When Listening Could Save a Life: The Human Cost of Medical Gaslighting

I was 8-years-old, wearing my favorite yellow lace dress, and holding my mother’s hand as we entered the doctor’s office. I felt familiarity and dread. My mother was tired of the multiple tests and the lack of answers. I didn’t know if I was the problem; was I not translating the results and doctor’s findings correctly? But I was eight and at each appointment I was the only one in the room who spoke both English and Spanish. Tag, I was it. 

This particular day was different. Both the doctor and the nurse came in and would not make eye contact. The doctor looked at his papers and said, “It’s cancer. Tell her it’s cancer.” Then he turned and left the room. The nurse stayed and asked if I knew what that meant. I said I knew it was a bad, scary thing because my mom was crying and looked scared. 

For the next year, I went to every radiation treatment and infusion appointment. I was like a purse sitting beside my mother, a prized possession to be protected as I provided support. I was the translator, medication runner, and support agent when Dad was working. I never missed a day of school and I got straight A’s. Don’t worry, Mom, “I will be your protector.”

This was the early 1970s. My darker-skinned Latina mother was invisible. There was no eye contact or listening to her true symptoms during her cancer journey. If she tried to describe her illness and the horrible side effects of her treatments, she was told through me, “Tell her, doesn’t she want to get better? She should be grateful she is getting care.” I never translated the rude and cruel words. If it made me feel yucky, she never heard it. I heard what was said and they scarred me. I knew gaslighting at all levels — from the absence of acknowledgement, to the lack of providing medication; from waiting too long to order the proper testing, to the conscious and unconscious bias that was exercised. 

Why is it a patient complaint?

I refuse to use the words “patient complaint” because the phrase devalues the reality of the system decline my mother was experiencing. Patient complaints. I wonder who thought it was appropriate to label our symptoms and distress as an annoyance to the provider?

My research indicates that the term “complaint” originates from clinical and legal traditions where “to complain” meant to express suffering, concern, or distress — not just dissatisfaction. In this context, a “complaint” isn’t about whining; it’s about reporting a symptom or condition that requires medical attention. As we seek to transition to patient-centered care, we should consider renaming the reason for presenting for care. 

Understanding the source 

As I grew older, I found myself in the midst of my own critical-care journey, overcoming three cardiac arrests, a stroke, bilateral hip replacements, and a total reconstruction of my abdominal cavity. My patient journey redefined my relationship with healthcare from a revenue cycle perspective of financial sustainability for my health system to bringing humanity back to healthcare. During my journey, I was neglected by health care providers and accused of drug abuse while I lay on my bathroom floor with a 103-degree fever, septic, and going into multi-system organ failure. 

Let’s be honest. Clinicians are taught to reduce unnecessary care. But there’s a razor-thin line between avoiding unnecessary tests and failing to believe a patient’s symptoms.

This isn’t a call to order every scan or panel a patient requests. It’s a call to listen fully, without bias. To use clinical judgment informed by trust, not stereotypes.

Gaslighting can look like:

• Refusing to order basic labs for a patient in clear distress.

• Labeling patients as “difficult” because they ask informed questions.

• Assuming drug use based on appearance or race before assessment.

• Ignoring symptoms because the presentation doesn’t match textbook profiles.

When those assumptions become patterns, they become systemic.

Embracing patient-centered care

More than 40 years of research has shown that relationship-centered communication improves outcomes. These aren’t buzzwords; they’re evidence-based strategies that help clinicians balance empathy with expertise. And they’re teachable. They don’t require extra hours — just intentionality.

Imagine the impact of saying:

“I believe you.”

“I can see you’re in pain.”

“Let’s figure this out together.”

This sounds simple, but when these words are said authentically, it is transformative for a person. 

The pandemic awakened the healthcare industry to the conscious and unconscious bias against women and people of color. Medical schools started addressing the issue of discrimination in the curriculum. They did this in a number of ways, including guest lecturers and research papers that validated the effects of and the need to shift to a patient-centered care approach. Patient-centered care involves providing patients with treatment of their symptoms, history, emotions, social, and financial needs. When patients experience being recognized as a whole person, they are more engaged in their own care journey. 

It is essential to provide patients with the awareness and toolkit to navigate their care by providing financial and care literacy. This only happens when we place patient listening and communication first. 

When patients are dismissed instead of believed, misdiagnosis thrives and lives hang in the balance. Listening isn’t just good practice — it’s life-saving.

Image: Getty Images, monique28

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