A few years ago, my wife had a potentially life-threatening illness. I went with her for a consultation with a physician who had been recommended to us as one of the top in the field.
Doctor after doctor spoke highly of him. Virtually everyone also remarked about how nice he was.
He had the right credentials, including being selected as one of the “Best Doctors in America,” and a busy, successful practice. We were fortunate to have found someone as competent and well regarded as he.
But I didn’t like him.
For one thing, when he came into the office where my wife and I were seated, he didn’t talk to us, he talked “at” us. He talked about his practice and his partners and the surgeries he had performed, as though he were presenting his CV to a panel of physicians rather than counseling real people at a vulnerable time of their lives.
He asked a few questions, but I wasn’t sure he listened to the answers. He looked at the records as he spoke, making notes, reading, doing what seemed to me what he should have done before he came into the room. There was no humor about him, nor a glimmer of lightness or humanity. No small talk. No smile.
What bothered me most, though, was that he didn’t look at us. No eye contact at all. As he talked, his eyes were on the medical records. He didn’t look up!
It was as if we weren’t even in the same room.
He told us my wife should have surgery, buzzed his nurse to arrange it, and that was that. Next case!
My wife felt that not looking at people was his way of dealing with all the death he must surely deal with every day. She was willing to dismiss this as quirkiness, in view of his outstanding reputation.
I wasn’t. His demeanor troubled me. I thought a doctor could be competent AND show some humanity.
We wanted a second opinion and got a referral to another doctor of equally high reputation. I liked him immediately. Not only was he friendly, when he talked, he looked us squarely in the eye. Unlike the first doctor, he patiently explained what was in the records, drew, on paper, a diagram of what he was referring to, and described the different choices that were available to us.
Choices!
He told us the pros and cons, and helped us weigh them. He let us know that the final decision was up to us, but he felt we were entitled to his opinion and recommendation, which he gave us (an alternative to surgery!)
I liked the way he weighed the “evidence” and helped us follow a logical path to the ultimate conclusion. It was as if he were saying, “Let’s look at this together so you can see what I see.” It reminded me of how I would speak to clients when it was time to consider going to trial.
Of course we preferred the second doctor’s opinion, but even if it had been the same, the bottom line is that the second doctor made us feel like he cared.
Doctors and lawyers counsel people in times of trouble, and we must never forget that our bedside manner is at least as important as our technical competence.
In the end, clients don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.
