“The Voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” - Marcel Proust.

New Eyes...

A Love Letter to Dr Mountain, General Practice (and the art of seeing differently)

Before I go back to clinical work in January, I decided to do something that probably wasn’t strictly necessary: last week, I returned to shadow a colleague, Dr Mountain (epic name, don’t you think?), in her morning clinic.

“It’ll all come back to you,” she offered, kindly.  “You don’t need to do this, you know.  But, of course, you are here because you are a consummate professional.”

Thank you, Dr M.  She was right, in a way.  I could have walked back into my old consulting room, logged in, and picked up where I left off.  But the consummate professional (ahem: anxious perfectionist control freak) in me wanted to see what had changed in the practice systems, make sure the IT hadn’t left me behind, and get up to speed before I went back so I wouldn’t be a sweaty mess on day one.

What I didn’t expect was how affecting it would be to sit beside another GP and see the work we do through new eyes.

Same Patients, New Eyes

As I watched her navigate the on-call list, I had a running internal monologue:  How would I handle this problem?  What would I prioritise?  How would I phrase that communication?  Would I bring them back, or manage remotely - now, tomorrow, next week?

Same patients.  Same notes.  Same guidelines, same risks, same time pressure.  But a different mind in action, a different pair of eyes, a different nervous system in play.

Sometimes our instincts overlapped.  Sometimes she did exactly what I would have done.  But quite often she didn’t, and not because one of us was right and the other was wrong.  She’d ask an extra question I might not have thought to ask.  She’d hold a bit more, or less, risk in a situation than I naturally would.  She’d phrase something in a way that landed differently, more efficiently, more kindly.  I’ll steal that… I often thought. 

It reminded me that in General Practice, there is rarely a single correct answer waiting to be solved.  There is a well-reasoned answer, shaped by experience, relationship, temperament and judgement.  Depending on who is sitting in that swivel chair, the path through the same problem can legitimately look quite different.

As GPs, we are most of the time stuck alone in our rooms all day long, making decisions through our single lens, and unless we have the chance to see it through a different perspective, our view is all we know.  

Wide-eyed

My old reflex was to join in.  I could feel myself madly wanting to interject:  “What about this?  Did you see that bit of the history?  I’m not sure I would have done it that way.” etc, etc. 

I realised pretty quickly that if I kept leaping in, besides being an incredibly irritating companion, I might not actually learn anything.  So I made a conscious choice to (occasionally, at least) shut up. 

 I sat back and softened my eyes.

Soon enough, I realised the systems hadn’t changed that much - I would pick things up again easily enough.  But, by watching, widely observing, I got to witness something precious - the workings of another doctor’s mind, to see how her years of experience had shaped her pattern recognition, her risk assessment, her way of speaking to the person on the other end of the line.  

I felt like a medical student again - young and wide-eyed. Sponge-like… learning, learning, learning. 

A Renewed Appreciation

This softening gave me lots of lovely things - a tangible feeling of genuine curiosity, and opening to possibility, as if my brain were suddenly receptive to new information.  

How much easier it was to appreciate her when I wasn’t tightening inside myself — when I wasn’t preparing rebuttals, corrections, or self-comparisons.  The more I softened, like opening the curtains to a brand new vista, the more clearly I could see.  It reminded me that perspective is never purely external but is, more significantly, shaped by the state of the one who is looking.

What I came away with, more than anything, was appreciation.  Appreciation for her – for how much skill, compassion, stamina and judgement she brings to an ordinary Wednesday.  Appreciation for my other colleagues, doing the same work in their own ways behind different consulting room doors, that day and every day.  

Appreciation, even, for my own hard-won expertise that I’m so quick to dismiss or forget.  Stepping out of practice for a year and then stepping back in as a guest gave me something wonderful: a new perspective.

 What a gift. 

A Love Letter to the Work

This little visit was supposed to be purely practical.  Instead, it turned into something I’m still chewing on: a love letter to my wonderful colleague, a love letter to General Practice (I can scarce believe it), and a reminder of the power of opening your own perspective to let others flood right in.

And in a world, and a profession, that often pushes us to tighten, defend, and double down, there is something profoundly healing about doing the opposite: widening, softening, and letting someone else’s way of seeing the world touch your own.

Taking this onto the mat this week…

Let’s practice.