Heroes don’t always wear capes — mine sported a pristine white coat and black blazer

It’s 2020 and we are in the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic.

Worldwide panic has set in, the disease has begun permeating Australia, nobody can source toilet paper … and yet, there I was, blissfully removed from the chaos (with plenty of supplies) on my final medical school rotation.

Through a series of misfortunes, followed by some fortunes, I found myself working in the most beautiful rural town in Victoria. One day, I was informed a visiting specialist would be attending the practice — a well-respected, private clinician from the city.

An aspiring physician trainee at the time, I jumped at the opportunity to meet him.

What struck me immediately about this gentleman was his pristinely white coat, worn over a perfectly pressed suit and tie, name embroidered in black cursive on the left breast pocket.

Until that point, I had never seen a real-life doctor wearing a white coat (nor have I seen another to this day). Surely that was a tradition of the past or otherwise reserved for Hollywood medical dramas?

The peculiar neatness of his desk struck me next — an attribute I did not generally associate with doctors — his stationery and equipment were organised perfectly.

I observed the man in awe as he made his way meticulously through his list. History-taking with flair, no detail was missed; yet it did not bear the tiresome feeling of interrogation that often accompanies such activity.

Though exceptionally punctual, he never compromised on pleasant chatter, humour or a good laugh. The listening was active, deliberate and masterfully attentive, supplemented by shorthand notes on A6 paper cards (post-consultation dictated on a recording device).

There were no screens involved, no distractions and no interferences. Everything he needed was right there in the truest physical form.

Witnessing his examination skills was even more intriguing: never short of complete and full, regardless of presenting symptom or complaint. His hands danced from head to toe of each patient, in one graceful motion.

To me, the man in the white coat embodied another era of medicine, when doctoring was practised as an art of healing. Although modern medicine and technological advances have been life-changing for patient care, we cannot forget nor replace the fundamentals of the doctor-patient relationship.

Our words and our hands and our eyes and our ears should be our first line of investigation — combined, these are often the most telling, and at times, surprising.

Ever since that day, mesmerised in his office, the man in the white coat has been a constant throughout many important phases in my career.

He was there when I left a job as a result of workplace bullying — a time so horrible and lonely. I was blessed to have family support, but I soon realised I had nobody in the medical world to call on for help. The junior doctors showed their fear in the form of silence, inaction or compliance, and the seniors were utterly indifferent.

To quote the blunt, uninspiring words of my training supervisor: “Just put it under the rug.”

Not long ago, during a mock medical interview I undertook, I was asked: “What would you do if faced with bullying at the hands of your superior?”

I answered the question ‘correctly’, using all the right buzzwords, because that’s what gets you through on paper. But in the real world, this amounts to very little when the system fails — when people in power fail.

Some of the worst months of my life passed by miserably before I sent the man in the white coat a text in desperation.

We had not communicated in about a year. A phone call came in less than two minutes.

Old school.

That call helped me gather up the courage to leave. At the time, although absurd in hindsight, I viewed this move as the ultimate failure on my part.

I took a few months to recover from the ordeal, though it left a lasting impact. The man in the white coat supported my application to a new hospital, which welcomed me with open arms. Had it not been for his support and endorsement, I know things would have played out very differently.

The man in the white coat was there again when I began to feel disillusioned with my career path, and he played a vital role in helping me find my way to a specialty I thrive in and enjoy.

The man in the black coat

The next phase of my medical career was again pivotal, but for different reasons. With more maturity, understanding and experience, I found myself a new mentor who would guide me through the next set of transitions and career challenges.

Not everyone is fortunate enough to say they have (or had) a senior colleague with such a vested interest in their success, someone who believes in your abilities even when you may not.

Someone who does not shame you for not knowing, even if the answer may be glaringly obvious in hindsight. Someone who offers you opportunities to further your career, just because they see your potential and want to give you a chance, not out of favours or connections.

I came to realise I had become so accustomed to being put down, that being lifted up seemed strange and surreal. It felt too good to be true, and that somehow I didn’t deserve it.

I was still adjusting to no longer needing to apologise for my existence, no longer needing to hide, to eat lunch in my car. I was a valued and appreciated member of the team.

Let’s call this mentor the man in the black coat, whose contrasting signature look was always a black blazer.

What the man in the black coat taught me far surpassed the clinical lessons — although that period of learning and clinical experience will forever be an invaluable part of my career journey.

By working closely with him day to day, he showed me what it meant to be a real leader, a true role model.

Never until this point had I been privy to such leadership, where an entire department, regardless of position, respected and adored their senior colleague to this degree.

I worked at places where senior medical staff barely acknowledged a junior doctor’s existence, let alone anyone else’s, but this man made everyone feel valued, from front desk to maintenance staff, from allied health to medical professionals.

Every single person working in that organisation was treated as an equal, and everyone knew their undeniable worth.

When people feel respected and seen, it creates an incredible workplace that inspires motivation, fosters friendships and provides unmatched patient care.

When I think back to the challenges of the last five years, I cannot imagine navigating these without the mentorship, kindness and compassion of the men in the white and black coats.

Although I wish my journey had gone smoother, the hardships helped me pave my own way, and they remind me that there is still kindness out there in medicine.

When you haven’t yet found your voice, it can be challenging to tick all the boxes and make all the right impressions.

There is immense pressure to achieve at any cost, whether it be staying back late night after night to get that stellar reference, swallowing being demeaned and degraded (and finding a rug big enough to fit it all under), or packing up your life and moving cities to progress, progress, progress.

Then again, that’s just what we do. It’s expected — but it shouldn’t be. Nor should we be expected to figure it out all on our own.

To all early-career doctors out there, I encourage you to find a mentor.

It does not need to be someone who wears a pressed coat of any colour. Unironed scrubs will suffice.

Befriend a person with the wisdom and experience to help you navigate the challenges of this profession, of which there are many.

To the legends in the coats, if you are reading this, you know who you are — I have nothing but gratitude for you both. Thank you.

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