Italian
The Doctor’s Day is celebrated on Saturday, June 6th.
Those who think that the medical profession is like any other forget that everyone has an illness they must fight against. It is the universality of illness and suffering that makes the doctor indispensable and turns their art into a special vocation.
The choice of a doctor is indeed very special. Not everyone is suited to this profession, and those who feel this calling never hide the sense of their choice, based on altruism, respect, duty, and care for others.
It is said that those who become doctors actually have a fear of getting sick and dying. It would therefore be a superstitious choice for those who prefer to be on the other side of the table rather than on the patient’s couch. But doctors also get sick and die. And often they try to treat themselves or do not seek treatment at all, as if the white coat protected them from all harm, almost like a magical shield against human vulnerability.
Behind his apparent confidence, the doctor is a fragile being, ready to break. He easily bends to the inevitable, endures insults because his sense of guilt is inescapable; he is ready to apologize when necessary and to thank more than is due.
The doctor examines and prescribes medicine, operates and judges. He treats bodies like mannequins and souls like pages of literature. It is no coincidence that he is often curious about culture: we discover him as a musician, painter, writer, lover of beauty. This is a multifaceted knowledge, sometimes amateurish, often genuinely professional, from which prominent figures in our history have emerged.
This cultural heritage represents the fertile ground from which literati, successful men and women can emerge. After all, the medical profession is also generally lucrative, and thanks to his art, he receives compensation and recognition that allow him to live comfortably with his family.
In society, the doctor has always held a prestigious position. Many have embarked on a political career, holding prominent roles such as parliamentarians, ministers, and even heads of state.
But behind this social stage, behind the prestige and well-being, lies an invisible toll. After absorbing day after day the pain of others — like small doses of vaccine administered to learn to endure or to distance one’s own — the doctor is left with nothing but solitude.
The loneliness of when it began and when it ended its professional journey. The loneliness of those who are easily forgotten, because even gratitude is a temporary feeling.
The doctor must endure his failures in silence. No one can accuse or justify him, except for the merciful kindness of Asclepius, to whom everyone turns but whom no one truly loves deeply. A strong and useful god, certainly, but solitary like the serpent that wraps around his staff.
And it is this ancient symbol that is the only true support that helps the doctor walk, day after day, on the path of pain: leaving behind the many he could not help and the many to whom, instead, he did not want to deny relief and hope.
