“The opposite of courage in our society is not cowardice—it is conformity.”
—Rollo May
I. Introduction: The Death of Doctoring
I didn’t ask to become a “pain traveler”—but the system forced me into it. I didn’t start by questioning doctors—I trusted them. I believed in their purpose, their oath, their training. But over time, visit after visit, I began to realize something dark was happening:
Doctors have stopped doctoring.
They defer. They delay. They repeat stock phrases like “not indicated,” “try Tylenol,” or “we don’t do that here.” They no longer investigate. They no longer plan. They no longer fight for their patients. Instead, they shrink behind walls of policy, protocol, and fear.
And when a patient asks for help, for relief, for restoration—they don’t say, “Let’s find the answer.”
They say, “There’s nothing more I can do.”
But that is a lie.
There is more. There’s always more.
They’ve simply chosen not to do it.
II. The Machinery That Replaced Medicine
Medicine, once built on inquiry and compassion, has been captured—not by science, but by structure.
Doctors now serve a system that is engineered not to heal, but to withhold. Behind the scenes, algorithms and insurance companies dictate treatment. The terminology is cold and bureaucratic—utilization review, medical necessity, risk threshold, coverage guidelines. But what it really means is this:
You can’t have what helps you. Not because it doesn’t exist—but because it costs too much, takes too long, or makes someone nervous.
Doctors know this. They’ll quietly admit it. They’ve been told not to order the MRI. Not to refer out. Not to intervene. They’re told: “Stick to conservative care. Try rest. Try ice. Suggest yoga.” And so they do—regardless of whether it works, regardless of how long the patient has suffered.
And they justify it by saying, “It’s not indicated.”
What they mean is, “It’s not allowed.”
What they don’t say is, “I’m afraid.”
III. Medicine Without Courage
The greatest tragedy of modern medicine is not its lack of technology—it’s the absence of courage.
Doctors are no longer allowed to act freely. But even worse, many have stopped trying. They practice defensive medicine—medicine built on avoiding liability, not solving problems. They say, “We don’t treat that.” Or “Let’s circle back to PT,” even if it’s the fifth failed round. They prescribe Tylenol for a ligament injury. They recommend breathing exercises for structural dysfunction. They hide behind “low risk” while patients lose their lives, their function, their identities.
And what’s left? Patients like me—stuck. Waiting. Suffering.
I don’t have an untreatable condition. I have a condition doctors refuse to treat.
And let’s be clear: chronic pain is not always chronic because it’s complex. Sometimes it’s chronic because doctors have chosen cowardice over courage.
“The healthcare system today isn’t set up to heal. It’s set up to manage. This is the central tragedy: Medicine today is transactional, not transformational. It’s oriented around disease management, not recovery or optimization. It’s bureaucratic, not bio-individual. And healing—actual, full functional recovery—is seen as an undesirable outlier, not the goal.”
IV. The Pain Traveler
I have gone from office to office, clinic to clinic, carrying referrals, imaging, prescriptions, summaries. I have become fluent in the language of dismissal, and learned to speak in bullet points just to be heard. I carry not only my pain, but the evidence of it—documented, diagnosed, and clearly explained.
I have four-page case reports from my own primary care physician, and no one will even read them. No one will sit with them long enough to understand the core of the problem—the underlying cause. They skim. They scroll. They defer.
And increasingly, I don’t even see doctors—I see Nurse Practitioners and Physician Assistants. Mid-levels who serve not as caregivers, but as gatekeepers.They are not there to heal—they are there to keep you from the truth, to block the doorway to real expertise, to repeat the script: “not indicated, conservative care, try Tylenol.”
This is not a care model—it is a containment strategy.
And so, I’m left to suffer—not because medicine has failed me, but because medicine has refused me.
This is not about lack of knowledge.
It is not about lack of training.
It is about lack of moral will.
V. What Doctors Have Become
We must confront the bitter truth: most doctors no longer practice medicine. They perform policy.
Doctors have become performative, not transformative. They go through the motions. They check boxes. They click through EMRs. They quote guidelines instead of asking questions. They don’t touch patients, they tap keyboards. A click of a mouse decides my fate.
They sit there—knowing better—with gross indifference. Eyes glazed, hearts disengaged, hands tied not by law but by fear. They know what could help, what should be done, but they won’t do it.
And in doing so, they have become something dangerous: bystanders to suffering.
They have stopped being stewards of the human body and become technicians for a machine that punishes boldness and rewards compliance. And the damage is catastrophic—not just physically, but spiritually, emotionally, existentially.
Because when the people sworn to help you are the very ones who refuse to act, you are not just in pain—you are betrayed.
VI. Reclaiming the Right to Heal
If medicine is to be salvaged, if it is to be reborn into something worthy of trust, we must demand more.
Not more medications. Not more referrals. Not more apologies.
More courage.
We need a generation of doctors who will defy the checklist, the algorithm, the “not indicated” line. We need doctors who will say, “This patient needs more—and I’m willing to fight to get it for them.” We need doctors who do not shrink from hard cases, but lean in.
This isn’t a plea for recklessness. It’s a call for moral responsibility.
And yes—those who refuse to act, who recycle patients endlessly, who deny what they know can help—should face consequences. Accountability isn’t the enemy of good medicine. It’s the only thing that ensures it.
Because when you take an oath to do no harm, and then participate in a system that guarantees it, you’ve already broken it.
VII. Conclusion: A Final Question
So I ask again—why do we even have doctors anymore?
If they cannot diagnose without restriction, cannot treat without permission, cannot refer without penalty, and will not act when action is the only moral choice—then what purpose do they serve?
We are a society that has forgotten what healing feels like.
And until doctors remember what they once were—and decide to become it again—patients like me will keep suffering, senselessly and needlessly, in the waiting rooms of a system that doesn’t care if we ever get up again.
