Can the heart of healing endure?

When I convened the “Retirement Lounge” gathering recently on Zoom, I introduced the topic for the evening’s conversation as follows: “With each passing day, there is increasingly bountiful reading material and media resource attention related to artificial intelligence. Although my focus is on healthcare implications and applications, AI has integrated and insinuated itself into every corner of our personal space. It can be blatantly obvious or, more often, a stealthy intrusion. I asked you to consider AI in both the global sense as well as the oft-times uncomfortably personal.” I provided examples of my own experiences, a mix of “shock and awe.” The discussion that ensued was enthusiastic and engaging, pensively and cautiously delivered by the 13 physicians in attendance that evening. We heard of AI’s utility in planning exotic vacations, itineraries and accommodations, and the essential melange of food and wine pairing for dinner parties. We learned of the bottomless data mine when preparing and presenting a paper or lecture. We were cautioned about the pitfalls by those who had stepped into the quicksand of misinformation. And we were informed of the reluctance, hesitation and existential fear of crossing the threshold of this novel technology, a “red line” to be respected in “sickness and health.” We engaged in collective conversation for 90 minutes and could have continued had time constraints and time zones not been respected. There will be infinite conversations about AI to follow as its omnipresence overshadows our every waking and sleeping moment. I noted that ChatGPT was introduced but 3 years ago, a mere toddler still in Pampers pull-ups. In the run up to the AI “lounge” event, I downloaded the ChatGPT app and then I took a test drive. It was a revelation. The expression “garbage in, garbage out” refers to the efficacy and accuracy of the information provided. We humans must feed the beast, guide the beast and in the afterglow, scrutinize and fact check and proofread the beast. I have been writing blogs and stories for many years—decades in fact. I am aware that AI is increasingly being used in the creative sphere to write college applications, assignments and even essays and term papers. It is writing screenplays, magazine articles, novels and obituaries. All you need to do is “feed” the essentials into the algorithm and in literally seconds, the “genie” has done its due diligence. The finished product is almost too good to be true, always respectful and courteous. Although I am steadfast in my resolve to resist surrendering my creative being to a bot, I was curious. So, I opened up my ChatGPT app and posed this hypothetical: “I’m writing a story and am looking for the classic ‘30 second elevator pitch’ to entice the reader.Details: 80-year-old retired family physician Dr. G, who entered into practice in 1971 and retired 5 years ago. He practiced in the days before cell phones, computers, tablets, EMR and EHR, virtual care and, of course, AI. He adhered to the principles of face-to-face interactions, actual physical contact for clinical examinations, and compassion and caring and empathy. Patients were considered ‘extended family’ not numbered entities in a ‘roster.’ Now, in reflection, how would Dr. G approach starting into practice in 2026? Would he survive the culture shock of the new technology and the moral and ethical environment of today?”The response was almost instantaneous. ChatGPT gave me the option of choosing between pitches of several styles, including “Reflective & Emotional, Tension & Contrast,” “Personal & Poignant” and “Classic Logline Style”—the latter being my preferred choice. It reads: “An old-school physician raised on human touch and empathy must face the high-tech, data-driven world of 2026 medicine-where screens replace handshakes and AI shadows every diagnosis. Can the heart of healing endure?”I responded and indicated my intentions to borrow the line, “Can the heart of healing endure?” I was then offered additional drafting options and specifying the “longer synopsis”, this is what followed:“Dr. G, an 80-year-old retired family physician, looks back on a career that began in 1971, when medicine was practiced with paper charts, house calls, and unhurried conversations. For nearly 50 years, he served a multigenerational community, treating patients not as cases or numbers but as extended family. He knew their fears, their marriages, their children-and often held their hands during life’s most fragile moments. Now retired, Dr. G watches medicine evolve from a distance. Clinics hum with screens. Physicians type more than they listen. Artificial intelligence suggests diagnoses, virtual visits replace physical exams, and efficiency is measured in metrics rather than trust. The profession he once knew still exists, but it feels unfamiliar-even unrecognizable. Through reflection, imagined conversations, and encounters with modern clinicians, Dr. G asks a deeply personal question: If I were starting out today-in 2026-would I survive? Could he adapt to algorithms, electronic records, time-limited appointments, and ethical dilemmas shaped by technology, corporate medicine, and burnout? Or would his insistence on touch, presence, and empathy be dismissed as inefficient or obsolete? As he wrestles with these questions, Dr. G comes to realize that while medicine’s tools have changed, suffering has not. The story explores whether the heart of healing-compassion, human connection, and moral responsibility-can endure in an era increasingly driven by speed, data and automation.”I have made a commitment. I will write this story as I have written countless others. This one has become more personal and time-sensitive since consulting an off-label resource. What I’ve come to realize is that anyone or anything can write the stories. But not everyone can live the stories, and it is in the living that metrics and algorithms and data banks fail the test. They miss the incomparable high of delivering a baby after seven or eight months of constant care and worry and bonding, of holding a seven-pound-six-ounce, vernix-slathered miracle of life in blood-stained hands, of the fearful “pregnant pause” until that first cry shatters the silence of the delivery room, and then observing the faces of new parents as shrieks of joy and tears of happiness announce the arrival of a precious dream. They miss the depths of despair when delivering the worst of news, absent of hope, and the final vigils at bedsides amidst excruciatingly painful goodbyes, holding quivering hands and comforting the inconsolable. They miss the diagnostic coups, the forced errors and the abject failures, the checks on the stark realities of medical care today and the balances that are so inextricably interwoven. I will write about the humanity of medicine, perhaps a paradise lost, and not the bureaucratic and administrative detritus that can overwhelm, singe and smother.And then, I will answer the question, “Can the heart of healing endure?”

Can the heart of healing endure?

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More Blog Posts In This Series

The coming of age

The ‘walkout clinic’

Five years into retirement

Blog Author

HOWARD GOLDSTEIN

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