What Not to Say to a Doctor: Insider Confessions

Conversations Every Doctor Secretly Dreads (But Won’t Admit Out Loud)

“Can I ask you something really quick?” — said every distant cousin at a wedding.
Ah yes, the classic stealth consult. It always starts as a “quick question” and ends in full-blown differential diagnosis between the shrimp cocktail and the chicken dance. You’re not wearing your stethoscope, you’re holding a drink, and yet — you’ve somehow become the on-call doctor at someone’s third cousin’s engagement party. Doctors universally dread this moment, not because we don’t love helping, but because we know exactly where it’s going: “It burns when I pee, but don’t worry, I’ll keep it brief.”

“You’re a doctor? So what’s this rash?”
Cue the awkward body part reveal in public. Bonus points if it’s mid-restaurant or on a plane. No, I’m not pulling up UpToDate while balancing a tray table and a Bloody Mary. And no, showing me a blurry photo you took three months ago in poor lighting doesn’t help. Dermatologists in particular deserve a hazard bonus for this one.

“I googled it, and I think I have cancer.”
We have nothing against Google. It’s a powerful tool — if you’re searching for dinner recipes. But when patients come in clutching 16 tabs from WebMD and TikTok with a self-diagnosis of metastatic melanoma because of a freckle, we brace ourselves. The conversation that follows is delicate, exhausting, and borderline existential. Do we appreciate proactive patients? Yes. Do we want to undo five hours of online spiraling? Absolutely not.

“Doctor, I know you said no antibiotics, but can you just write me one in case?”
Let us introduce you to our inner scream. This conversation is a frustrating loop of evidence-based medicine versus a societal overdependence on pills. It doesn’t matter how many times we explain that a virus doesn’t care about amoxicillin — patients still ask for “just in case.” And it’s always followed by the kicker: “I’ll be traveling.” Fantastic, let’s spread resistance across borders too.

“My aunt took that medication and died.”
Instant pressure. You're trying to discuss treatment options backed by solid data, and suddenly you're defending yourself against Great Aunt Linda's tragedy in 1983. It's not just about managing the patient now — it’s about unwrapping generational trauma tied to beta-blockers. Explaining causality, correlation, and coincidence feels like walking through an emotional minefield in a white coat.

“So how much do you make?”
This one never gets less awkward. Whether it’s a friend, a taxi driver, or a nosy patient, nothing makes doctors squirm quite like unsolicited salary interrogation. Let’s be clear: the path to being a doctor is long, expensive, and full of call shifts that destroy the concept of "free time." Yes, we’re privileged — but no, we don’t moonlight on yachts. Most doctors would rather perform a digital rectal exam on themselves than answer this question honestly.

“You’re a doctor? Can you help me get into med school?”
Innocent? Sure. Mentorship matters. But what starts as genuine interest often morphs into relentless WhatsApp messages asking for SOP reviews, recommendation letters, and admissions secrets like we're hiding a Hogwarts letter. Every doctor has that one person who thinks our job is part-caregiver, part-career counselor. Add it to the list of unpaid services we provide.

“You doctors are all in it for the money.”
Few things deflate morale like this sweeping, cynical accusation. It reduces years of training, missed holidays, and moral injury to a crude stereotype. Yes, the system is flawed. But if this were all about money, we would’ve chosen investment banking — where burnout is better paid and no one calls you at 3 AM for chest pain that turns out to be anxiety.

“You look tired.”
Yes. Because we are. It’s 3 PM, we’ve seen 22 patients, and had coffee for lunch. Telling a doctor they “look tired” is the equivalent of telling an ER nurse they “look like they’ve seen some stuff.” It’s true, but please don’t say it out loud. We already know.

“You’re too young to be a doctor.”
Backhanded compliments — the kind that make you want to age 10 years on the spot. It usually comes with a suspicious side-eye and sometimes a second opinion request. Newsflash: looking under 40 doesn’t discredit 10 years of medical education. Meanwhile, if you’re over 40, the same people will ask, “When are you planning to retire?”

“Why didn’t you become a [insert ‘nobler’ specialty]?”
Ah, the shade. Whether you’re a dermatologist (“You’re not a real doctor”) or a psychiatrist (“Do you just talk all day?”), some people think their opinion on your specialty is both welcome and insightful. Spoiler: it’s not. All specialties matter. Except maybe orthopedic surgeons — just kidding (kind of).

“You made a mistake.”
This one’s heavy. All doctors fear it. And while no one is perfect, the stakes in medicine are high. The emotional toll of a perceived or real error is immense. Even when it’s not your fault — delayed labs, documentation gaps, system failures — you carry the weight. It’s a conversation we dread not because of ego, but because of the human cost and what it does to our psyche.

“We need to talk about burnout.”
Another heart-sinker. Burnout is the conversation that creeps up on us — through sleep deprivation, moral dilemmas, administrative burden, and loss of meaning. And the moment it’s mentioned, it becomes real. Sometimes we avoid it because it feels too raw, too close. But ironically, it’s the conversation we most need to have — if only we weren’t so busy trying to survive the next shift.

“Are you sure it’s not in my head?”
Somatization is real. But try telling that to a patient without getting crucified. This conversation walks a tightrope of empathy, honesty, and PR skills. You have to explain central sensitization without implying they’re imagining things. Every doctor has danced around this one, trying to validate the patient while maintaining medical integrity.

“You missed my diagnosis.”
This is the one that follows you home. Whether it’s a delayed cancer diagnosis or a subtle autoimmune condition, this conversation cuts deep. It’s not about blame — it's about fear, regret, and the impossible challenge of catching zebras when you're looking for horses. And yet, patients rarely understand the thin margin we work within. Even when we did everything “right,” this conversation haunts us.

“I read about that doctor who...”
Fill in the blank: botched surgery, killed a patient, faked data. Suddenly you’re the stand-in defendant for the entire profession. You become the unofficial spokesperson for all doctors everywhere. These conversations are especially rough in countries where media sensationalism paints us all with the same bloody brush.

“So, what’s the worst thing you’ve seen?”
We know this question usually comes from curiosity. But answering it opens up a door we often try to keep shut. We carry trauma, we witness grief, we see the ugly sides of humanity. Some of us compartmentalize to function. Asking us to casually recount the darkest parts of our job over drinks is a bit like asking a war veteran to tell their favorite landmine story.

“Do you even have time for a life?”
Depends. Is doomscrolling medical Reddit at 2 AM considered a life? Most doctors try to maintain some semblance of normalcy — hobbies, relationships, Netflix guilt binges. But this question hits a nerve because the truth is, we struggle with balance. We want lives outside the hospital. We just need the system to let us have one.

“Why didn’t you become a nurse/pharmacist instead?”
Let’s make one thing clear: we love our colleagues. But this question often carries the subtext of “Wasn’t that good enough?” It’s oddly dismissive and makes light of what was likely a decade-long journey involving burnout, sacrifice, and insurmountable debt. All healthcare roles matter, but asking this is like telling a pilot, “You know, bus drivers are important too.”

“Can you write me a sick note?” (when they’re clearly fine)
The worst part is that people think this is a favor. Like giving away a free sticker. But sick notes are legal documents. And when someone clearly wants one to skip a meeting or attend a wedding, you're stuck in that weird moral gray area — being pressured to falsify a record without outright lying. It’s awkward, and you suddenly become the villain for “making them suffer.”

“You’re just a doctor — not God.”
Thanks for the reminder. We know. Most of us walk around with imposter syndrome, especially in the early years. But this particular line is usually weaponized during high-stress moments, often when outcomes don’t meet expectations. It’s a gut punch because it highlights how society sometimes demands miracles from humans doing their best with imperfect tools.