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What Happened to Comfort Always There’s an old joke: What’s the difference between God and a doctor? God doesn’t think he’s a doctor. Times change, of course. These days, that idea might be more aptly applied to certain politicians, and certainly not to doctors in general. It could also apply to some people in academia and big public health.

I was recently asked a very interesting question, which got me thinking—hence what we’ll be discussing in this podcast. I always work on the basis that if one person asks a question, it’s likely that others are thinking about it too.

In fact, many years ago—a quick digression—a doctor associate of mine who went into politics became a Member of Parliament. In one case, three constituents went to his office or raised the same issue, and that was considered a very important matter. In electorates of 100,000 or more voters, if even three people take the time to contact your office, it’s significant. This gives insight into human nature—our reluctance to speak up or “pop our heads above the radar.”

Anyway, the question asked of me was: When did doctors stop being comforting and reassuring?
It’s a fascinating question, and in the first half of 2025 (depending on when you’re listening), there have been measles outbreaks in different parts of the world, including Europe, Australia, and the U.S.—and probably elsewhere too, though it might not always make the news.

Measles isn’t a pleasant illness—don’t get me wrong—but it used to be endemic. Vaccination programs began in the 1960s, and since then, we’ve seen a substantial drop in cases. That’s obviously a good thing. But it also means many of us rarely see cases anymore, and we forget that while measles can be nasty—and in rare cases fatal due to complications like encephalitis or pneumonia—a lot of people who got it recovered just fine.

The same goes for other childhood illnesses like chickenpox and mumps. Most people got them, and most recovered. Not everyone, of course, but the goal of vaccination is to reduce the number and severity of cases, and thereby lower the number of deaths.

What fades from living memory is the fact that for the vast majority of people who contracted these illnesses, they recovered. Now we get scare tactics.

Actually, I was asked two questions by two different people. The first, as mentioned, was: When did doctors stop being comforting and reassuring?
The second: Hang on—I remember when measles was just part of the landscape and we didn’t get that excited about it. Why are we now acting like any infectious disease is the end of the world?

We’ll get into that second question a bit later—because I suspect you know where I’m going. Unfortunately, a lot of this panic has been driven by doctors—particularly those in big public health—such as chief health officers or others in authoritative positions.

In medicine, sometimes you have to give people bad news. It’s just part of life. You might say, “We’ve done some tests, and you have type 2 diabetes,” or “You may have some form of cancer.” Of course, type 2 diabetes is treatable. Some cancers can be treated, while others may not have a good prognosis.

But the response to these diagnoses shouldn’t be hysteria. Not: “Oh no, this is terrible! You’re going to die!” No. It should be a matter-of-fact conversation: “This is the diagnosis. Here’s what we can do.”
Treatment might help. We might focus on keeping you comfortable.

There’s a quote attributed to Edward Livingston Trudeau—founder of the tuberculosis sanatorium at Saranac Lake (I hope I got the pronunciation right):
“To cure sometimes, to relieve often, to comfort always.”

Even when the news is bad, comfort can still be given. Not empty platitudes, but real human compassion. A cancer diagnosis isn’t something that’s going to magically disappear—but people do go into remission, and some respond well to treatment. In my experience—and in the experience of most doctors—it’s worse not knowing than knowing. Once you know what’s going on, you can plan. Get your affairs in order. Prepare. If things turn out better than expected, that’s a bonus.

This approach—helping people make the best of a bad situation—is central to medicine.

Now, when it comes to infectious diseases where the survival rate is extremely high, the doom-and-gloom fear-mongering is essentially fear-porn. So yes, the question arises—and was asked—when did this happen?
And the follow-up: Why did it happen?

We all know when it started: during the COVID-19 pandemic response. What was essentially a cold—by a few months in, that became clear—was transformed into this fearsome killer. From March 2020, we knew certain groups were more vulnerable. But authorities (particularly government-employed doctors) cranked up the fear. Then, medical organizations joined in. Politicians loved it—because it let them play God and “protect the flock.”

There are interesting parallels between the role of high priests in the 1300s and 1400s and modern-day politicians who now cast themselves as the high priests of the 21st century. Not everyone believes in a higher power, but estimates suggest 80–90% of people do believe there’s something greater than ourselves. And if you’ve ever looked up at the night sky, you might agree. We can’t explain everything—and we’re not meant to—but everyone’s entitled to their opinion.

So, when did this fear-driven narrative begin?
Certainly, during the pandemic.

And why?
Partly because bureaucratic doctors began acting like gods—thinking they could counteract nature. But unlike real doctors—those seeing patients daily—these bureaucrats don’t sit face-to-face with patients. They don’t diagnose, treat, or explain side effects. They don’t see the emotional toll. They’re detached from reality.

If you’re sitting on the 24th floor of a government office, you don’t see the outcomes of your policies. That detachment is a big part of the “why.”

And maybe, just maybe, there’s this God-like delusion that making decisions can somehow shield humanity from nature. It can’t. Viruses have been around longer than humans. Bacteria predate us by millions of years. They won’t be eradicated. They can be controlled and treated better than ever before, and that’s progress. But I doubt we’ll ever live in a world where no one gets sick. Maybe in 1,000 years—who knows? But not in the next hundred.

So, we can minimize disease—but we can’t eliminate it.
And when people do get sick, one of the most important roles in medicine—and I’d argue nurses often do it better than doctors—is to be honest, and, as Trudeau said, to comfort always.

And just to reiterate—comforting someone isn’t about saying “There, there, everything’s fine.”
It’s about saying:
“This is what’s happening. Here’s what we can do. I’m here with you.”

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