When You Try to Explain Your Job to a Non-Medical Friend

“So You Just Look at Rashes All Day?”—And Other Misunderstandings
You’ve finally managed to catch a break and meet a friend for coffee—someone from outside the medical world. They’re in finance, or graphic design, or maybe teaching. You, however, live in the whirlwind of healthcare.

After some small talk, the inevitable question drops:
“So... what exactly do you do all day?”

You hesitate.

Should you describe the 12-hour shift, the 40 patients you saw, the post-op complication you juggled over a lunch you never ate, or the endless paperwork that somehow still finds you at midnight?

Instead, you default to a familiar, vague answer:
“It’s complicated.”

Welcome to one of the most confusing yet unintentionally hilarious experiences that every doctor faces—trying to explain what we do to someone who’s never walked hospital corridors, never charted at 2 a.m., never argued with a malfunctioning EMR while holding in a full bladder.

The Misconceptions Start Early

The moment you say, “I’m a doctor,” the floodgates of assumptions open:

“So, you’re basically like Dr. House?”

“Oh, amazing—you deliver babies?”

“You must be loaded!”

“Bet you’re super healthy, huh?”

“Do you just Google stuff like we do?”

There’s an odd mix of admiration and total misunderstanding. People picture stethoscopes, dramatic rescues, and heartbeats flatlining before you rush in with miraculous saves.

They don’t picture:

The soul-sucking charting
The family disagreements over care plans
The broken hospital printer sabotaging your discharge routine
That time lunch meant a banana inhaled next to a septic patient
Or how your brain runs on caffeine and repetition, running on fumes

Every Specialty Has Its Own Brand of Confusion

If you’re a dermatologist:

“So… do you mostly do facials and acne stuff?”
“Wait, is this mole cancer?”
“I have this weird rash—can I show you?”

If you’re a psychiatrist:

“Are you diagnosing me right now?”
“Can you tell if someone’s lying?”
“Can you read my mind?”

If you’re a surgeon:

“So, you just… cut people open?”
“What do you do when you’re not in the OR?”
“You must love Grey’s Anatomy!”

If you’re a general practitioner:

“Isn’t Google doing your job now?”
“Do you know everyone’s secrets?”
“You basically give Panadol and send people home, right?”

You find yourself caught between two bad options: oversimplify and sound like you do nothing special, or over-explain and lose them halfway through. Often, you don’t even get to finish before they say, “Oh wait—did you see that TikTok where the guy acts like a surgeon?”

The Language Barrier: Medicine vs. Real Life

Medicine has its own dialect. And translating it into “civilian” terms often feels like a losing battle.

Try this:

“I had a 76-year-old with CHF exacerbation, uncontrolled AF, high BNP, and worsening edema. Adjusted diuretics and followed renal function before discharge.”

They hear:

“I had... an old guy... with swelling... and kidneys?”

Even terms like “rounds,” “handover,” or “on-call” need translation.

“Rounds” become: team updates
“On-call” becomes: don’t expect sleep
“Discharge planning” becomes: social work + crisis management + diplomacy + maybe a minor miracle

By the time you’re done explaining, they look more overwhelmed than your patient with polypharmacy.

The Awkward Questions They Ask (And You Pretend Not to Mind)

“Have you ever watched someone die?”
“Do you get grossed out?”
“What’s the most disgusting thing you’ve seen?”
“How do you remember all that stuff?”
“Do people really still use leeches?”
“Can you write me something for anxiety… just in case?”

Sometimes it’s genuine curiosity. Other times, it feels like they’re collecting weird trivia. You smile, give your polished one-liner, and try not to roll your eyes—or relive the trauma.

The “Free Consult” Trap

You’re trying to relax, and suddenly your friend pulls up their sleeve:

“Is this normal?”
“My back’s been hurting—should I get an MRI?”
“Can you look at this thing on my foot?”

They mean no harm. But you’re not on shift. And technically, you can’t diagnose someone without history, exam, and workup.

You say, “You should get it checked.”
They reply, “But you’re a doctor.”
You repeat, “Yes, and you should still get it checked.”
Repeat this loop forever.

Trying to Explain How Exhausting It Really Is

You say, “I’m tired.”
They say, “Same. It’s been a long week.”

You want to say:

Did you manage a hypotensive trauma patient at 3 a.m.?
Did you eat dinner at 1 a.m. standing next to a code cart?
Did you tell a family their loved one didn’t make it and then keep working as if your heart didn’t just break?
Did you spend your whole day hyper-alert to errors that could kill someone?

But you just nod. Because you don’t have the energy to explain that kind of tired.

The Identity Crisis of “Doctor” vs. “Person”

When your friend asks, “What do you do?” it’s not just a career question—it’s about identity.

Being a doctor isn’t a uniform you wear and remove. It rewires your:

Thought process
Sleep schedule
Sense of urgency
Boundaries with emotion
Relationship with your own health

Trying to explain medicine to someone outside of it feels like trying to describe what it’s like to have 15 browser tabs open in your brain—with 5 alarms going off, a pager buzzing, and a pending lawsuit somewhere in the background.

The Friends Who Actually Get It (And Why They Matter)

Over time, you begin to cherish:

Your co-residents
The nurses who’ve stayed past shift change with you
The techs who know when you need a quiet moment
The people who say, “Take your time,” and mean it

These are the friends who:

Don’t ask why you look like a zombie post-call
Don’t flinch when you mention necrotic bowel
Understand when you go silent after a shift

But there’s a special place in your heart for the non-medical friends who stay. The ones who listen, ask questions kindly, and don’t need to understand medicine to understand you.

They remind you that a world exists outside call schedules and scrub caps. That you’re not just a doctor—you’re still a whole human.

The Conversation You’ll Keep Having Forever

You’ll never quite master the art of explaining what it’s like to be a doctor.

Because no words capture:

The sacredness of being trusted with a stranger’s life
The helplessness of watching a child code
The absurdity of arguing with hospital printers
The exhilaration of nailing a tough diagnosis
The guilt of missed moments with family

But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe what matters is that people care enough to ask. That despite the awkward phrasing and bad jokes, there's admiration beneath the confusion.

And while they may never fully understand the life of 36-hour shifts and vending-machine meals, they respect it. That’s something.

Final Thoughts: You Don’t Need to Explain Everything

You live in a world filled with codes, suffering, healing, and second-guessing. A job so layered it defies simple explanations. And not everyone will get it.

But that’s okay.

Because the people who matter? They’ll keep asking.

And you’ll keep explaining—one confused smile and one wild anecdote at a time.

Eventually, they won’t fully understand your job—but they’ll understand you.

And sometimes, that’s all that matters.