Noncommunicable diseases are responsible for approximately 71–74% of all mortality worldwide, as the World Health Organisation estimates, pointing to their enormous influence on health in populations (WHO, 2023).

Smoking accounts for the highest percentage of cardiovascular diseases. The rest that top the list of causal factors include lack of physical exercise, inappropriate eating habits, and excessive alcohol consumption. Understanding just how grave this is is about venturing into understanding the determinants of lifestyle diseases and thus the imperative of using a preventive strategy over just working towards developing treatment modalities. These diseases are all preventable, and minor alterations in various things like food, physical activity, and reduction in alcohol and tobacco consumption could bring significant change when it comes to curtailing not only individual diseases but also eliminating a huge financial burden that these diseases put on the healthcare system and society. The overall costs are comprised of direct medical costs and indirect costs like loss of productivity and long-term disability. The CDC estimates that cardiovascular diseases alone account for over $233 billion annually for the U.S. healthcare system, in addition to an additional $184 billion lost in productivity in relation to work (CDC, 2025).

Prevention as a Key Strategy

Prevention is far superior to the use of treatment alone when managing chronic disease.

The financial impact results in a lack within current healthcare systems that disproportionately leans towards treatment paradigms rather than preventive measures. A change in current trends in available resources is important because the current trend has been identified as unsustainable. Preventative interventions include patient and community education concerning healthy living, promotion of physical exercise, education on the components of a healthy, balanced diet, as well as tobacco and alcohol use regulatory policy. Programs of lifestyle intervention through nutritional education for healthier diets and exercise have proved successful. Finland’s North Karelia Project, initiated in 1972, led to dramatic reductions in cardiovascular mortality through community-based interventions that promoted healthier diets and reduced smoking (Puska et al., 2010). Government intervention can therefore be crucial to help support preventive strategy formulation at the national level. Greater investment is therefore necessary to allow more proactive preventive healthcare initiatives. Effective policies can trigger the change towards healthful standards of living by facilitating healthier choices and discouraging poorer ones. Examples include taxation of cigarettes and sugary beverages and coordinated public health promotion, which have been helpful in various countries. The establishment of parks and walkable spaces also leads to physical health. Government schemes are a scaled action to provide profound change to diverse populations.

Healthcare systems need to shift from a treatment-focused model to one that targets wellness and sustainable lifestyle patterns.

Primary care physicians are at the vanguard of this shift.

PCPs can thus be the harbinger of a tidal change through offering routine checks and health advisories under the individual’s unique requirements.

PCPs have the robustness to inspire improvement by educating patients to introduce proper lifestyle decisions through motivational interviewing and encouragement with or without medical help, as and when they feel is appropriate. Informed patients who are empowered with knowledge about their health and potential dangers are likely to embrace healthy lifestyles as educated individuals do. In short, the lifestyle disease epidemics necessitate a targeted shift towards preventive medicine. The evidence is clear-cut- prevention alleviates individual misery. Prevention is not only cost-saving but also ethical. Interventions implemented at an early point add life years and enhance quality of life.

In the next few years, it will be increasingly important to broaden investment in mass community health education, policy reforms, and a better developed healthcare model emphasising wellness before the onset of pathology. Emphasising prevention, nations across the world can block the pending threat of lifestyle disorders for healthier populations and more sustainable health systems.

References :

1. WHO – Noncommunicable Diseases (NCDs) Fact Sheet
   🔗 https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/noncommunicable-diseases
2. Axios – WHO: Chronic diseases cause nearly three-fourths of deaths worldwide
   🔗 https://www.axios.com/2022/09/21/who-deaths-chronic-noncommunicable-diseases
3. CDC – Fast Facts: Health and Economic Costs of Chronic Conditions
   🔗 https://www.cdc.gov/chronic-disease/data-research/facts-stats/index.html
4. Global Cardiology Science & Practice – The North Karelia Project (overview & results)
   🔗 https://globalcardiologyscienceandpractice.com/index.php/gcsp/article/view/316/0
5. PubMed Central – The North Karelia Project: 40-year impact on CVD mortality
   🔗 https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7444010/
6. PubMed – North Karelia Project early results (risk factors, smoking, cholesterol, BP)
   🔗 https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/6423038/

-Prashasti Sharma

Medicine has always been a calling for me, but so has art. As far back as I can remember, I had paintbrushes and colours in my hands, and I would spend afternoons watching my mom, a painter herself, fill blank canvases with colour and beauty. My earliest memories are of me picking up my first paintbrush at two years old, and painting has been my own quiet companion for as long as I can remember – a way for me to express myself, a mechanism to recharge, a way to see the world from different angles.

As I navigated the gruelling years of medical schooling, I often had people ask how I managed to be a student and an artist; people assumed it was all either-or, but not both. The truth is, I never honestly saw art and medicine as separate; they both come from the same place of curiosity about the world, awareness of detail and human experience.

I recall drawing portraits after long hours of studying or painting a mural in between exam breaks. Those paint-filled hours were not just pastimes—they were conscious decisions to be present. Art was a medium for processing feelings and emotions in a way that slowed the moment, a break from the fast pace of medical training. It helped reinforce the idea that creativity in medicine (art) is a complement (not a distraction) to science.

As an IMG here in the U.S., I still value my creativity as an artist, and my artistic past informs my approach to being a physician. When I draw a portrait, I fixate on the little details: the curve of the smile, the light in the eyes, the texture of the hair. In the clinic, I practice that same attention to detail while listening to a patient’s story and watching for their body language. Just as there are no two paintings that are alike, there are never two patients that are ever the same. Art trained me to look at every case differently and with an open mind.

Another lesson art has taught me is patience. Transforming a blank canvas into a particular image takes time. It requires layering strokes, changing and adjusting things, strategically taking risks, making mistakes, and ultimately pulling it all together. Medicine also requires patience—both with a process such as diagnoses, and treatment plans that evolve, but also patience with people. Rarely does healing occur overnight. After many years and an abundance of experience with brushes in my hands, I have learned that persistence and minor adjustments sometimes yield the greatest rewards.

I also have a strong appreciation for the mentality of recycling and reusing in my artwork—taking ordinary objects and turning them (or repurposing) into beautiful things. I think this mindset also translates to medicine, as sometimes being resourceful and creative really helps address problems that are not in the textbook. I think creativity is not only painting or drawing, but a way of thinking—an imaginative willingness to try and find new solutions.

Of course, painting will always be my refuge. It’s the place I go for balance when medicine is too heavy. Some nights I go back to the canvas and the stress of the day diminishes stroke by stroke. The canvas is a way of reconnecting with myself, just as the stethoscope is a way to connect with my patients and their stories.

For me, being both a doctor and an artist is not about keeping two separate identities or lives; it is about blending the two. I am guilt-free in medicine because I get to help other folks get stronger, while art helps me stay strong. Both art and medicine take empathy, observation, and imagination: from a patient’s signs and symptoms in a clinical encounter to the light and dark on the canvas.

On my way into my medical career, I will always carry my brushes—figuratively and literally. I believe the best docs are not just scientists; they are artists who use knowledge and compassion, precision and creativity, and science and soul.

–Prashasti Sharma



Most people think medicine’s all about tests, diagnoses, and tossing around prescriptions. Sure, that stuff matters, but honestly? If you’ve ever sat in one of those drafty exam rooms, you know it’s not just about what the doc prescribes—it’s about how they talk to you. Sometimes, a simple “Hey, how are you doing?” or just explaining stuff in plain English does more than any pill ever could.

Let’s talk about communication. When you actually feel like your doctor gets you, suddenly following their advice doesn’t seem so impossible. You’re way more likely to open up about what’s really bugging you instead of just nodding along. But man, even if everything’s technically correct, a five-minute, jargon-filled appointment can leave you more confused than when you walked in.

From what I’ve seen wandering hospital halls, it’s the little things—a quick “how are you feeling today?” or just breaking down a scary diagnosis—that stick with people. I once had a patient terrified and confused about starting a new medication. Instead of bombarding him with medical jargon, I just told him what he could expect. The relief on his face? Way better than any prescription pad.

Listening is criminally underrated. Doctors love to talk, but sometimes, just shutting up and letting the patient ramble uncovers more than any lab test. I remember this one person—kept saying they were tired, nothing else. We could’ve brushed it off, but by actually listening (and, okay, a little detective work), we found this weird, rare illness. Would’ve missed it if we’d just rushed through.

Cultural background and understanding matter too. Not everyone views health the same way, and people’s backgrounds totally shape what they’ll talk about—or what they’ll hide. Some clam up about certain symptoms, while others want their whole family in the room before deciding anything. You’ve got to pick up on those things, or you’re just shouting into the void.

Empathy’s the secret. Just acknowledging their fear or pain—maybe sitting down instead of standing over them—makes a world of difference. Sometimes, just repeating instructions in normal language is more helpful than any fancy speech.

So if you’re looking for ways to actually connect, here’s what works, in my humble opinion:

• Drop the jargon. Speak human.

• Ask them to explain things back—trust me, you’ll catch misunderstandings fast.

• Listen for the things they’re not saying, too—body language is everything.

• Show some understanding. Don’t just nod, actually say “I get it” when they’re upset.

Every patient is different; some need things drawn out, some want everything in writing, and some just want you to talk them through it. It is imperative to individualise every interaction and deal with patients like they are people and not just cases.

In conclusion, medicine’s not just fixing bodies, it’s working with people. When you actually listen and show you care, it stops being some cold transaction and turns into a real partnership. That’s where the magic happens. In the end, the words you use can heal almost as much as the medications you hand out.