Compassion at eye level

By Thuan Minh Quang Tran, MD, Johns Hopkins Observership Program, with Sonal Gandhi, MD, Johns Hopkins Medicine 

During my observership at Johns Hopkins, I had the privilege of sitting in on a family meeting at the hospital. The patient was a woman in her seventies with metastatic breast cancer and worsening symptoms. Her prognosis was poor, and despite maximal chemotherapy, she was slipping away. It was my first time witnessing how a care team delivered serious news with empathy and grace. 

We gathered in a small patient room: the attending physician, residents, social worker, patient, and family. Before speaking, the attending quietly pulled up a chair and sat at the bedside. That single gesture, lowering himself to the eye level of the patient, changed everything. It felt less like a clinical briefing and more like a genuine human conversation. 

“What do you understand about your condition?” he asked gently. Then, with compassion, he explained that further aggressive treatment would likely cause more harm than healing. He explained that hospice was not about hastening death, but about honoring life, comfort, dignity, and freedom from suffering. 

The family sat still, absorbing his words, until the patient’s daughter broke down in tears. “Doctor, are you telling us that nothing more can be done?” she whispered. 

The room fell silent. The attending leaned forward, his eyes glistening, and said something I’ll never forget: “There’s always something we can do. We may not be able to change the course of the disease, but we can change how we walk this journey together. Hospice doesn’t mean we stop caring for you. It means care transitions to a new phase, where our focus is on relieving  symptoms, easing pain, improving sleep, and making you comfortable.” 

Medicine isn’t merely about prolonging life. It’s about standing alongside patients and families with honesty and tenderness; to let them know they won’t face the hard journey alone. Together, the patient and family agreed to transition to hospice, and her code status was changed to DNR. 

This encounter bridged what I’d studied in classrooms with what it truly means to care for people at the bedside. Meetings with patients and families aren’t just exchanges of medical information. They’re sacred spaces where fear meets compassion, and hope can be reframed. 

Here are three lessons I will carry with me from that day: 

1. Sitting at the bedside transforms communication.  

It lowers barriers, creates equality, and tells patients and families without words: I’m here and I’m listening. 

2. How we deliver news matters as much as the words we choose.  

Posture and tone can turn devastating medical updates into conversations rooted in trust and dignity. 

3. Presence itself is a form of healing.  

Even when curative treatments are no longer possible, the simple act of sitting, listening, and being with patients and families may be powerful medicine. 

This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.