By Jennifer Martin Maples, OD, FAAO, Dipl. ABO, Founder, Eye Teach, LLC
Recently, I was interviewing a close friend—someone I deeply respect—for a project about doctor–patient communication when she said something that made my brain stutter. I had to do a double take to make sure I’d heard her correctly.
She said, “You know what would make a real difference? If doctors called their patients a week after the appointment to see how they’re doing and ask if they have any questions.”
Curious, I asked for clarification. “Do you mean the doctor should call, or would it be okay if a staff member reached out?”
She affirmed that she did in fact mean the doctor themselves—not a portal message, not a staff follow-up, but the doctor personally checking in.
Now, don’t get me wrong—it’s a lovely idea. Thoughtful, compassionate and rooted in genuine care. But the reality for most of us is that we don’t work within a system that allows for that level of follow-up, at least not under current circumstances.
And that’s what struck me. If even a friend—someone who knows me, respects me and understands how much I care—doesn’t see the constraints we’re working within, how could our patients?
That comment revealed something much bigger than her suggestion. It revealed a gap in awareness.
THE CONTAINER NO ONE SEES
Patients genuinely don’t see the container we’re working within—the shortening time slots, the staff shortages, the prior authorizations, the overhead pressures, the charting backlog. They imagine we’re operating in wide-open space, when we’re practicing within a box that keeps getting smaller.
That realization shifted everything for me. I had been focusing on only one side of the equation—helping doctors communicate more clearly and connect more effectively. But I suddenly saw the bigger picture: connection isn’t just about how we communicate as doctors. It’s about what patients understand about the world we’re operating in.
Every doctor I know wants to do the right thing. We want to listen, explain and reassure. But the health care container we must provide care within is shrinking, and that compression creates strain on both sides of the exam chair.
We’re expected to deliver empathy under shortening time constraints, clarity between charting and compassion while juggling documentation, staff management, prior authorizations and overhead expenses.
Patients, meanwhile, often walk in carrying their own mix of emotions. Sometimes they’re uncertain or worried about what they might hear. Other times, they’re a little irritated that they even have to come in—just to update a glasses prescription or get medication refilled. And some are simply checking the box, coming in for their yearly visit because they were told to, without much thought about what’s happening behind the scenes. From their perspective, it’s just a routine visit. They often don’t realize how much care and coordination it takes to make even the simplest exam happen.
That disconnect breeds frustration. Patients feel dismissed. Doctors feel pressured to perform and connect under increasingly difficult constraints. But when we recognize these realities instead of resisting them, we reclaim our ability to connect within them.
CONNECTION WITHIN THE CONTAINER
This is why I believe connection isn’t sentimental—it’s strategic. When we learn how to create clarity and trust within tight constraints, we don’t just improve outcomes—we create empathy where misunderstanding once lived.
True connection acknowledges the container. It’s not pretending we have unlimited time or resources. It’s learning to be present within limits—to make patients feel seen even when the clock is ticking.
And that’s not just good medicine. It’s good humanity.
BUILDING THE BRIDGE
To bridge the gap of disconnection and transform it into genuine connection, we must recognize that the responsibility doesn’t sit on one side of the exam chair alone. Both doctors and patients must help build the bridge that ultimately connects them. And that bridge must be constructed with a solid structure forged in awareness, understanding and empathy.
At Eye Teach, LLC, I started by helping doctors build that bridge—teaching communication as a clinical skill, not a personality trait. But this next phase of the work is expanding to the other side.
I’ve collected patient stories—stories of fear, confusion and frustration when they didn’t feel heard. Now, it’s time to hear from the other side of the chair. The exhaustion. The impossible expectations. The moments of compassion that go unnoticed. Because connection doesn’t belong to one side of the exam chair. It happens in the space between.
That’s why I’m creating a new project called “Doctors’ Stories That Patients Need to Hear.” This is not a complaining session. It’s not about blame and shame. It’s about awareness — helping patients understand what it really takes to care for them within a system that often feels like it’s built to rush us all.
When patients hear what their doctors are up against, and when doctors remember what patients fear and hope for, something powerful happens: compassion expands on both sides.
THE WAY FORWARD
Here’s what I know to be true: connection doesn’t require more time—it requires more understanding. And when we start naming the container we’re working in, we can finally make space for empathy where frustration once lived.
Because patients aren’t the problem. Doctors aren’t the problem. The gap in awareness is.
And once we bridge that gap, everything else gets easier.
To learn more, connect with Dr. Martin Maples on LinkedIn or email her at drjmartinmaples@eyeteach.llc.
